Archive for July, 2009

Gov’t suspends Cash for Clunkers program because it is running out of money.

This is exactly what so many of us are thinking.

“If they can’t administer a program like this, I’d be a little concerned about my health insurance,” car salesman Rob Bojaryn said.

The medical system has been built up over the years to what it is today.  It would be pure hubris to think that just a few hundreds o congress-critters could make sense of it, come up with a fix, and steer it in the right direction without breaking it.

It is equivalent to “fixing” any muslim country’s society – and I refer to the ones that support honor killings, stonings, beheadings, torture in jails, and call for the extermination of other countries.  Good luck fixing the entire complex mess.


Another sack of shi… hammers award goes to artists that are able to express their fetishes and mental sicknesses in a “socially acceptable” way – through paintings and sculpture that are increasingly funded by extortion money – money taken from you, by the gov’t, and given to artists whose work would not be supported in any way because most people see no intrinsic worth in it.

This is not to say that the “art” in Eureka Springs, Arkansas is supported by the NEA.   I’m just ranting up to this point.

No, what bothers me is that artists create some pretty intentionally offensive crap and expect others to keep their mouths shut.  They claim that any negative criticism is “suppression of their free speech”.

Exhibit A is a painting of Alice in Wonderland, by Beth Post of Fayetteville, Ark. Titled “The Temptation of Alice,” it is a rendering of the iconic children’s book character alongside the “Drag-Queen of Hearts,” a man wearing women’s lingerie. The two of them are surrounded by rabbits that are, ahem, busy making more rabbits.

Well, naturally a small town that depends on tourism would care about their image.

Its first exhibit revolved around the theme of fruits and vegetables, which was well-received, according to city council member Joyce Zeller. But the new exhibit is no bowl of cherries, she said. “It’s just this year that the subject matter got offensive, and we started getting phone calls. We said, ‘Wow we need to do something.’”

Eureka Springs survives on tourism — more than 1 million people visit the town every year, Zeller said — so the city elders are very concerned about image.

The city wants to scrutinize the “art” by a six member panel before it goes up.  Artists are bitching.

But not everyone is happy with that arrangement. The idea of policing artwork encroaches on the quality of the art and constitutional rights of the artists, some critics are saying.

“You’ll end up with a billboard rather than art,” explained Nancy Foggo, a local artist. “It’s something that is commercial rather than artwork.”

Another local artist, John Rankine, says those who are offended by the current paintings need to “lighten up a little bit.”

“The art is a little provocative,” he said. “It’s nothing you have to shield your children from in horror.”

Besides, says Buchanan, the project’s creator, deciding what is appropriate is subjective: “Depending on your emotional background, you could see something offensive in your spaghetti,” she said.

What they invariably fail to realize is that by not wanting their stuff displayed no one has trampled on their rights.  They just don’t want the crap displayed there.  We have obscenity standards that have been upheld time and time again in public.  This is no different.

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Until now.

A fat corpulent beady-eyed disgusting pig he is, too.

Fat Corpulent Pig

Fat Corpulent Pig (image: Reuters)

His latest work of fiction?

Capitalism: A Love Story


Moore seen here relaxing at home after a long day of telling lies.

Stay tuned for the Euro-sycophants to cozy up and rub against his legs in an orgiastic frenzy.  Then keep watching as their doppelgangers in the US do the same.


I’m in a mood here, folks…  The Politico has it right.  In the whole Gates blowup, the only one that acted responsibility yet is taking a lot of sh*t is the lady who called in a robbery.


Anyone who does not believe that the democrats aren’t bucking for a Socialist state really must be blind and brain damaged.

Pelosi lashes out against insurance companies

U.S. House of Representatives Speaker Nancy Pelosi on Thursday ramped up her criticism of insurance companies, accusing them of unethical behavior and working to kill a plan to create a new government-run health plan.

Every single time a democrap opens his/her mouth it is to attack capitalism (see Corpulent Pig above).  They attack a business of any stripe for being successful because they know that they can exploit a sympathetic ear that be found among many of the recipients of their (stolen) largess;  Tese people are more than primed and ready to believe that life would be fair, happy, studded with rainbows, rides on unicorns would be free for the asking, and that all those things were taken from them.  By successful people.  Rich people.  Successful companies.

And Reuters is just the news agency to help push the agenda.

Democraps are claiming that any resistance to their idea of a socialistic nirvana is purely the result of greedy evil intent rather than a sharp divide borne of deep philosophical differences.


Speaking of bloated pigs whose very existence is somehow insulting, how about the National Endowment for the Arts?

