Changing Channels
I'm sitting here at work like I've done just about every Thursday for the past ten years except its different, vastly different. It's my last Thursday here.
When the missus and I found out the phinlet was on his way we'd discuss my switching jobs to something less stressful and with less travel. Part of me wanted to stick around, it's not that I hate change, I like change, it's that I wasn't sure how much change I could stand and for the most part I really enjoy my job. Then once he was born it really only took that first look for me to realize that I was going to do anything in my power to be around him as much as possible.
After he was born my first day back in the office was a crusher, being unable to watch as he slept was all it took. I placed a couple of calls to talk about openings and to see if I was a fit for them and they were a fit for me. Turns out one of the openings was and I start at the new job Monday.
I've made calls to the friends I've made over the years, each one of the calls a struggle. Letting them know I'll keep in touch, sending a new e-mail address, all the while knowing that it'll be different, it has to be. The common bond is no longer there.
Sure the jokes will be exchanged, but there won't be the calls just to catch up on business and family. The trips to the bar after conferences to pass the time and trade war stories from the past year won't be an option. The passing on of the latest industry gossip, finished. For the first time in my working career in an industry that I've come to love I'm an outsider.
Funny I never thought leaving would be this hard. Tomorrow morning when I'm filling out paperwork for the new job the guys here will be carrying on. You can't help but form friendships when you've worked with somebody for so long, especially in a small company. I hope and pray that they don't miss me, that they're able to carry on business as usual and that I'm leaving them in better shape than when I walked in the door ten years ago. Only time will tell.
Come Monday I'll be wearing "big boy" clothes to work. No longer will I be able to sport jeans, a t-shirt and flip-flops into the office, granted I don't have to wear a tie, but I do have to keep my shirttail tucked in.
New faces and new places. I'm an outsider again.
There are really on two things I'm certain of.
The first, that I've made the best decision possilbe with the information available. As I looking into my son's eyes as I left my house this morning I knew it was only for a brief time. I knew that I wouldn't, at least in the forseeable future, have to go for a week or two without cuddling up with him on the couch.
The second, that my new employer won't be impressed if I lock the intercom system on the LLama Song when I go to lunch.
Professionalism folks, that's what I'm all about.
Fittingly, Jimmy Buffet's If The Phone Doesn't Ring It's Me is playing on the iPod.
With the changes I'm not sure what's in store for the ole phish bowl. I'm planning on being around, but for the next few months the postings here may be scarce, or they may not, nobody really knows, I sure as hell don't. The posting times will be changing, as I won't be blogging from work.
I'm closing this rather random collection of thoughts by thanking y'all for providing a distraction when life has seemed all to real, whether you knew it or not.
Catch y'all on the flip side.
Perfection be thy name...
I realized last night, as I was munching again on lemon pound cake smattered with homemade strawberry jam, that I just may be perfect. Let's face the facts folks.
Looks, check (nobody said they had to be good).
Intelligence, check (hey, I've never claimed to be the smartest man alive, but I'm definitely in the top three).
Domestic Goddess, check (I dinned last night on Turkey, mashed potatoes & gravy, steamed veggies and topped it of with pound cake and fresh strawberries).
Humility, check (a man's gotta know his limits).
Just so y'all wouldn't feel left out I snapped a shot my pre-midnight snack.
Mmmmm cake.
Words to live by
Being cynical it's not often that I find a series of words that hit home. That make sense and explain what the trials and tribulations of our daily lives are about. The Straight White Guy penned those words today:
.... sometimes it doesn't matter if you fall, I guess... it just matters that you tried... and that you enjoyed one incredible time while you were there.... after all, conquering fears is not an easy thing.... if it were easy, it would not be called "conquering" to begin with....
Costner gone wild
No more yanky my wanky, the Donger Costner need food.
Folks it's one thing to get caught with your pants down, it's something completely different when you take the towel off and flog the dolphin when there's an audience.
Next stop, China
BEIJING (Reuters)
Bra producers have been forced to offer bigger cup-sizes in China because improved nutrition is busting all previous chest measurement records."It's so different from the past when most young women would wear A- or B-cup bras," Triumph brand saleswoman Zhang Jing told the Shanghai Daily from the Landmark Plaza of China's commercial hub.
