vlogging

Intertubes Rule # 1,876: If you're going to post a video of yourself covering politics whilst flailing about in a bikini expect some knucklehead to mute your voice and put in background music.

Praise be to Allah for answering a couple of questions, boobies be upon him.

Next up on Dr. Phil: Husbands who don't like their wives.

What a unique concept. One of the great and unique thinkers he is.

Ain't that a shocker of a topic? Here I was blissfully thinking that every husband was so deeply engrossed in their wife's thoughts and feelings that the marital spat was a thing of the past. Guess I'd better sell my stock in Toilet-seat Cover 'R Us. Damn, and just when I thought I was going to make it big time.

Damn you Doktor Phil and your touchy feely methods of making us embrace our inner feminist. Me I'm all for equal rights. If she wants the toilet seat dry leave the seat up. If she wants a good reason to wash her behind leave it down, I'll be sure to hose down every square inch of it, and a bit of the floor too. I've never really understood why chicks get so damned upset about the toilet seat deal anyhow. It ain't rocket science and you'd think after their tail gets a nice bathing in toilet water they'd learn to check the seat. Women are the more superior sex aren't they? The screams of men being pigs and simpletons are all over the Internet and yet they expect us to change.

It's the age old adage, men get married expecting women not to change and the do, women get married expecting men not to change and they don't. Yet for centuries we, both men and women, have been greatly disappointed, you think we'd learn by now. Which of course is why I'm all for gay marriage, I'm not the first person to say it, but shouldn't they be miserable like the rest of us?

Want to end the gay man's monopoly on fine dining and fashion? The cure marriage. All it'll take is a divorce and Francis will be lining up with Jim Bob and Ray Ray to buy flannel shirts from the discount bin at Wally World. I guess that makes me a cynic, damn, and here I was thinking I'd look on the bright side of life.

The toilet seat thing though is a pisser. It wasn't long ago ladies had to head outside to "powder their noses" and you can get your sweet as they made sure the seat was down then. One step forward and two steps back I guess.

I can't wait 'til next week's episode. House Training Your Teenager, when and when not to use the shock collar.

A restoration of faith, kind of

My faith in mankind was severely diminished this past week. It seems our, not me and you in particular but humans as a species, have lost all sense of decency. I'm o the most prudish of people, as you may very well know if you've been rambling about the phish bowl for any extended period of time. Really there aren't very many topics I won't cover, yet some things should remain covered, by a tarp, bed-sheet or burlap sack if necessary.

What you're probably wondering struck such a deep cord? Bathing suits or the lack there-of to be precise. I'd really like to know which fashion industry executive made the brilliant call to make a thong in a size 4X, really folks, that's Four (4) X's. Now some of you may be thinking this is an anomaly, but it isn't, I seen it with my own to eyes in multiple locations. I'm also sad, and a bit disgusted, to say I saw it being worn, if you can call it that.

Now just so y'all won't think I'm sexist the beast having a whale of a time sporting her bikini was accompanied by an equally rotund cross between a wildebeest and Bigfoot, who happened to be wearing a Speed-O. Let that sink into your mind's eye for a second, hell y'all might actually be able to hear and smell the fat sizzling in the 95 degree heat.

Now I realize people are stupid, it's a given and one of the main reasons as a rule I don't like them, but isn't there somebody at some level of our economic supply chain that said "I don't think that's a very good idea". Apparently not.

As a general rule I'm against a nanny state, for this though, I'll make an exception. If not for your humble binocular toting pervs bird watchers like me at least think about the kids folks, at least do it for the kids. Really our youth doesn't deserve mental scarring like this until they walk in on their parents in their full blown BDSM regalia.

On the upside though, a bit of my faith was restored as I found a ready supply the single greatest clothing creation to hit stores in the latest century. That item: the Large-Tall Crew Neck Undershirt. Sure those of you of average and stubby smaller stature won't see the brilliance of this as you've never battled to keep your undershirt tucked in when only an inch of it hits your waist-line.

Somewhere there's a tall skinny clothing designer worth every last drop of the cosmo his boyfriend will be buying him later on tonight. Here's to you mister Large-Tall Crew Neck Undershirt marketing guy, may your supply of Cosmos or Appletinis hold out until your boyfriend looks like Matthew Mcconaughey.

Sending Torture Awareness Month Out With A Bang

Since it's the last day of Torture Awareness Month tomorrow we can sweep it back under the rug and out of site once again.*

Ear worms, you know the catch tune you hear first thing in the morning that says with you all day.

Take me out to the ball game

Then there's ass crack, and it's blatant display. Why, why, why do parents insist on buying their kids clothes that are either too damned small or falling off their asses? Remember their are to blame parents, they're writing the check, so slap them, or perhaps a weggie is in order.

take me out to the crowd

I haven't seen a twelve year old with a job since my trip to China town to buy factory discount Nike's, man can those little bastards sew and talk about work ethic, kids these days could learn a thing or two from them. Twelve to fourteen hour days with only a lunch and occasional potty break, talk about productivity. Reminds me, I need some new Rockports a road trip may be in order.

buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks

Why is there a direct correlation between the size of a chic and the amount of crack she's decided to show? Its as if the fashionistas have decided they're going to use the same amount of fabric in all the clothes they make. With this principle in place as the waste expands in with it decreases in height, thus the ass crack phenomena. There, I've solved one of the great wonders of the world.