The National Endowment for the Arts may be spending some of the money it received from the Recovery and Reinvestment Act to fund nude simulated-sex dances, Saturday night “pervert” revues and the airing of pornographic horror films at art houses in San Francisco.

That’s where I want my tax dollars, all right.

A few of their more risque choices have some taxpayer advocates hot under the collar, including a $50,000 infusion for the Frameline film house, which recently screened Thundercrack, “the world’s only underground kinky art porno horror film, complete with four men, three women and a gorilla.”

I went to the NEA website under “media arts”, not “porn” – note that NPR is listed but you’re hard pressed to find a conservative equivalent.  And YES, NPR is as liberal as you can get.

As I did a listing by state, time and time again, the coastal liberal states got the lion’s share, while more conservative states got few if any.

Did you know your tax dollars are being given to people based on their ideology?

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Candy is Good for You.

The article headline shouts out:

Blue M&Ms May Reduce Spinal Injuries

Yeah, how about that?  Cure your spinal injury by eating 50lbs of M&M’s immediately after your car accident.   Let me know how that works.

The dye used in blue M&Ms and Gatorade can reduce damage from a spine injury? University of Rochester Medical Center researchers found that rodents with spinal cord injuries were able to walk with a limp after being injected with Brilliant Blue G. The only side effect? They temporarily turned blue.


Well, maybe candy isn’t good for you.

TAMPA, Fla. —  Tampa authorities say a 4-year-old girl was treated in a hospital after eating candy that was tainted with Oxycontin

Holy CRAP!

Authorities say deputies found several pills mixed in with the Skittles, and say the bag had been resealed. Airport police Chief Paul Sireci says officers pulled about 30 bags of Skittles off store shelves as a precaution.


Vanity get thee to my bathroom or behind me, either one.

I’ve heard of backroom butt-jobs with silicone before – sometimes using the silicone picked up at the local hardware store.

Total kidney failure and critical on life support.  Do either of the two outcomes that the idiots earned seem worthwhile?  Is a still-lumpy butt worth it?

Now, along with her probation, Lindsay will have to make restitution to her victims, Andrea Nicole Lee, 30, and Zakiya Thema Teagle, 34, who each spent three weeks at Town & Country Hospital with renal and liver failure.

As they both recover, and their story continues to be plastered on message boards across the Internet, women are still looking for hookups to up-size their backsides.


Chip Bok has a fantastic cartoon that expresses what I hope a lot of voters are waking up to…

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Twilight Draws Nigh.

An astute co-worker (Capricious Halfbreed) found this today.  No idea where it came from but the artist is a master of orchestrating the absurd.  If you aren’t a movie buff, you won’t get it.

twiiiiiilight is about to end****

I know it is Britain, but aren’t we jumping the hysteria gun just a bit?

A city council said Saturday it was considering using underground burial chambers, currently a tourist attraction, to store the corpses of swine flu victims if the pandemic worsens.

He said: “We have some empty catacombs in an old cemetery in the city. These are 19th century underground burial chambers which are normally a tourist attraction,” he said.

“They can, however, be safely used for their original purpose and allow us to temporarily store bodies in the remote possibility that the need should arise.”


The guy is admittedly pretty smart, but Cohen is also pretty damned stupid, too.

al-Aqsa Martyr’s brigade was offended by his movie.

I’m not saying terrorists get a free pass but this was just not bright.


Got Mooka-Cola?

Gross.  Just gross.


They’ll need to pass out Dramamine ™ patches before the show, but not for the reason you think.  Asteroids, the Movie.


A rose by any other name…

Read this article – it talks about not using the word “retarded” in the house health coverage bill.

Am I being insensitive when I say that it’s ridiculous to change a word when someone in 20 years is going to then be offended by the new description/word of choice?

Look at all the terms for individuals of dark skin color… it’s changed so many times you have to check the papers to find the word of the day.

Pick any word to describe a *perceived* less equitable situation or condition that afflicts someone and at some point someone is going to decide that it is harsh and we should pick a fresh word, one that carries less meaning, less negative imagery.

We might as well get rid of functionally descriptive terms altogether lest we (1) waste time, and (2) offend someone.


Another astute co-worker, ID10T Killer, had this link to share.  Why, yes, you DO need an ID to buy a pizza cutter.

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This cool.  WAY too cool.

I’d buy the guy a beer and dinner in a heartbeat.  Many thanks to Fox news for running this AP article.

Video Shows California Man Saving Girl from Burning SUV

Thursday, July 23, 2009

The California Highway Patrol is calling a Southern California man a hero for rescuing a 3-year-old girl from a burning vehicle on a Los Angeles-area freeway.