"You...never expect those thin women to have such nice figures if they are not plastic."
The report, seen on the daily's Web site Tuesday, said that the Hong Kong-based lingerie firm Embry Group no longer produces A-cups for larger chest circumferences and has increased production of C-, D- and E-cup bras to meet pressing demand.
So much for stereotypes.
I'll take my Chinese mail order bride nanny with a D-Cup please.
Questions unanswered
Recently several discussions around the water-cooler have been political in nature, primarily geared towards illegal immigration, dealing with Mexicans primarily. This is a topic I haven't really weighed in on, and probably won't much now, but there were some questions I asked that they didn't have answers for and didn't really want to think much about.
Part of the debate has to do with immigrants putting a strain on our infrastructure; while they don't contribute anything since they aren't paying taxes. I'll readily admit there is a burden being placed on Hospitals since illegal immigrants will head to an Emergency Room where they can't be turned away. In the end we're covering these costs with increased medical costs.
I'll also agree that schools are catching hell too since teachers are being asked to teach and speak in both English and Spanish to accommodate students whose parents aren't contributing to the Educational System by paying taxes, well they pay state sales tax, but they aren't paying state and federal income taxes.
Now what I don't get is the national security issue, which is what the knuckleheads here and on the news keep talking about.
From the articles I've read (blogs and magazines) ole Foxy Vince and his Regime do a pretty good job keeping their borders secure. You haven't heard about Mexican Muslims going on the rampage have you? (Come to think of it how many Mexicans do you know of with the name Abdul, Muhammad or Ahab? Not very many I guess). Now the primary reason Sweet Vinnie keeps the border secure is economic. The Mexican Government, if you can call it that, doesn't want those pesky Guatemalans, Hondurasseans and Belizeans sneaking across their country into the U.S. of A. and stealing their jobs.
If the Mexican officials are as "dirty" as they're made out to be and they have ties to the drug cartels, well they aren't going to stand for their clients getting blowed up, by explosives. Just like a Pimp ensures the safety of his Ho's a dealer is going to make sure his clients are well taken care of. Sure the Mexican dealers might take some cash to smuggle Abdul and Ahkmed into the country, but they never promised to keep him in one piece.
Now here's where the proverbial shit hits the fan.
We don't have to worry too much about Mexican collaboration with Islamofacionists. They aren't going to do a damned thing that interferes with cash that Pedro can ship back to the motherland.
If safety is a major concern why isn't there a movement to build a wall between the US and Canada (Not that I'm advocating this. I love my Canadian Readers, eh.)? Or better yet, a moat, with Crocodiles and Hippopotamooses (the cold-weather version of the Hippopotamus).
Last time I checked there wasn't a movement to bring Sharia (Sharī'ah, Shari'a, Shariah or Syariah) Courts to Mexico.
Just take a stroll through lovely, and I do mean that, downtown Ontario Toronto. You'll be surprised by the number of people of Middle Eastern lineage you see hither, there and yon. I'm also certain that a vast majority of them aren't planning on flying planes into the hi-rise buildings, but it only takes a couple, or a boat headed across one of the great lakes.
Sure that's a lot like racial profiling, but last time I checked the folks we're fighting against in the War on Terror weren't Mexicans, their native language isn't Spanish and their names damn sure weren't Pedro, Juan and Manuel.
So yeah, I'll buy the Health Care and Educational System strains as a reason to do something about illegal immigration, but save the War on Terror reasoning for somebody who doesn't know where the most of the Muslims in North America are located. If you're still wondering here's a hint they aren't eating tamales and re-fried beans.
Note : I realized after reading this again and after a couple of e-mail exchanges with WB (who's left a ton of great information in the comments that isn't being brought to light in the debates) that I'd missed a the main point I was trying to get across.
The point being that we need to secure our border with Mexico, and perhaps take over the Baja Peninsula (we need more vacation spots), but that we also need to pay close attention to our northern borders as well. I haven't seen the first politician mention, other than in passing, that we need to ensure terrorists aren't freely about freely.