I don't care if I never get back

While I'm dogging fat chics, why are they the first one's headed to an elevator or escalator. I promise bessie a little bit of physical exercise ain't gonna harm you, hell you may even walk off the three bacon, egg and cheese biscuits you ate for breakfast.

Let me root, root, root for the home team

Heh, he said root. Root's a great word, with lots of uses, lots of meanings. Some clean, some not so clean. I'll let you decide what uses the song's referring too. Just remember I am root, you should feel privileged, you just got a preview of my wallpaper.

If they don't win it's a shame.

Speaking of shame, I should probably be ashamed of myself for writing this. But really I'm not. I do feel kind of sad though. See it's got to be pure torture you having read this far and really I haven't said squat.

For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out

Hey, me too. I'm outta here. Ever get the urge to go walk-about? Just grab your gear and head out the door? Me too. But it ain't happening this weekend. I'm headed to away with the missus, the phinlet and outlaws in-laws. Y'all have fun, I won't. Well I guess I will.

At the old ball game.

If you've got keys to the phish bowl feel free to use'em (think all pudding wrestling all the time), just keep it PG-13 my mom reads this drivel on occasion. Wait, that don't sound right, Mom's at least ten years over fifteen, but she don't look it.

Y'all have a safe and happy Independence Day.
Remember to say thanks to those who put their lives on the line so you could be independent.

* Regretfully not hippies were harmed in the writing of this message.

Maybe it's religeous after all

Woman says her Pastor forced her to have sex for spiritual reasons.

Maybe, just maybe, all those times you've be screaming "Oh, God" during the throws of passion it was a religious experience after all.

Okay so we've determined she's a prostitute

Now we're just negotiating price.

phin's blog: All Torture All the Time

Really if our creator, no matter who you believe in Allah, Buddha, Mr. Hanky, was against torture she'd have never come up with the concept of synchronized menstrual cycles.

Really stop and think about it. You take a group of semi-sane women, with "cycles" that are spaced out so you've only got to deal with so much crazy at any particular point in time, move them into a centralized location and a metamorphosis takes place. The heavens start to shift, the moon comes into perfect alignment and you'd damn well put the toilet seat down mister, 'cause if her dainty little ass gets wet (like it'll ever fit) you'll find your 'nads on the receiving end of a mouse trap.

It is men with multiple daughters that I feel for. Often times these men are the only source of testosterone in their household and eventually the henpecking can become too great for even the strongest willed men. Broken and battered they can only hope that one day some poor unsuspecting bastard lucky guy will marry his daughter and be rid of one set of raging hormones once and for all they'll live happily ever after.

So don't anybody try to feed me this peace on earth good will to men crap, I ain't buying it.

Now if you need me the great equalizer (aka the phinlet) and I will be in hiding until he comes of age and can strike down hormonal women tyranny with a great vengeance.

Torture Awareness Month Continued

Just remember kids, torture is no laughing matter.

Unless you're torturing a clown.

I don't know about you but I've found the ol' hand-buzzer to the nipple is an extremely effective tactic.

Global Warming

Earth likely hottest in 2,000 years.
It still isn't as hot as where Abu Musab al-Zarqawi is. Just think you too could have 72 virgins as hot as Helen Thomas.

H/T: Allah

Torture Awareness Month

Dan Riehl tips us off that it's Torture Awareness Month.

Since I recently freed the gimp I had locked in my basement and the asian girl I keep locked under the bed hasn't been very lively as of late (not to self improve ventilation prior to arrival of next "guest") I figured I'd celebrate by smacking a sack full of puppies with a rubber hose, tossing a gym bag full of kittens into the river and plucking the feathers from a few parakeets.

How are y'all planning to celebrate?

Update: In the comments good ol' elendil is hell bent on killing kittens.

Well elendil I'm pretty sure there's at least one pet cemetery with your name on it. Oh yeah, I almost forgot about flogging the dolphin, if you know what I mean and I'm sure you to, while I'm at the beach next weekend.

Wrong again

Update on my previous post. It looks like the Communist New Network (CNN) got it wrong. Agent Bedhead sent the link notifying me that her man candy (Matty McConaughey) is on the list.

Great, just great. Now nothing makes sense at all. Sure we all knew CBS was full of crap, but CNN? They've always been reliable, trustworthy and accurate.

See y'all later I'm headed back to my padded room to bounce off the walls 'til the world makes sense again.

Headline Nooz

Since nothing really tickles the old fancy today I figured I'd run through the nooz headlines.

The courts have upheld the conviction of Gary Glitter, the British pedophile rocker with a thing for underage girls, for playing show and don't tell with several young girls at a seaside villa. He claims he was teaching them English, funny of all the euphemisms for sex I've never heard it called that before. Oh well, it looks like Old Gary gets a to spend several years in the pokey where he'll undoubtedly make several new friends who will be more than willing to teach him about going Greek. Hey Gary, when you meet Ben Dover opt for the KY without sand.

Man does it stink in here, who farted?