John McDonald of West Covina was driving on Interstate 10 in El Monte Wednesday when he saw an overturned sports utility vehicle engulfed in flames.

Video footage shows him running to help as three people who escaped the burning SUV ran away. The CHP says the driver of the SUV shouted that her granddaughter was still inside, and McDonald went in to pull the girl out.

Both were treated for minor injuries.

McDonald told KABC-TV he jumped into action because he felt it was “something that needed to be done.”

Way too cool.

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Speaking of rabbit holes and how deep they can go.  The Washington Examiner has a gold nugget…

“If there’s a blue pill and a red pill, and the blue pill is half the price of the red pill and works just as well, why not pay half price for the thing that’s going to make you well?” — President Obama

In last night’s press conference, President Obama seemed to be reliving that famous scene from The Matrix. The main character is offered a choice between a red pill that makes him see reality for what it is, and a blue pill that allows him to continue living in a pleasant world of illusions.  – David Fredosso, The Washington Examiner

Take the red pill, you moron.

Health care boehnerchart

An alert co-worker (Mews) sent me this link:


He had this to say:

I’m lost for words….  The first two paragraphs sum up the stupidity.

I’d point out this sentence in particular:
It’s pretty obvious from this whose side we’re on. We’re on the side of people who are suffering…  – Mark Brewer, the party chairman, during a news conference at Democratic headquarters in Lansing

Raise the minimum wage by 35% as mentioned in the news article and you’ll see all the small businesses that have to lay off more people to swell the ranks of the suffering.

It’s pretty obvious how self-serving that sentence is.  Whenever we decide to rob Peter to pay Paul, we can always count on the support of Paul.

He gets the “Silly Rabbit, Tricks are for Whores” award of the year.


According to the democrats this is thei raison d’être, whereas I see it as not the end but the means to gain power.  They are quite skilled at using people.  But when you basic assumption is that the little people need your help and cannot possibly help themselves in mind or deed it means that you must, for the higher good, manipulate them.  And help yourself to the cake as you go because, after all, you should get high compensation for high calling.


Obama had to weigh in and add fuel to the fire.  Never mind what the officer’s report shows, which is completely reasonable if you are a cop, given the sh*t you have to put up with (thank you, to all you policemen out there – my brother and nephew are cops).

WASHINGTON – President Barack Obama said Wednesday that police acted “stupidly” in the arrest of prominent black scholar Henry Louis Gates Jr. and that despite racial progress blacks and Hispanics are still singled out unfairly for arrest.  source here

Obama then says:

Obama called Gates a friend, and said he doesn’t know all the facts of the case. Nonetheless, Obama said, anyone would have been angry if treated the way Gates claims police in Cambridge, Mass., treated him.

Responding to the story – I don’t care if you have proof of being in your home or not.  If you have gotten to the point where you are yelling and screaming at the cop trying to do his job and refusing to listen – and – causing a disturbance… that’s called “being an asshole” and there are police who don’t take kindly to that kind of mistreatment.  Go figure.

But my take home lesson?  Obama doesn’t know all the facts of the case yet feels qualified to weigh in on the matter.  Why?  Because the man is “a friend” and black.

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No, not spin doctors.  These guys have gone a step further.

White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel told The New York Times Obama intends to use the news conference as a “six-month report card,” to talk about “how we rescued the economy from the worst recession” and the legislative agenda moving forward, including health care and energy legislation.

I’m sure the nearly 15% of the folks unemployed in Lane County, Oregon feel pretty darned safe now that Obamessiah and Rahm-it-through have rescued the economy.

The arrogance is shocking.

The ability of the left to ignore reality is heartbreaking.

From the PatriotPost:

“You know, for a Democrat, [Sonia Sotomayor] has a pretty conservative record. Very much in the mainstream. In fact, on a lot of criminal law issues, you could say that she’s more conservative than some members of the Supreme Court, including Justice Scalia, perhaps.” –NPR’s Nina Totenberg

Whatever she’s smoking, it must be good.

Look in the mirror: “Well, six months after President Obama took office, a lot of sociologists and analysts believe that harsh political discourse against him really amped up and people started to push the boundaries of what might be considered decency. From talk radio to those tea parties that we saw with some pretty offensive signs folks were holding, even in the presence of children. The anger has certainly intensified.” –MSNBC’s Tamron Hall, who apparently missed the Left’s frothing hatred for the Bush administration

Amazing when you listen to all the “teabagging” comments from the Left.