Be sure read the comments, otherwise you'll miss some great information, and me admitting that I'm a knucklehead.
Nothin'
I've got absolutely nothin'.
'cept this rash that I can't seem to get rid of.
So I'll throw down thoughts on several topics as they run through my feeble mind since the missus won't chat with me any more tonight.
Hey it could be worse, I could be fetish blogging.
Speaking of fetish blogging.
What's the appropriate waiting time on introducing your significant wife to the gimp you've got locked in the basement?
Just a kindly word of advice.
If you're an idiot don't walk around the grocery store slack-jawed, pants hanging off your ass and hat cocked sideways. Two of the three lets the entire world know that you shouldn't be allowed to breed.
The first sign that I'm getting old surfaced today and I scared myself.
There was a cute blonde (18 - 20 years old) with a perfect, bounce a quarter off it, butt in the grocery store ahead of me. Instead of the normal dirty thoughts, I was hoping like hell she'd a) let me cut in front of her or b) carry my groceries out to the car. Sad, it really is sad.
I'm of course blaming the above indiscretion, or lack there-of, on only getting three hours of sleep last night. The phinlet, he got seven straight, hours of sleep that is. Now whoever said "sleeping like a baby" either slipped a little bourbon into their kid's bottle or they haven't spent any time around newborns.
Poop update: None up the back as of yet, I'm sure it'll happen eventually, hell I've got a veritable cheering section going, well not me so much as the phinlet. One thing I would like explained. How the hell does 4oz's of breast milk become 8oz's of crap?
The most scary thing, this really is how my thought processes work, well not 100% because there are some I didn't cover here, I don't want the documented. Now you see why the missus gets frustrated trying to carry on a conversation with me?
Now if you'll 'scuse me, I'm gonna channel the Straight White Guy and go have a heapin' hunk of pound cake, fresh from the oven, with home-made strawberry jam. I really do lead a rough life folks, really I do.
I'm goin' down to South Park the Middle East...
Seems those Wild and Crazy Emirates are at it again. An Arab airline has hijacked the look of the cartoon kids from television's "South Park" to market its flights throughout the Middle East. No word on when the the riots, pillaging and protests will being.
With apologies to Primus for ripping off the lyrics to the South Park Theme Song:
I'm goin' down to the Middle East gonna have myself a time,
Terrorists hiding everywhere, covered girls so no temptation,
I'm goin' down to the Middle East gonna leave my harem behind,
Lots of beheading day or night, people spouting, "Allah Akbar"
I'm headin' down to the Middle East gonna see if I can't unwind,
I like girls who have a mustache, I like girls who wear a burka
So come on down to the Middle East , and meet some friends of mine.
For some reason the promotion including a free bomb-vest wasn't a big seller.
The image is animated, be sure watch for the ending
H/T: The Shape of Days.
I think they're on to me...
Just don't tell anybody, at least until I get my portable mammogram scheme business up and going.
Any takers?
H/T: My Pet Jawa
Hot Blonde Teachers Gone Wild Episode #68
Good Ole Preston's got the scoop on the latest, and hottest, Hottie McNasty to get caught going above and beyond the sex-ed curriculum set forth by the North Carolina Department of Edumakayshun.
Makin' me proud to be a Tarheel she is.
Why the hell didn't my teachers look like that? I'm sure the lucky bastard poor impressionable student she slept with will be scarred for life, probably on his back from the raking of fingernails if he's any good in bed.
Random Snippet of the Day
From Jeff Harrell The Shape of Days:
You’re nice to look at once in a while, especially from the back, but I’d rather join the Mile High Club with a blow-up love doll than sneak a quickie at 30,000 with somebody who still dots her i’s with little hearts. A doll would contain slightly less plastic, and I’m pretty sure it would end up being a more thoughtful lover.
Hey, at least I'm not the only one blogging about love dolls this week.
Don't link me
At least this guy opted not to blog roll me.
Who's in charge of background checks for the next blog-meet?
H/T: protein wisdom.