On the upside. Kate Moss will not be charged for trying to snort the entire countryside of England. Seems after getting their information from a Tabloid the police couldn't find enough supporting evidence to make the charges stick. Here I was thinking tabloids were the way to go. Oh well I guess I'd best cancel my subscription to the Enquirer, maybe not, I'd like to know how that whole story about the baby that was born a couple of weeks back with three testicles, four arms and a head shaped like a donkey. I hear he bears a striking resemblance to John Kerry. I of course blame Global Warming.

Man it really reeks in here. I'm thinking it somebody sharted. So far nobody's claimed it. Man the old wet farts suck, but they could at least have the decency to leave the room, 'specially since people are starting to gag.

Poor Brit Brit, she's on an emotional roller coaster. She admitted to being an "emotional wreck" on NBC's Today show. Gee, that's a surprise. Bit-Brit's never been noted to be the poster girl for mental stability has she? Sure she's better off than Angelina Jolie, but who isn't? Oh, she's blaming the pregnancy and the hormones, that's a big surprise. I'd always though pregnant women were a bastion of hormonal stability. I don't get it. Nothing makes sense, nothing. Up is down. Black is white. Right is wrong. Oh, look a happy pill. There that's better. The guy in the white jacket is super nice and always on time with the meds.

Nobody's claimed the shart yet. I'm thinking it's the goofing looking guy gnawing on a bag of Cheetos and banging away on the keyboard one handed. Wonder where is other hand..., never mind, his crotch is orange. He musta found that Midgets with Attitude site I bookmarked the other day. Wait, that's my reflection in the mirror. The mystery continues.

Finally a victory for the masses. Colorado Springs city council voted and overturned a law that was banning pigs inside the city limits. The basis of her argument: Her husband is a lot more messy, isn't nearly as cute and farts three times more than the piglet does. The city council then adjourned the meeting so they could get to Bubba's Barbecue Shack in time for the Pig Pickin'.

Somebody crack a window, spray something, anything, just get the damn rancid smell out of here. I'm pretty sure the culprit is the cute little blond across the isle. She looks pretty angry, like her panties are all knotted up or wet from where she sharted. Damned women, for some reason the have an uncanny ability to sneak out a fart that'll gag a maggot. But this time it bit her on the ass, kind of.

Oh, here's a surprise. Al-Qaida sought to start a war between the U.S. and Iran. Really, did they even need to print this? It's like saying Teddy Kennedy had too much to drink last night or Micheal Moore shut down another "All-You-Can-Eat" Chinese Buffet. Now if they'd found evidence that any of this had been false, well that'd be Pulitzer material.

And now for the battle Foreskin. Mom wants him cut. Dad doesn't. The child's mother wants him circumcised to prevent recurring, painful inflammation she says he's experienced during the past year. Here's a thought. How about teach junior the proper way to use soap and a wash cloth. Smegma bad. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Circumcision: You're either Foreskin or against it.

Well the cute blond is leaving. Perhaps my "come to phinny" look doesn't work so well after all. Good news though is the stench is dying down a bit. Really folks. If you don't learn anything else today just remember you an never trust a fart.

People Magazine has named it's Hottest Bachelors. Apparently sexual oreintation wasn't a factor as Taylor Hicks is the top pick. Expect to hear Agent Bedhead's angst filled screams when she sees Matthew McConaughey didn't make the list.

Why is it men fart and women "poot"? 'tis a double standard that should be done away with. There wasn't a damned thing dainty about the gaseous expulsion from that little blond and it left a good number of us gasping for air. Of course maybe it wasn't her, but that wouldn't explain the look of rage she was walking around with, unless she's frustrated, maybe I should send her that Pudding Wresting Midgets site I found the other day.

Well that about does it for me.
The happy pill is kicking in and the voices are quieting down.

This the end...

As the old saying goes all good things must come to an end.

I've been in meetings the past two days and the drive to the meeting location is about an hour. So with the down time in the meetings and the drive I've been given way too much time to think. The inner working of my mind is a pretty scary place and if I'm not preoccupied bad things can happen.

Really, when's the right time to pull the plug? Do you go out while you're still on top of your game in some dramatic fashion? Do you hold on to past glory exploiting every last bit of talent and name recognition you have?

Or when the meetings have finally bored you into action do you: a) Jam a pencil into your neck hoping you hit the jugular or b) fashion a noose from your tie and hang yourself from a desk drawer?

Me I'll probably go for the slow option c) which is to over indulge on Cheetos and Mountain Dew.

I'm not gay...

...but my boyfriend is.

Apparently Madam Sadie outted me in her interview with basil. Who knew the phrase "gay boyfriends" could wield so much power.

Well if prancing about in Stilettos and Fishnets as Judy Garland blares on my iPod while I'm waxing my eyebrows makes me gay feel free to slap me on the ass and call me Francis.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's back to the ab machine.

You don't get moves like those over night.

Image stolen from Mr. Atoz at Agent Bedhead.com.

Imagery

Ah yes, the joys of summer, aka swimsuit season, and after Eva Longoria wore her swimsuit to the VMA'a a while back the fashionistas have decided it's time to dress up the ladies beach wear.

Now I'm all for it, in some cases. As an appreciator of the female form nothing brings light to my pitted black shriveled up heart like attractive women in skimpy clothing. So naturally I was giddy when Fox had images to go along with their article.