“[T]he media in the States is much more to the right. I mean there is almost no liberal outlet for news commentary or editorializing.” –former Air America talk-show host Janeane Garofalo

This is gobsmackingly clueless and has no basis in reality.

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New global hysteria to nudge Globular Worming out of the spotlight.  It’s just as valid of a theory.  We are going to see a full solar eclipse.  Doom!  Destruction!  Death!  Mega-wedgies!

three-quarter partial eclipse.

Three-quarter partial eclipse.

This week’s solar eclipse has Indian astrologers predicting violence and turmoil across the world, AFP reported.

In Hindu mythology, the two demons Rahu and Ketu are said to “swallow” the sun during eclipses. It takes the life-giving life and causes food to become inedile and water undrinkable, AFP reported.

Mothers-to-be are told to stay inside so their baby doesn’t develop birth defects and some are worried a major world catastrophe will take place.

Raj Kumar Sharma, a Mumbai astrologer, told AFP, “some sort of attack by (Kashmiri separatists) Jaish-e-Mohammad or Al Qaeda on Indian soil” and a devastating natural disaster in Southeast Asia.

But, scientists and astronomers are trying to downplay the claims, saying Wednesday’s eclipse is a nature occurrence.


While threats aren’t the thing to be spouting, someone has to see how ridiculous this is.

An Ohio man, fed up with deceptive junk mail, made the mistake of losing his temper while on the phone with a St. Louis company pitching an extended auto-service contract. Now he finds himself behind bars, where he is charged with making a terrorist threat.

According to court documents, Charles W. Papenfus, 43, allegedly told a sales representative during a May 18 telephone call that he would burn down the building and kill the employees and their families. He was indicted for making a terrorist threat, a Class D felony; and he could be sentenced to up to four years in prison if convicted.

But this boils my blood:

Authorities would not discuss facts of the case, but one official said that business practices of a telemarketing firm shouldn’t be a factor.

“I think all sorts of people get frustrated with all sorts of businesses,” said Ed Postawko, chief warrant officer in the Circuit Attorney’s Office. “The solution is to don’t patronize that business, it’s not to break the law. … Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

And why shouldn’t telemarketing business practices be a factor? They use my phone (that I pay for) without my permission to do their job and disturb me in my own home.

Nah, nothing wrong here.

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I’m going to try to lay out the vacation better than I have so far.  I have just not felt well enough to do so until now.  We’ll go backwards through the story.  It is a well known literary device called “going backwards through the story” and is used when all other flashes of inspiration fail utterly.

Seattle:  Part Deux.

We left my father’s house in a flurry of suitcases which were packed so tightly that the addition of a single crazy straw would have created miniature black holes and torn the fabric of the space-time continuum.  Seven nearly-black-holes were safely packed in the back of our rental car and we were on our way.

That rental car, by the way, is one of the single biggest reasons for economic upturn, costing over $1,000 for two weeks.  Ow.  But we did our part.

Our drive north towards Seattle was rather dull.  It was spiced up a bit by my continued wheezing and gasping for breath.  I sounded like a veteran Darth Vader impersonator and scared the kids silly.

As mentioned in an earlier post, we stopped off at Albany, Oregon to go to the ER.  Albany is better than Deliverance, but still has that certain air about it that causes one’s senses to cry out in alarm.  Possibly this is because of the pulp mill.

I shuffled into the ER and said “(wheeze) I feel horrible (rattle) and am (wheeze) having trouble (gasp) breathing…”  In a near-state of laid-back panic they rushed me into triage where I sat next to this little clock sign with a cartoon rooster that said “Back in 15 minutes”.  Fifteen minutes later the nurse waddled in and began with the important questions – do you have insurance, ID, note from your mother, proof of citizenship (can be waived if you are president), and a DNA registry number?   I had some of them and presented them for her myopic review.

I was passed through the Portals of Well-Being and led to a bed.  The nurse there assisted me in putting on a hospital gown that looked suspiciously like a Thneed from Dr. Seuss’s The Lorax.  It wasn’t scratchy at all so it is possible it actually was from a Truffula Tree, which is unusual, even in Oregon.

The nurse carefully looked me over for places to put electrodes and promptly slapped them on whatever part had the most hair – maybe she had a dual major in Nursing/Waxing.

I explained that I couldn’t breathe and was having tingling/numbness in my fingertips and that I was beyond exhausted.  I actually was able to relax a tiny bit in the bed which is very nice considering they are normally made from gravel and bone fragments.  She turned on the monitors and set the volume for the most pleasing setting where the monitor sounds go <BONK> <BONK><CRASH><WHEE!-WHEE!-WHEE!> at irregular intervals.  I was lucky – the sound from the bed next to me was that of machine guns punctuated by the screaming of livestock in a slaughter yard.  The guy’s moaning did me no favors, either.  Geez, get a room, willya?