I'm Phineous T. Goldphish and I'm an Idiot
The Moo Knew Collective is currently being pounded by spammers, so if'n you can't leave a comment it's nothing personal, for most of you, others, well it is personal, very personal.
On to the reason I'm an Idiot, well I managed to inadvertently kill of about twenty valid comments along with the spam I got popped with.
Anybody know what the penalty is for maiming a spammer? I'm thinking it'd be a lot less messy, on my end anyhoo, to ship them over to Russia. Not as much fun, but a lot less messy.
Me the prude
I've never really considered myself to be overly conservative, politically, sure, I'm just to the right of Genghis Khan and to the left of Attila the Hun, but in other aspects of life, nope.
Anyhoo dear reader, if you've been around here very often, or even not so very often, just more than once or twice, you've probably noted that my sense of humor is a tad bit on the warped side.
If'n I find humor in it there really isn't a topic I won't hit-on, kind of like a drunken fratboy in a hog house. Hell this place is a veritable bastion of references to midget pr0n, pudding wrestling, Cheetos, and midgets eating Cheetos whilst pudding-wrestling against that sweet and sultry Melissa Theuriau. Okay I made the last one up, kind of.
Now as I i was just running though the Yahoo! News and I see Future sex: gizmos, robots.
The most notable line:
Some researchers warn that too much fantasy could prove adverse to everyday human interaction.
Who'd a thunk it?
I'd always thought spending vast amounts of time in fantasy laden scenarios was called "group-work" and a requisite to graduate from just about any accredited college now-a-days. Maybe I'm just being cynical, that's been know to happen from time to time.
Really, I'm all for limiting the breeding rights of stupid people and providing substitutes to those who haven't successfully learned the horizontal mambo just yet, but damn, $6,500 for a RealDoll? Do you have any idea just how many spankings you can get at Madam Wong’s House of Ill Repute for $6,500? yeah, me neither.
Trust ole Uncle phin folks, it'll be a whole lot easier to hide a stack of receipts than a life-sized doll when the folks stop by for an unexpected visit.
What the hell ever happened to sneaking off to the shower for a bit of "me time", maybe I'm a prude, or today's kids are just too damned uppity.
Somewhat related, the knuckleheads from Help Win My Bet have found a third. For some reason I don't really see those two having a meaningful lasting relationship much longer, but that's probably just me being cynical again.
H/T: Agent Bedhead for finding the upstanding young couple at Help Win My Bet.
I've got the bestest readers (and trolls)
Below is a direct reproduction of "fan mail" that I recieved just a couple of minutes ago.
Phin,
Your a ingnorant bastard for subtly applying that real men don't watch American Idol.You suck,
Name withheld to protect the stupid
I won't take the cheap shot of pointing out that if you're going to call somebody an ignorant bastard you should at the very least be able to spell ignorant, one to many n's there sparky. I also won't mention the poor grammar, as I ain't the bestest in the world in that category either, see.
Nope the thing that bothers me is that I didn't realize I was being subtle.
So I'm taking the high road and I hereby make this solemn pledge to you, dear reader, that I'll try a bit harder from here on out to blatantly point out the weak-kneed candy asses of the world. Starting with the "men" that squabble like school-girls over who got kicked off of American Idol Syphilis Island.
An argument for intelligent design
Apparently dear reader my last post enabled one of the lurkers / googlers to figure me out. It seems I'm not only a racist, I'm a sexist too.
Damn, who'da thunk it?
This epiphany of course leads us to the following question. If women aren't intended to do the dishes, then why are their feet so small?
Mayhaps the Dark Continent isn't so dark after all
We're all South Africans today.
Speaking of immigration, I'll trade you a tractor-trailer load of Mexicans for two South Africans.
What don't look at me like I'm crazy, those South African chics have valuable assets.
Okay maybe that wasn't the best choice of words.
AI Blogging
Am I the only one bothered by grown "men" squabbling like school-girls over the person most recently cast-off of American Idol?
I've yet to watch the show, primarily due to it reminding me of fingernails on a chalk board, but I get a recap the morning after it's been on.
Next thing you know these "men" will be arguing over the best method to wipe (front to back, or back to front) after sitting down to tinkle.