Boy howdy was I in for some disappointment.

Nothing, these chicks, except for Eva, brought nothing to the table. Nothing in the front, nothing in the rear, nothing. If I wanted to look at chicks with no boobs who'd overdosed on that new miracle drug, noassatall, I'd don one of the wife's swimsuits and prance around in front of a mirror.

So I clicked away from the article disappointed and sad. Sad because J. Crew and the rest of the fashionistas aren't paying their models enough so they can eat. Perhaps a "Buy a Model a Sandwich" charity event should be planned, but right now I'm just too lazy dejected to do so.

If that wasn't enough imagery for you, you can always take a peek at Margaret Cho naked. Having anything to do with the Ms? Exotic World Pageant when Margaret Cho is on the list of people attending just got added to my not so much list. (It's easier than have a thing's I'll do list).

Boobage

Update: Now with sound.
Update #2: Even more sound.

Night Fever, Night Fever

I don't care what the critics say this guy doesn't hold a candle to the daily dancer.

Upon further review, I guess he does.

True Love

Because nothing says I love you like lopping off your penis.

Now that's what I've been doing wrong all these years. To think, I've been going with a simple apology and admitting that I'm an idiot.

With sooo much drama in the LBC...

MENLO PARK, California: A bunch of geeks get together for to fight in their parent's basements and are turning into "vicious street brawlers".

Of course, the more I think about it, the more I realize that watching two geeks in the fight might be as exciting as watching Melissa Theuriau and Angelina Jolie naked and wrestling in pudding*. If you took away the pudding and replaced Melissa Theriau and Angelina Jolie with eight year-old girls, except there may be more screaming, hair pulling and whining by the geeks.

The only way I could see it being interesting is if they threw and iPod in the mix, then all bets are off and we'd have a blood sport. Perhaps the geeks are just releasing all their pent up angst. Hell if you had to live in Bill Gates shadow you'd be angry too.

* If that sentence isn't google bait I don't know what is.

Battling Boredom

Seeing as Testor's Model Airplane Glue, Lead Flavored Doritos and many of my other favorite snacks aren't allowed at the new job I've been seeking out new ways to stave off boredom, you know, just a little something to break the monotony. Sure there are the old standbys of tossing pencils into the ceiling tiles or calling the president to ask if he has Prince Albert in a can, but those only work so many times (especially with caller id).

Sure I could write something to post here, but well, at five minutes of free time a clip, the posts would be too short. I'd thought about keeping a running tab of the topics that ran through my wee-little mind, but got scared about ten minutes into the exercise (I'm really starting to think Ritalin or some other ADD med may be called for).

I'd started bouncing a racket-ball off the walls of my office, but the ladies in the office next door told me I couldn't play with my balls, it didn't matter if I was in my office.

Darts made out of paperclips and tape, fired through a straw could be considered a weapon, especially when you dip the tips in ink and call it a neurotoxin.

So really, what do y'all do to battle boredom at the office?

Uberhot liberal chick of the day

Not wanting to leave my lefty reader(s), all one of them, out I've decided to post a picture of the scorching red hot liberal babe of the day.

Ms Susan Estrich

Sure she's no Melissa Theuriau, but she's among the best they've got to offer.

Up next a pillow fight at the DNC Headquarters between Madam Estrich and Senator Clinton.

Mission Impossible IIIV

The theme: finding a pair of chinos / khakis for somebody, namely me. I'd never considered myself to be an anomaly, a figment in the fashion world's imagination so it seems. Apparently I am.

For the past month, ever since accepting the new job, I've been improving my wardrobe. The missus and I have been steadily replacing my trusted jeans and t-shirts with button up shirts and chinos, well we've been trying too.

Judging by the sizes available the world is dominated by short fat men, at least that's what the fasionistas would have you believe. Really, it shouldn't take two months to find a pair of brown, plain front chinos, but it did. Now had I been a couple of inches shorter and or a couple of inches rounder it wouldn't have been a problem. Over twelve stores were searched for a pair of britches with 33" / 34" measurements.

Last night I finally conceded, admitted my defeat, and bought two pairs of 34" / 34"'s.

I'm thinking of starting a weekly ritual of strapping midgets to the rack and stretching the little rascals out. Perhaps with a couple more folks 6'3" and 170lbs I'd be able to find some pants that fit.

I bet I wouldn't have this problem if Melissa Theuriau ruled the world.

Speaking of sweet, sweet Melissa she's been notably absent from this blogs fair pages for all too long.

Penance

After a couple of comments on the Standing Naked in the Rain post below I realized that I'd made an error.

I lead my faithful readers astray and underlined the word natural for emphasis, not considering they'd feverishly click away expecting it to be a link.

Not one to anger my readers, you know I'm all about appeasement right, I figured I'd offer a consolatory picture.

I've kinda missed having Ms. Melissa Theuriau around here anyhoo.

Shocked

I can't believe that Brit-Brit and Katie-bear were dropped off the list of uber-hot chicks, unless they're being moved to the MILF list.

Yes the crack is freely flowing today.

Side Note: I knew I should have bought that "Britney's having my baby" t-shirt last summer. I coulda dusted it off once again. Damn, hindsight's always 20/20 ain't it?