A half hour later the doctor came by, read the chart, asked me the exact same questions by rote, yawned, and then ignored everything I told him.  He suggested a nebulizer treatment – which didn’t seem necessary to me because everything was quite nebulous already, thank you.  It looked like a gigantic medical hookah, and was steaming and puffing all over the place.  I admit I did get a little excited when I saw that it definitely looked SteamPunk – brass, wood, and leather all over.

To my great surprise it worked.  I could breathe again, which was a mixed blessing because of the way Albany smells, but I decided to make the best of it – we were to be leaving Albany as soon as possible.

We left Albany after another hour wait at the local witch-doctor/pharmacy for an inhaler, some rooster charms, and some round clear pills that looked like fish eggs.

Four child-entertaining-but-adult-IQ-draining DVD’s later we found ourselves in Kent, Washington.  If you’ve never been there, Kent is one of those towns where they drink the beer and then eat the glass.  We got settled into our hotel easily enough and then set about to find a Denny’s for a midnight dinner in a town where everyone seemed to have fresh stitches somewhere on their body.  FrankenStein boy seemed to fit in nicely.

We found a Denny’s and bought a meal that would be familiar to any parent of young children – waffles and cheese sandwiches that weren’t even touched and two adult meals that were covered in congealed grease.  I ate with gusto since I hadn’t had a meal in four days.  It was fantastic until the second-to-last bite when the congealed grease staged a revolt in my lower intestine.

Back at the hotel we whipped the kids silly with SpongeBob toys and pillows until they stayed in bed and then collapsed on our own bed.  Our flight left at 4:30pm the next day so rushing wasn’t necessary.  Rushing would not have worked out well anyway as I was winded every time I had to use the stairs – two steps (wheeze wheeze cough… wait) – two more steps (wheeze wheeze cough… wait).  You get the idea, but it was ever so much worse when I had to carry nearly-black-hole-luggage.  I should be clear here and note that the wife also had pneumonia/tuberculosis/bronchitis/ebola (or whatever this bug is), too, just not as bad.

The airport was a gasping blur.  It whirled around me and drifting through the air were Burger King meals and fries (Cruel Wife and kids) and for me the Udon Noodle Bowl from the Udon-Is-Us airport fast-food joint.  Our standing-room-only flight left 30 minutes late but was made up for by ascending to 63,000 feet and quadrupling our carbon footprint by burning double the fuel and coal mixed with passenger clothes at regular intervals.  Several Goths and karaoke singers disappeared during the flight so I suspect the attendants were surreptitiously lightening the load a bit, too.

Arrived at DTW airport, got our luggage except for one piece which couldn’t make it to the carousel (“lost”) but was somehow correctly delivered 50 feet away to the lost luggage room.  I think they do that so you are later impressed with their ability to snatch lost luggage from the brink of the abyss.  I wasn’t impressed.

We wheezed our way to the shuttle bus, on to our car, and back home in record time.  Cruel Wife ignored every suggestion painted on the roadway and treated signs of every stripe with utter contempt.  I cheered weakly from the shotgun seat and the kids shouted “Do that again!  Cut another semi-truck off again, Mom!”

I was so happy to be home!  Everyone should be so lucky to make it home to die horribly.  Everyone was exhausted and fell asleep quite rapidly even though we were on Pacific Time, certainly by 4am.

We all woke up bright-tailed and bushy-eyed at 2pm.  A few hours later we picked up Zoe-pup.  She piddled her dog britches.  I piddled my jeans.  It was, as I may have said before, a regular piddle-party.

Now a week later, I sit here, drinking narcotic cough syrup which does marginal good, and eating Ceftin.  Ceftin is the second-line antibiotic since the Amoxicillan did not do any good.  Ceftin’s claim to fame is that if you let it dissolve in your mouth the rotten-leaves flavor actually makes the cough syrup taste good by contrast, and  is so intense that drinking out of a dairy-farm manure-pumping pipe sounds like a great way to get the flavor out of your mouth.  Or licking your dog’s butt.  Haven’t tried the pipe yet.

GirlHead has been horribly annoying yet so damn cute I turn into a puddle of goo.  I have no natural defenses against her.  More later.

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Hellboy will henceforth be known as Franken-Stein.  I argued for Freak-n-Stein and Cruel Wife wanted (but nixed) Frakk-n-Stein.  Note that the pronunciation will follow that of one of my favoritest movies, Young Frankenstein, where it sounds thusly:   FRONK-en-steen.