That settles it
Honey we're hiring an Indonesian nanny.
If I turn up missing it's because the missus finally decided to start reading my blog.
Y'all really don't think I'd get away with this crap if she were an avid reader do you?
There's a reason they call it the dark continent
South Africans learn what every adolescent male has known for years...
No Shit?
Well I guess that bodily function happens later in the process.
I can hear his wife now
Raja, I told you if you ate all those cookies you were gonna get sick. I don't want to hear you fuss one bit about your stomach hurting. Hell I bet you didn't even save one for me did you, you selfish bastard.
Well trained my aching pinky-toe.
Playing with snakes
Via Reuters A South African judge on Wednesday barred a dissatisfied customer from entering any Absa bank branch after he released his pet snakes inside the headquarters of the country's largest bank
I got kicked out of the Wal-Mart a couple of years back for damned near the same thing. Except they just told me I couldn't come back unless I wearing pants.
The Last Pitch
Somewhereabouts nine years ago I was introduced to a cute, blond haired, blue eyed eleven year-old, that I'd grow to love like the baby sister I never had. She is of course my wife's youngest sister, who lives with us whilst she's going to college.
In the past nine years I've watched her grow as a person and as an athlete. Last June I wrote about how much I enjoyed watching her play softball.
With this year's softball season in full swing and things returning to semi-normalcy after the phinlet's birth I had looked forward to returning once again fields of green to watch her dominating performances from the mound. Each pitch a brilliant display of grace, speed and beauty, truly a mesmerizing sight.
This year however was cut short. A week ago I received a call from the missus, the Sister-In-Law had turned her ankle in practice. The initial diagnoses was a sprain. A doctor's appointment and x-rays were scheduled for Wednesday morning. I received a call Wednesday afternoon, the diagnoses a pretty bad break that was going to require surgery. The surgery was promptly scheduled for Thursday.
Attempts to sleep Wednesday night were in vain.
As I was driving to work Thursday morning I was overwhelmed with feeling of anger and sadness. I realized for a long time ago, and say quite often, that life isn't fair. This my friends, is a shining example.
Twelve years she's spent perfecting the motions she uses to hurl the ball across home plate at 60+ miles an hour.
Twelve years learning how to reach other pitchers enabling her to carry one of the team's highest batting averages.
Twelve years as a student of the game and its intricacies.
All stolen in the blink of an eye.
I got a call from the missus Thursday and the surgery went okay. She was home. It took a plate and two pins to repair the damage.
I keep hoping and praying that this isn't how her pitching career is going to end, but things aren't looking so hot, and I haven't woke from a nightmare yet.
Sunday was the last home game for the college. Since it's a Junior college they were honoring their graduating sophomores (similar to senior day).
When the Sister-In-Law's name was called with the use of crutches she stepped forward as they started reading off her stats for the year.
Thirty-four games pitched, twenty-five wins and nine losses.
Eight-hundred-sixty-some-odd batters faced, with one-hundred-eighty-some-odd strikeouts and an ERA of 2.3.
And a batting average a bit better than .250.
The list went on but somewhere in the mix I lost track.
The announcements ended, the flurry of pictures subsided, the parents started shuffling back to their seats and it was time to get the show on the road. The person chosen to throw out the ceremonial first pitch was none other than the Sister-In-Law and she did so with a smile on her face.
Something I couldn't do, hell, something I couldn't watch without grimacing.
She smiled as she threw out the first pitch of the game, potentially the last pitch of her collegiate career, then she stepped over to the dug-out to watch the game and to cheer her team-mates on.
From the pitchers mound she'd proven time and again why she was the most-valuable-player in many of their games and tournaments. Sunday she showed that as a champion she can grin through pain and continue to lead her team, even when she isn't on the pitcher's mound.
I've often admitted to being in awe of her prowess from the pictures mound and in the batters box.
This time, as she threw out the first pitch, I sat in silent admiration of more than her athletic ability.
Today's Love Note
I love the way ewe look into my eyes...
(CAUTION: Romantics beware - comments may contain naughtiness)
Note: Today's Love Note stolen from Mr. Bad Example.