Tasty Treats

So what's worse than finding a finger in your hamburger?

Finding a Jamaican in your Rum.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Man Down, Man Down...

Via 7Online (ABC News):

James Wilson has been camping out on the roof of his home and calling himself "not only the CEO and director of the National Association of Desperate Husbands," but "also a card-carrying member."
So what will it take to get the 33-year-old independent marketing consultant from Redford, Mich., to come back down?

"Well, it is going to take for my wife to finally give in and remove the children from our bedroom, put them in their rightful places, in their own bedroom," he said.

James Wilson and his wife, Valentina, have a 3-month-old daughter, Jayla, and a 2-year-old son, James III. Valentina Wilson says the children will remain sleeping in the marital bed for now.

"Wait until my daughter gets older and he can get the bedroom back to just us," she said.

James Wilson, who has been chronicling his woes on his website www.husbandonstrike.com, says the children are causing an intimacy issue, but his wife says that's not the case.

"We get all the intimacy we need, you know," Valentina Wilson said.

Valentina Wilson said she was prepared to let James stay up on the roof because she was confident that he would return home on his own.

"I think he will come around," she said. "It will get cold up there. He will miss us and will get hungry. He will come back home."

Her husband said that he chose the roof as his place for protest instead of simply hanging out at a friend's house because he wanted to grab his wife's attention.

"I just decided I didn't want to protest using any normal striking method," he said. "I wanted to be as unique as possible.

phin's blog Presents: Real Men of Genius
Today we salute you, Mr. Involuntarily Celibate Husband.
Mr. Involuntarily Celibate Husband

Camping out on your roof, calling attention to the needs of involuntarily celibate men everywhere.
Sexually Frustrated

Sure you had sex, and a lot of it, a year ago, but where's the love now.
Rosie palmer just ain't cuttin' it

Standing your ground, as president and sole member of the National Association of Desperate Husbands, you've called attention to your selfish needs, ensuring years of continued celibacy.
Flying solo in the shower

So stand your ground Mr. Involuntarily Celibate Husband, not coming down, 'til she'll go down. Perhaps the other members of the National Association of Desperate Husbands shall support your cause and join you in a masturbatory celebration. Until then claim your victories, sleeping alone, on your roof.
Mr. Involuntarily Celibate Husband

Real Men of Genius idea gratuitously stolen afer reading Joan's Mr. Snarky Blog Commenter

Psssssssst!

SOOPER SEEKRIT AGENT EXCLUSIVE!!!

This is Agent Bedhead reporting on covert Operation Phinlet. I have uncovered pictures of the real Phinlet, as opposed to those pictures of some adorable human child that the parents are showing off:

Doesn't he look like a certain Google-Chumming Fool?

Dreamscapes

It seems the old melon has reached critical mass, the synapses just ain't firing right, something's gone amiss and it's interfering with my typically warped amusements. This morning I woke up from a dream in a sweat and was already mentally exhausted, lemme tell ya, that's one helluva way to start the day out.

The dream was as real as any I can remember, typically I remember my dreams, but they're abstract, off the wall crap or a continuation of work (yeah I'm one of those freaks that writes code & algorithms in his sleep). The part I remember starts at one of the most seedy strip joints in the state, I know how seedy it is cause I've been in there a couple of times to check it out, research folks research, oh and a bachelor party or two. Well there I am almost at the entrance of the club trying to make a break for it, I'm headed anywhere but in that club and fast, but the missus has a different idea. She's sending me in on a mission.

Seems that her baby sister, the attractive twenty year-old living with us while she's in college, has decided to take up the performing arts, and I'm the one that's been designated to convince her otherwise. So there we are arguing, okay I'm whining, about why I shouldn't be the one to go in. My primary reasoning, I haven't seen the sister-in-law's boobages and I don't think it'll do anything for family harmony for me to see them now. The missus, being the saintly lady she is, feels it's my "brotherly duty" to get her out of the club, no matter how many years of therapy it'll take to get over it. I keep bitching, "but I haven't seen her chesticles, and I don't think it's a good idea for me to see them now". Over and over I kept telling her that, finally she snaped and yelled at me, "DAMN IT IF YOU'VE SEEN ONE PAIR OF TITS YOU'VE SEEN THEM ALL".

With that bit of sulking, I did what any reasonable man would do, I tucked tail and walked into the establishment. The whole while I remember being afeared that I was gonna get a gander at her mammaries and they were gonna be engrained into my memories. Terrible folks, it's a damned terrible feeling. So I'm making my way through the club, the chicks are still unattractive (yeah, I'm troubled by that too, you'd think they would all look like Melissa Theuriau and Faith Hill, but no these chicks were nasty, fugly even) until I find the sister-in-law, who's getting ready to go on stage.

She's pissed 'cause I'm making a scene, not that I'd ever make a scene, 'specailly in a strip club, but finally she listens to reason. We're making our exit and the guys in the club start tossing beer bottles because I'm leaving with the only attractive chick in the joint. We get outside and the missus is pissed at me "because I took too damned long" and that's when I woke up.