Igor: Dr. Frankenstein…
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: “Fronkensteen.”
Igor: You’re putting me on.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: No, it’s pronounced “Fronkensteen.”
Igor: Do you also say “Froaderick”?
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: No… ”Frederick.”
Igor: Well, why isn’t it “Froaderick Fronkensteen”?
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: It isn’t; it’s “Frederick Fronkensteen.”
Igor: I see.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: You must be Igor.
[He pronounces it ee-gor]
Igor: No, it’s pronounced “eye-gor.”
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: But they told me it was “ee-gor.”
Igor: Well, they were wrong then, weren’t they?


Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Igor, help me with the bags.
Igor: [Imitating Groucho Marx] Soitenly. You take the blonde, I’ll take the one in the turban. [Igor growls and grabs Madeline Kahn’s fox stole in his teeth.]
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: I was talking about the luggage.

The scar looks kinda narsty.  We’re going to run it by the pediatrician and see if she feels like a plastique surgeon sounds like a good idea.

I like the term plastique surgeon.  It sounds very upper-crust.  We’re not upper crust.  Not lower crust, either.  We’re more of the gooey starch-thickened gravy layer of a turkey pot pie.  Gooey-er than the pic below but you get the idea.


I bought a new card game for Cruel Wife … Killer Bunnies.  Pretty damned hilarious.

box_blueAny game where you can wipe out the other player’s bunnies with the “Dueling Grandmas” card, the “Mob Hit” card, or the “Plant Spores” cards… well, it’s twisted enough for me to play and enjoy it.  Who knows?  We might even play it together.


Social Security has spent $700K of your tax dollars on a conference at a resort – tickets, hotels, dancers…

Social Security responds after $700K Phoenix conference
Congress demands answers after conference
Social Security says it was to reduce stress

You know… my stress level skyrocketed just now.

Of course congress is the last group capable of being a pool of candidates for “ethical oversight”.    Look for Pelosi to pull a “nothing quite so righteous as a reformed whore” grandstand act.


I’m glad my boy is no longer Hellboy because even just the name is too much nearly in common with this freak.

An British man who swindled the equivalent of $5,719 in benefits to make himself look like the Devil was yesterday banned from prowling the streets at night.

Dad-of-two Gavin Paslow was slapped with the curfew when he appeared before magistrates under his new name Diablo Delenfer.

Afterwards he told how he had spent the cash on surgery giving him fangs, a forked tongue and even horns.

He wears green reptilian contact lenses and usually has a pointed beard. But he said: “I shaved that off before the case to look respectable.

Oh yeah, that’s going to help.


As mentioned on Drudge and now The Hill.

The chairman of the Senate Democratic Policy Committee quashed an effort by the Treasury Department to hire a cartoonist after the link to the job ad was posted on the Drudge Report.

Sen. Byron Dorgan (D-N.D.) contacted the Treasury Department to complain after Matt Drudge’s website linked to a want ad for contractors with the “ability to create cartoons on the spot about [Bureau of the Public Debt] jobs.”

The cartoonist was sought to provide presentations for the bureau’s management meetings, according to the ad.

Why go through FedBizOpps for a humorist when we have Biden?

There’s enough cartoonish buffoonery and laughable material for many hours of weepage and laughter.

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On our vacation my dad and brother decided to roast pig in a pit.  They used these baking bags like you use in the oven.

See, they used this method last year and it worked.  Last year they asked me what I thought and I said then that I thought it would get way way too hot.  To my surprise and amazement last year’s turned out fantastically well.  I was confused.  I walked away and seriously doubted my skills, ability, and judgment.  I’ve been smoking pork for ten years now and I was stymied and felt inadequate.

Well, this year they asked me if I wanted to help.  I said “Nah.  You got it under control.  You’re pit masters.  You have mastered the pit.  You didn’t need me last year.  Have at.”

Well, this is how this year’s BBQ pit roasting turned out.

BBQ PitNote the charred ground around the pit.  This is indicative of a fire that is too hot.  Last year’s fire wasn’t as hot because they piled dirt around the edges and choked off the oxygen, and the fire burned much cooler.   This year they got cocky.

This year it just burned.  Here’s the results of 5 bags of briquettes used as a heat source.

BBQ Pit of Hell

See the well done chunks of meat?

This is what 700+ degrees for ten hours will get you.  I hate raw pork, don’t you?  I specifically asked for the piece on the lower left.

I laughed and laughed and laughed.