O Maximum Leader where art thou
Our Maximum Leader recently announced that there will either be a complete renaissance in quality writing from our fabled Maximum Leader or that he'll be playing video games a lot more.
Let's hope he doesn't see the latest offerings from the video game industry. I fear that should our Maximum Leader sees the afore mentioned offerings he'll rarely escape his entertainment room to shower, much less doff this floppy bejeweled hat toward his minions.
Carry on, our fearless Maximum Leader, carry on.
Nature versus Nurture answered once and for all
On a couple of occasions the missus and I have noticed that the phinlet enjoys being naked, as I said earlier, he's a chip off the ole block.
Well something else we've noticed solves the nature versus nurture question once and for all.
On several occasions, whether it be during the daily diaper change or weekly bath, hey we're all about sanitary conditions here, the phinlet has grasped aholdst of his "joy stick". With his “winkie”, as the missus calls it, firmly in hand he proceeds to smile and laugh.
So for all the ladies, who have wondered why we men have to "adjust" ourselves or check to ensure Mr. Happy and the twins are still there on an hourly basis, sorry, it's engrained into the very fabric of our souls. Our genetic being dictates, if you will, that we keep a firm grasp of the situation at hand.
Life father, like son
Just a few minutes ago I was laying on the couch catching a quick nap with the phinlet.
I woke up and noticed the phinlet's lower jaw moving at a fairly rapid pace, up and down whilst pulling is bottom lip in. Making the same motions he would if he's have been "latched on" during a feeding session.
My Sister-In-Law noticed it, we pointed it out to the missus and we laughed for a bit.
This of course only means one thing, the phinlet, at the ripe old age of four weeks, is already dreaming about boobages.
I guess there's no denying that he's my offspring, the fruit of my loins, a chip off the ole block. As they say, like father, like son.
I couldn't be any more proud.
Yay!!!
The newest MuNuvain has arrived.
Congrats to RP, the Viking Bride, the Girl Child and the Boy Child on the newest addition to their family!
Sad News
I guess there's no such thing as true love anymore.
And I had such high¹ hopes they'd make it this go round.
1) This is in no way a reference to Kim Mather's infatuation with narcotics and other controlled substances.
Update: Oorgo has a training guide to help solve those pesky issues of wimmins not behaving properly.
N-V-T-S Nuts
I are Charles VI of France, also known as Charles the Mad or Charles the Well-Beloved!
Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
From the fecund loins of Rum and Monkey.
A fine, amiable and dreamy young man, skilled in horsemanship and archery, you were also from a long line of dribbling madmen. King at 12 and quickly married to your sweetheart, Bavarian Princess Isabeau, you enjoyed many happy months together before either of you could speak anything of the other's language. However, after illness you became a tad unstable. When a raving lunatic ran up to your entourage spouting an incoherent prophecy of doom, you were unsettled enough to slaughter four of your best men when a page dropped a lance. Your hair and nails fell out. At a royal masquerade, you and your courtiers dressed as wild men, ending in tragedy when four of them accidentally caught fire and burned to death. You were saved by the timely intervention of the Duchess of Berry's underskirts.This brought on another bout of sickness, which surgeons countered by drilling holes in your skull. The following months saw you suffer an exorcism, beg your friends to kill you, go into hyperactive fits of gaiety, run through your rooms to the point of exhaustion, hide from imaginary assassins, claim your name was Georges, deny that you were King and fail to recognise your family. You smashed furniture and wet yourself at regular intervals. Passing briefly into erratic genius, you believed yourself to be made of glass and demanded iron rods in your attire to prevent you breaking.
In 1405 you stopped bathing, shaving or changing your clothes. This went on until several men were hired to blacken their faces, hide, jump out and shout "boo!", upon which you resumed basic hygiene. Despite this, your wife continued sleeping with you until 1407, when she hired a young beauty, Odette de Champdivers, to take her place. Isabeau then consoled herself, as it were, with your brother. Her lovers followed thick and fast while you became a pawn of your court, until you had her latest beau strangled and drowned.