Really folks, I'm starting to think that living in a house full of women is driving me batty. The most disturbing part of this, to me at least, is the ugly stripper part. I mean sure they're not the most attractive girls, but I was DREAMING. Damn it, I think I've got to turn in my man card, or perhaps head back to the Cheetah in Vegas, to refresh my memory on the intricacies of the performing arts. If I'm not willing to make that sacrifice to help pay some poor girl's college tuition who is?

Seekrit Agent LLamas...

The title of this post should be sung to the tune of Johnny River's: Seekrit Agent Man.

Via The World Tribune:

TEL AVIV - Israel's military has found the perfect vehicle for special operations forces: the llama.

Steve, Robert, I, ummm, hate to be the bearer of bad news, really I do, but, I don't really think this is what LMC meant when he said y'all should go commando.

After extensive tests, the uncomplaining work-horse animals were found to easily out-perform donkeys. What's more, they need refuelling only every other day.

Is anyone really surprised by this? What animal wouldn't out-perform a jackass? As I've been saying all along, we should put the LLamas in charge of political reform and French Nooz correspondence.

Military sources said the Israel Army plans to use llamas for reconnaissance and combat missions in enemy territory, Middle East Newsline reported. They described the llama as ideal for special operations missions in Lebanon against the Iranian-sponsored Hizbullah.

This is all well and good, until Steve-O gets his hooves on the Testor's model airplane glue and starts thinking he's the Queen of Sheba, again.

"The llama is a quiet and disciplined animal that can carry huge loads," a military source said. "Vehicles make noise and need roads and fuel. We've tried donkeys and they are not suitable for such missions."

Quiet? Are we talking F-15 taking off quiet or Jenna Jameson mid-orgasm quiet? Good news is either way their constant bouts of flatulance should go virtually undetected. Disciplined? Sure if you don't mind chatting away about Naval history (how long has belly button lint been an issue anyhow?) and Muzac.

The sources said the army has been training special forces to conduct low-signature ground missions in enemy territory. In January, llamas were employed in a special forces exercise in the Golan Heights.

The exercise employed a scenario in which a special operations unit entered Lebanon or Syria for reconnaissance and sabotage. During the exercise, the llamas carried more than 50 kilograms of equipment over mountainous terrain.

Evidently the Isralies haven't seen how testy good Ole Robbo gets when he encounters Maryland drivers, heaven help 'em when he's performing cover operations in a nation full of taxi drivers. If you think Robbo pitched a bitch about knocking item's of his wife's "honey-do" list wait 'til you strap 50 Kilos of anything other than pure Florida snow to his back.

The army plans to train a force of llamas to carry up to 100 kilograms of equipment and supplies, the sources said. They said this would ease the burden on troops and enable special operations forces to focus on combat or reconnaissance.

Yeah, good luck with that, as the saying goes, you can't teach and Old LLama new tricks and Steve-O did turn Forty a couple of weeks back. What's the average life-expectancy of a LLama anyway?

The sources said donkeys also participated in the Golan Heights exercise. They said the donkeys did not perform as well and required much more food than llamas.

And this was a shock because Michael Moore, Cindy Sheehan and Hillary Clinton are prime examples of Jackasses in peek physical condition.

More as this heart-wrenching non-story about two LLamas desires to find love and acceptance in the Middle Eastern Outback develops.

Holy Hell Steve-O put some damned drawers on.

Hat-tip: To My Pseudo-Yankee Brother.

Snippets from a random e-mail conversation

phin: So how do you like your coffee? I like my coffee like I like my women.

Theresa: I am so afraid to answer that question. HOW do you like your women and your coffee?

phin: You know it kind of depends on my mood.
        Some days it's black and strong.
        Other days it's hot and wet.
        But most days it's ground up and in the freezer.

I quit

I'm done.

My work here is complete.

All played out.

Finished.

Fed Up.

Game Over.

Kaput.

Defunct.

Sincerely,

Your Stapler

Piece of crap, it's only ten years old and it's giving up the ghost.
WTF is wrong with Swingline when they can't make a stapler that'll last longer than ten years?

They took my stapler.

I think I've got that too

It should come of no surprise to you, dear readers, that I get great joy from toying with people. Give me an easy target and I'll keep myself entertained for hours. The other day I had to head to the vet for a checkup and to get a 'script to do battle with a sinus infection I've had for a couple of days. Seeing as I had a sinus infestation I wasn't feeling so hot, I was pretty sure that my head was going to explode, but that didn't keep me from striking up a conversation with the Hypochondriac in the waiting room.

I'll admit that I shouldn't have done it, but Hypochondriacs have always amused me, 'specially somebody that comes well prepared, as in Physicians Desk Reference (PDR) in hand with color coded tags hanging out. The way she was coughing you'd have sworn she'd been shacked up with ebola and tuberculosis ridden love monkeys for the past six months, hell she didn't look so hot either.

I'm being my normal charming self and I strike up a conversation, we chat a bit while we're waiting, mainly about her ailments and the many infestations she's fighting with. If she's as infected as she thinks any minute now she'll be paying a visit to the Flying Spaghetti Monster. In situations such as these there are two types of people those that help, and those that don't. I happen to be one of the latter.