We had chicken that night.  At least the people who did not have the flu all had chicken.  I laid in bed wishing I was dead.  They laughed and laughed and laughed.

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After much thought after the fact I have come to the conclusion that last week I did indeed have swine flu.  Last week I was too damn sick to care, though.

If you think you’re coming down with it, this site might be useful but you might see it in a more favorable light after you have recovered.

Honest, you’d not have seen me laugh at it last week.  This week it has a certain dry entertainment value.  Seriously, if you start running a raging fever, contact your doctor before the nasty bastard cough kicks in.  It all comes on pretty quick so within a day you’ll know if you’re sick or if you’re just being a weenie.  You’ll know.  You won’t need a FAQ sheet to know you’re sick.


As hinted at in yesterday’s post titled “My Own Porch”, Hellboy (my male progeny) had a fountain fall on him.  It was a steel fountain.  Heavier than sin and twice as ugly.

The fountain fell on the three-year-old boy in the picture below.

gashed Hellboy

Hellboy with 16 stitches and a huge headache.

The story unfolded in the usual fashion, with great commotion and hysteria.  Not undeserved commotion at all, however.

Suddenly I heard a great deal of shouting and someone came around the corner screaming “Hellboy is hurt bad!”

I walk outside thinking “Ok, so he broke a finger or something…”

I arrive and am faced with a scene of outright carnage.  Blood is all over the boy, Cruel Wife is crying and trying to hold his thrashing body still with pressure to his head, in-laws have ahold of his little arms and legs, and the boy is shrieking.  Blood is splashed on the concrete.

I look over and see the now-toppled Fountain of Doom.  Notice how it hit hard enough to knock a 15lb paver out of the ring the fountain was in.

foutain of doom

Click to embiggenify the image.

I run inside and am looking for a phone.  Can’t find a phone.  Can’t find a phone.  Can’t find a damned phone!  Damn rental places!  Turns out they didn’t have one.  I whip out my cell phone and dial 911 and give them the address.  I tell them he’s got a huge laceration on his forehead and that he appears to be bleeding from the nose, which has me a bit concerned.  At this point I’m thinking injury in the sinus region and envisioning all manner of crushing injuries.

I ran to find GirlHead, who was distraught.  She wanted to see her brother and go with us.  I forcefully but gently assured her that she did not want to see him and that I would not permit it, and let her know that when it was ok to come see him I’d have one of her uncles drive her over to the hospital.

Three years pass and the ambulance arrives.  Cruel Wife and Hellboy move as a unit onto a stretcher and I ride shotgun.  The hospital is only 5 minutes away but takes hours to get there.

The ER staff expertly took him for CT scans and found him to be ok.  Noticing that he had a bunch of exposed bone in the wouund they went about preparations and stitched him up.  He was tough enough through the whole procedure, only crying twice – once as they injected the wound with epinephrine to slow the bleeding and lidocaine to deaden the area for stitching, and the second time was on the last stitch where the lidocaine hadn’t quite covered the eyebrow area.

I swelled with pride at how tough he was.  I told him that I’ve seen BIG GUYS carry on more than that for less, myself included.

The next day Hellboy was running a fever which gave us cause for alarm and he was put on antibiotics for that.  As it turned out he had the same fever/flu that I later came down with but either way the antibiotics were a good idea.

The rental owners had only this to say:  “Well, he shouldn’t have been climbing on the fountain.”   For legal reasons I won’t go into the specifics of the fountain itself other than to say that no engineer would have signed off on that monstrosity and that it is amazing that it even stood in the first place.

Sadly, for the rest of the week the pool and hot tub were off limits to Cruel Wife, Hellboy, and myself.  Only GirlHead was able to have access to the water.

A side note.  While we were gone and before any adult thought of it, my girl ran to find materials and started making a get-well card for her brother.  It said “Hirt bad get wel soon” and had all sorts of flowers and stickers on it and her name spelled out as pretty as can be.  Now if that isn’t enough to bring a tear to a daddy’s eye, I don’t know what is.

The rest of the week was spent going from place to place in Seattle, and the high point of that for me was visiting Pike St. Market and getting a Pork Hombow.

pork hombow

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My Own Porch.

Rarely does a sick dog go lie under the neighbor’s porch.

There’s a reason for that.

Being sick away from home is about as attractive as stripping buck-naked, dousing one’s self in cold turpentine, and crawling through red-hot broken glass.

We spent the first half of vacation with Cruel Wife’s family – her parents, Sister1 and her family, and Sister2 and her family.  For a total of… let’s see… 8 adults and ten children.  That was a story in and of itself.  Eight days’ worth of story.