A severe fever was fended off with oranges and pomegranates in vast quantities, but you succumbed again in 1422 and died. Your disease was most likely hereditary. Unfortunately, you had anywhere up to eleven children, who variously went on to develop capriciousness, great cruelty, insecurity, paranoia, revulsion towards food and, in one case, a phobia of bridges.
Damn, I'm French, well at least it's before they started dropping their rifles and grabbing their ankles.
Via the Yipping LLamas.
Dude where's my oil?
I was having a rather polite conversation with one of the locals here in town when the conversation turned ugly. Seems he's a pink-o commie conspiracy theorist and doesn't really mind sharing his philosophies, no mater how off base or wrong they are.
There we were having a nice conversation about the weather, fishing (to my readers within striking distance of eastern NC Shad and Rock are running) and life in general when the conversation took a turn for the worse. He managed to switch over to the war in Iraq, Afghanistan and September 11th.
Most notably he kept citing the work, if you want to call it that, of Charlie Sheen, Ma Cindy and several Websites (I'm betting the DU and Daily Kos). First of, if you start citing celebrities as your sources of knowledge you're in trouble, more so if it's one of the Sheenlings that you're quoting.
Now if that wasn't bad enough he kept going on 'bout how the war is being fought over oil. Keeping the prices down so competitive alternatives aren't developed, allowing Bush and Company to continue to rake in their profits. When he hit that talking point I stopped him and asked him to step outside for a minute, where I showed him the going price for a gallon of gas.
Where's my cheap oil? I asked.
For some reason he didn't have a response.
Fashionistas
Now dear readers I've been around the blogidoheiwebisdrone for a little over a year. In this time frame I've seen quite a bit, laughed a lot, shed a few tears and cringed when given too much information.
Well I've oft thought that I had kin-folk out there that I didn't know about, perhaps a twin that the 'rents sold on the black market to cover college tuition bills. I have always heard that healthy white behbehs draw a pretty good price on the black market, supply and demand I guess.
Anyhoo, I was perusing the blodgerydospiriweb yesterday and happened uponst the Straight White Guy's posterings about his purdy white legs. Now I've gots me some dazzling white legs, matches my lily white arse they do. Now this got me to thinking, there can't be that many folks out there with legs that white, hell I'm betting there be federal regulations about us being within fifty miles of each other without out legs being covered, fear of the glare bringing down satellites and interfering with communications and such.
But there's something else I noticed, something that well, just can't be learnt. It's gots to be genetics. Something so profound it's lead me to believe I've got a brother from another mother running 'round out there, and that the lives in eastern Tennessee.
Now I'm sure you're wonderin' what this trait be, well hold yer britches on I'm getting to it. But first you've gots to check out his post, be sure to study the picture, I'll wait, y'all hurry back.
Did you notice it? I'm sure you did.
A couple of fashionistas we be. See as I'm typing this post I'm sporting my Docker's Stragey Loafers (not as kick ass as his shoes, but they're airport friendly) and white socks. Hell I'm betting y'all didn't realize there were two peeps with more fashion sense in their pinky toes than the Manolo's ever dreamt of having.
If'n y'all are lucky I may even continue the shoe blogging phenomena by posting pictures later tonight.
Housing offered in exchange for sex
Via the AP:
On the widely used Web site Craigslist.org, some landlords and apartment dwellers looking for roommates are offering to accept sex in lieu of rent.And all this time I thought the called this having a live-in boyfriend / girlfriend.
Trading housing for sex is a form of prostitution. But the police aren't kicking down doors.Instead they're offering to "lease" the station's spare bunks.
The offering of shelter for sex is older than, well, real estate itself.Damned right it is, it's called MARRIAGE.
You gots no soul...
But you could have bought one on taobao.com (China's version of eBay).
Via Reuters:
A man in his late 20s in Jiaxing, a city near Shanghai, has attempted to sell his soul on Taobao, China's top online auction site, attracting bids from some 58 soul-searching buyers before the posting was pulled.
Mabye eBay will let him sell it, hell it could be a new market for them. Then you really could get IT on eBay.
Perspective
Please take a minute to say a prayer for and send some happy thoughts to RP and his family.