As we talked she rattled off her symptoms and I made mental notes of them, how could I not she was coughing, gagging and wheezing between each and every word, not to mention the vivid descriptions constipation, diarrhea, vomiting spells, feeling faint, light headed and dizzy. She rattled off three or four various infectious diseases, rubella and measles being two of the possible ailments, which she was certain, she was infected with. So I seized the moment, as I slowly repeated her symptoms back to her verbatim caused and let her know that a roommate of mine in college had the exact same symptoms she has and that he'd picked up an infection from the bacteria Treponema pallidum¹.

Now this go her attention and she dug through her PDR trying to find the bacteria and it wasn't listed. We discussed the treatment that my roommate had received and how it had only taken a month, two tops for him to get better. Then the nurse then walked into the waiting room and called my name so I had to run before I could tell her that Treponema pallidum is the bacteria that causes Syphilis.

Really I was gonna tell her.

Honest I was.

Oh well, maybe the doc found it humorous too.

¹Before anyone starts thinking I'm intelligent; the only way I knew the name of the bacteria is because I was reading an article explaining how syphilis is one the rise. I really need to talk to my doc about getting better reading materials, perhaps FHM or Maxim.

Learning 'sperience

In a pinch polyurethane can be substituted for Testor's model airplane glue.

Not that I'd recommend it, because, um, huffing should be left to the professionals.

Killin' Kittens

At Confederate Yankee, my older and sometimes wiser brother's blog, the following comment was left:

...would any of you withdraw your support for Mr. Bush if he killed a kitten with a carpenter's hammer?

Now I'm not sure why it struck me as funny, hell I've been laughing about it for a good while now. I'm not real sure if it's the assinine nature of the question or the thought of President Bush playing Wack-A-Mole with moving targets, either way, I'm amused. Now don't get me wrong, I like cats, they taste just like chicken, but what the hell has killing kittens got to do with running a country and keeping me safe from terrorists? I mean it's pretty obvious that boinking fatgirls in the oval office doesn't accomplish much so why not sacrifice a few warm fuzzies in the name of homeland defense?

Really when you think about the number of kittens being smited on a daily basis due to hormone riddle teens:

What are a few more to ensure the happiness of our beloved Kommander In Chief and for goodness sake, THINK ABOUT THE KITTENS!

From the comments: Recommended listening the Kitten Song by Stephen Lynch.

What a way to go

Via MTV News: Isaac Hayes checked into a Memphis, Tennessee, hospital on Tuesday night due to exhaustion.

Ya know if I had his voice, coupled with my charm, wit, good looks and humility, I'm nothing if I'm not humble, I'd have died from exhaustion a long, long time ago.

Question Time

So dear readers, have you ever experienced and orgasm so intense that your eyes roll back, your toes curl, your knees buckle, you slip, then hit your head on the toilet and knock yourself out?

Only to be discovered by your wife some time later, lying naked and unconscious on your bathroom floor.

Yeah, me neither.

Cold hearted

Do you ever get the feeling that your life just isn't complete? Like there's something else out there, something better, with purpose calling you. If you could just shed the daily work routine that "the man" is forcing you to keep your life would once again have meaning. Yeah, me too.

These feeling have been getting stronger over the past several months. At first I figured it was boredom, hell I've been at my current place of employment for almost ten years. Then I figured it might be an early mid-life crisis. So a while back I sat down with the missus and talked to her about wanting to make a change. How if I could just pursue a different career that I was sure my life would once again have purpose.

Well evidently she's been talking to The Mind Fuhrer because my request to open an interpretive dance studio was dismissed with extreme prejudice in a fit of laughter, with no regard for my feelings. Between her fits of laughter and gasps for air she mumbled something about me being "too white" and that I had all the rhythm and grace of and epileptic opossum, mid seizure.

She's cold hearted folks; she just took my hopes and dreams and crushed them.

Hula-hoop Principal

I'm not the most private person in the world. I'm pretty much open to anything, well almost anything, at least once (maybe twice if I like it), yet there's once thing I can't handle. It's a close talker. You know the guy or girl that feels compelled to bump fuzzies while trying to carry on a conversation.

Hell I dont' get that close to my wife on a regular basis, well I used to, but now there's alien growing in her belly and well there isn't much getting close without chants of, YOU DID THIS TOO ME. Anyhoo, while at the local Home Depot earlier this week I encountered a close talker. This guy I'd never met, and mistakenly asked the location of underlayment for tile, was invading my space and just before receiving a serious smack down, if you can SMELLLLL what the phin is cooking. I'd take a step back and he'd step forward, I was weaving he was bobbing, I'd zig he'd zag. The whole time I could tell that he'd had something heavily laden in garlic for breakfast and hadn't remembered his Certs.

This guy's dragon breath is getting too me; he's chatting away like we're old friends and I'm trying not to upchuck into his shirt pocket. Now most folks would probably step away, yet it was about five minutes into the conversation I realized that I wasn't gonna be civil about it. He'd declared chemical warfare and I was prepared to do battle. So I snuck out the post putrid fart ever known to man kind, hell I was about to gag from the aroma, and held him captive.

About two seconds into the onset he tried to step away, yet I asked another question (the damage to my sinuses had already been done), thus forcing the Homey Depot employee to answer another, more detailed question and to enjoy the aromatic qualities of the previous nights dinner. Now I could see this poor saps mind churning, trying to find a way to back out politely, yet I wasn't buying it. He'd zig, I'd zag, soon I had him cornered and fired off round two. About this time I was having trouble keeping a straight face and was biting so hard on my bottom lip I could taste blood, yet I persevered, he had to be taught a lesson. So I detained him for a couple minutes more until he'd served his sentence.