But then a week ago today, we drove to see my family down in Orygun.

And got sick.

Driving from Seattle to Orygun, I had a bitch-kitty of a headache.  We stopped at Troglodyteville, Washington† for a pit stop.  Troglodyteville is sort of the armpit of the groin of Washington and the service road that we found ourselves on was basically the poop-chute of the armpit of the groin of Washington.  Now, if you’ve followed the tale of my life for the last two years you know that headaches related to my neck injury are nothing new, so I thought little of it.  What I did not know was that I had a viral passenger.

We arrived in Hometownville, Orygun four hours later and I started hanging out with my family, who were engaging in reunionizing in earnest anticipation of a pit roasting of many pounds of pig.

My father asked if I wanted to help out with the BBQ preparations.  I begged off, figuring that he and my brother could do it.  Last year they did it with my supervision – then I had said “Gee you’ve got it too hot, it will burn up” and it turned out wonderful to my great amazement.

Sunday morning rolled around – I got up feeling pretty cruddy.   I go to the kitchen were my sister says “How does well-done pork sound?”

I look at her warily and say “Mmmmph… huh?”

She says to go look at the pork.

Well, my dad and brother did the same thing they did last year – got it too hot except this year they did not fully seal the pit with dirt to choke off all oxygen.

This year, the environment inside the pit was the surface of the sun.  This year, the pork was in a pit that must have climbed upwards of 700 degrees for most of the night.  In fact, the pit got so hot that the sheet metal was blackened, the grass all around the pit was blackened, and smoke was billowing out of the pit.  This year, we had big chunks of charcoal where the pig once lay in the pit.

I could not stop laughing.  Yes, it was horrible of me.  I rubbed it in.   I laughed, I cried, I hooted, and I chortled.

And then I got horribly horribly ill.   Little did I know that my viral passenger held an open-house and opened the doors for an infection.  For four days I ran a fever of 102-103F.  I was wracked with coughs, chills, shakes, sweats.  By the time I finally got ahold of a doctor I had coughed so much that it felt like daggers in my chest and my ribs screamed with the strain.  I was hacking up flecks of blood.   Everything was coming up browns, yellows, and greens.

The doc prescribed amoxicillin, 2/day, 875mg each.  I crept around like warmed-over death, with my guts torn out by the antibiotic, coughing, not sleeping, not eating.  Even as of today I’ve had perhaps five light meals in the last six days.  Great way to lose 15 pounds.

My grandfather used to say that he knew he was sick when Graveyard Stew sounded good.  Graveyard Stew is essentially lightly toasted toast floating in warm milk (milktoast) and only is supposed to sound good when you’re in the graveyard with one foot actually in the grave.  Well, I was feeling so rotten even Milquetoast didn’t sound appealing.  I spent the lion’s share of the week wishing I could be here at home where I could at least feel like I was dying in my own bed.

Yesterday as we drove north to Seattle we got as far as Albany, Orygun when I said “Cruel Wife, we need to go to the hospital.”   I had the shakes, my fingers were tingling/numb, and I couldn’t breathe without a huge effort and even then only half in and half out.  So in the ER they determined that I did not have pneumonia (whew) but did have bad bad bronchitis (ok) and needed a nebulizer treatment to get my lungs to relax.  Did the trick.  I was able to draw a complete breath in and out and actually move some crap out of my lungs.

Our flight today was a tough ordeal.  Can’t move fast without getting winded and I have no energy to speak of.  The good news is that this is the best I’ve felt since a week ago and I think I’m going to live.  Living actually sounds like a reward, not a punishment.

Cruel Wife got the cough/sick thing but no fever.  My boy (Hellboy) had the fever and cough, too.

Why was he on antibiotics if we only figured out later what was wrong with him?  Good question.

Because in the FIRST week of our vacation, he nearly succeeded in getting crushed by a 300lb fountain which collapsed on him and gashed his little forehead open to the bone, for a total of 16 stitches.  From hairline to eyebrow went the laceration, from head to toe went the blood, and from the rental place to the hospital went the ambulance.

But that’s another story.  We thought the fever was an infection from his head wound.

We’re back, and we’re happy to be back.

I miss my Zoe-pup.  We pick her up tomorrow from the sitters.  She’ll probably pee her little dog britches and I’ll probably pee my big Lemur King shorts when we see each other.

Troglodyteville is not the town’s real name.  A false name has been used to protect myself from the knuckle-dragging troglodytes that live there on the off chance that one of them knows how to read and comes across this blog.

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