Now before you go getting all high and mighty, calling me uncouth and preaching about manners; this entire episode could have been avoided had Mr. Close Talker stayed out of the three foot zone of my personal space, thereby adhering to the Hula-hoop principal. I'm also never entering the flooring section of the local Home Depot without tic-tacs ever again.

Gingered Spam Salad

I realize 'bout half of what I eat isn't on most folks list of normal dinning, but a Spam Salad, Gingered or not, just don't sound right. Sounds almost putrid if'n you ask me.

Nope, round my house Spam shalln't touch any veggies unless they're fried.

Those Lonely Scottish Nights

Q: Why do Scotsmen wear Kilts.
A: So the sheep don't hear the zippers.

Yet when MuttonBone.com closed down millions of sheepish teens lost their place of refuge on the interweb.

Fret no more me laddies.
I've found just the thing (Probably Not Safe for Work) for those long, cold, lonely nights.

To the Scots in the crowd, no hard feelings.
Really, Love Ewe, mean it.
No bones about it, I feel baaaaaad about my comments.

Survivor: Compton

Armhold Swartzenhopper has decided not to commute good ol' Tookie Williams's sentence.

In other new Jeff Probst, host of CBS's award winning game show Survivor, will be traveling a shorter distance to get to work next season. For the first time in the shows history it will be held in the continental United States, primarily on the streets of Compton a Los Angeles, California suburb.

Should the expected riots continue longer than a follow up season, Survivor: Inglewood may follow.

Phin Beware!

Scientists have just discovered an Ancient Godzilla which was actually a marine crocodile with a dinosaur-like head and a fish-like tail that likely terrorized the Pacific Ocean 135 million years ago.

As he was discovered in Argentina he has also been dubbed: "the 'chico malo' -- 'bad boy' of the ocean."

These things are so cool to me.

ACK!

Look what I just found in Phin's closet:

Shall I flush it down the toilet?

Clarification please

Why do the major news outlets' keep referring to the teenaged boys that have had "relations" with their hot, blonde teachers as permanently damaged?

Don't they realize that during the teen years a male would have sex with a rattlesnake given half the chance?

Let's call them what they are, lucky SOB's living out most teen's dreams.

I'm not Imaginary...

Just a friendly reminder to Ruth and Chrissy that I'm not a figment of their imaginations.

I may be transparent.
But Imaginary not a chance.

Random thought

Why do the kind folks at classmates.com think their incessant pop-up ads are going to make me want to contact people I haven't talked to in over ten years? There's a reason I haven't kept in contact with them, they're beneath me. Anyhoo I do keep in contact with the captain of the football team, he picks up the garbage every Tuesday.

No I'm not an elitist, I'm just better than everybody else.

I could have been a contender!

I'm a bit disheveled, frantic as Francis might say as he sashays across the room.

Just like Steve, I could have been a contender in the Blogger Babe competition, 'cept my invitation entry form picture got lost in the mail.

My esteemed colleague noticed how upset we were at being left out and tried to console us, she's such a sweetheart. I can't help but feel must have been my trembling voice keystrokes that gave me away.

What do you expect after sobbing for hours when you realize you aren't in the running for King of Cotillion.

As an aside I'd have never chosen that picture of me since it makes my cheeks look a bit chubby. I prefer this pic:

Where I'm modeling my favorite gimp mask.

Present mood

I've debated off an on about putting one of the "My present mood is" type thingamadohickys in one of the sidebars for a while. The only problem is I haven't found a site with expressions I'd like to use.

When I woke up the words to this song were in my head and it did a pretty good job of describing the tone for today. Maybe there's one floating around that says: "My present mood is: slightly paranoid with a bit of psychosis mixed in."

If there is I sure as hell haven't been able to find it.

A fascination of sorts

I've been following Theresa's Once Upon a Time series of posts(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4 which I'd highly recommend by the way), and I realized just how severe my issues are. It's not like the nervous tick or voices in my head, those I can deal with, it's my fascination with food*.

Unknowingly she's provided an escape from an otherwise hectic day at the office, well maybe she does know it; however as I'm reading her stories I'm able to visualize the place she's been and remember the time I've spent on the left coast.

I can almost taste the fish tacos I had while roaming around San Diego and Tijuana. Go ahead and scoff at the idea, you're missing out on one of the few delicacies Southern California has to offer.

I'm damn near drooling at the thought of them right now.

For the real thing you can't order the fish tacos you would at a restaurant either. It's the street vendors who hold the key to your flavoristic orgasm. Having trouble visualizing a taco stand? Think New York Hotdog cart, then add a cheap charcoal grill and fresh fillets of the daily catch to the mix and there you have it.

Freshly grilled fish with a bit of lime juice, shredded cabbage, the ranch-type topping and you're in for a treat. In the words of Stewie: it's like an orgy in for your mouth.

I'd give just about anything for a couple of those damned tacos right now.

* For those of you wondering the pudding fetish is a separate issue all together.