There's One, Only!

Bi-Partisan?

E-mailed to me from my blogless brother Culbrez

I did not think it could be done, but...

FINALLY someone has come out with A 100% Bi-Partisan Political Bumper
sticker. The hottest selling bumper sticker comes from New York State:

"2008 - RUN HILLARY RUN"

Democrats put it on the rear bumper.

Republicans put it on the front bumper.

Don't forget

April 15th is Buy-A-Gun day!

Oh yeah, there is something about taxes then too...

I WANT IT!

Have you ever seen something on TV and instantly determined that your life would not be complete until you possesed it? Other than while watching Baywatch?

Well, sometimes I do. And this is one of those times.

Behold! The SPOUNTAIN!

Convert your faucet into a drinking fountain by just pulling a little lever. Brilliant! Why hasn't anyone ever done this before?

Now where did I put my wallet...

Top ten signs that the terrorists are losing

Over at the Alliance HQ, the question was asked, what are some signs that the terrorists are losing? Usually, I would use this to base a MISSION: IMPLAUSIBLE! on, but I was a little busier than I thought I’d be this week.

So instead, I give you:

The top ten signs that the terrorists are losing:

10. Low turnout at the annual terrorist father/son picnic.

9. Decreasing sales of do-it-yourself bomb kits.

8. Large numbers of jihadists at the unemployment office.

7. Having exhausted all other sources, terrorist recruiters are now found only at Democratic rallies.

6. Because of crackdowns on funding organizations, terrorist cells have been turning to bake-sales to finance their operations.

5. Upon joining a cell, new terrorists are given a rifle, five bullets, and their own body bag.

4. Instead of waving national flags at protests, many are now waving white flags.

3. Even spammers won’t go to terrorist web sites.

2. No one is buying the new Terrorist-Patch dolls.

And the number one sign that the terrorists are losing…

The giant scoreboard reads;
Freedom - 25,374,691 vs. Terrorism - 0

Thought for the day

In consideration of the future nuptials of Frank J. and the lovely Sarah K., here's todays thought for the day...

Before marriage, a man is incomplete. After marriage, he's finished.

Congratulations!

There's really not much of a point to me posting this here, I don't think I have many readers that don't already know this, but:

Frank J. finally popped the question!

Go congratulate the happy couple!

It has begun.

I made the first step on the road to becoming “The Pistol Packing GEBIV” today. I talked to a certified NY State pistol permit course instructor (NRA certified too). We’ll set a time for the classes when he gets back from a business trip in a few weeks.

In the meantime, my job is to get the reams of paperwork that the state requires to get a permit. I won’t fill any of it out yet. They can be very picky, so my instructor said to wait until he can go over it with me. I guess if you forget to cross an “i” or dot a “t”, your paperwork is automatically rejected. And it’s a long enough process to begin with.

Of course, this means I have to deal with the downsized Erie County Courthouse. Even so, I’m still glad that the extra sales tax was voted down! (We’ll see how I feel when golf season rolls around, and having the county courses closed affects me…)

The only problem I can see so far is that I need three non-related references from the township I live in. I live right on the border, in the corner actually, of my town. Most of the people I know live in the other three towns nearby. I’ll find someone who’ll vouch for me eventually… I hope.

I’ll keep everyone updated on how things are going, here at There’s One, Only!.

If I've said it once...

...I've said it a thousand times:

You got off the 400 at 20 and 78. You wanted to get off at 20A and 78. It's two more exits south.

He Is Risen!

He is risen, indeed!

Guns, guns, and... more guns

For those of you who like loud noises and pieces of metal moving at super-sonic speeds, the Carnival of Chordite is up at Resistance is Futile! There are some really great posts there. I haven't had the chance to read them all yet, but the ones I did read were very good. Go and support your second ammendment right to read about people bearing arms... or something. (I really need to read the Constitution one of these days...)

I found it through a really nice post on choosing your first handgun over at Bad Example. Go read it and cheer on the guest-poster, the blogless Peter. We have to get this guy his own site.

Thought for the day...

If a man speaks, and his wife is not there to hear it, is he still wrong?

More stuff...

You may have noticed, I changed the "orange". Of course, I didn't really want orange in the first place; I wanted gold. Hopefully, that's what you see now.

Blue and Gold... if you're wondering why, well let's see. My dad is retired Navy, air. He never quite got his wings, but spent his military career on carriers. Air maintenence I think... And I was a cub scout a couple of decades ago...

But mostly, I just like the way blue and gold go together. Too bad my monitor's colors are so different than everyone else's.

It's Good Friday. So enjoy your fish-fry! I'm not Catholic, so I don't eat fish as a religious requirement, but it's hard to find anything else to eat in Buffalo on a friday night in the spring. Every restaurant/diner/church has fried fish on fridays. And I like to eat fried fish anyways, so I guess it's a win - win situation. Too bad they always have cole slaw as the side dish.

Sometime later tonight, Harvey will be getting around to doing the Filthy Lie Roundup for last week's assignment over at the Alliance HQ.

What a whiner. Just because his computer fried itself, we're expected to wait a whole week for our free funny. ;-)

In case you missed it, my entry was this MISSION: IMPLAUSIBLE!

That's about it. Just wanted to make sure today got a line under it in my sidebar calender.

Stuff

Precision Guided Humor Roundup for the Angry Korea Assignment is up at the Alliance HQ.

Long day at work today. Spent the last 3 or 4 hours of it on a turned ankle. So early to bed for me tonight...

By the way, did I turn my comments off or something?

PGHA: Why is North Korea so grumpy?

I was at my regular grocery store, walking down an aisle in the produce section. I had a craving for something fresh, but I was having a hard time deciding what I wanted. So I wandered aimlessly, in what looked like a fruitless search.

I had just about given up when I noticed one of the produce workers bringing in a tray of cherimoya . Man, what an ugly fruit. But I had heard that they were very tasty, so I picked a nice fresh looking one off the top of the display. (I hoped it was fresh. I couldn’t really tell, but it was on top.)

I zipped through the rest of the store, getting everything else on my list. Then, juggling my selections, (real men don’t use carts) I paid for everything and headed out to the Jeep.

Halfway across the parking lot, I fished out my fruit and tried to figure out how to eat it. Hmm. This could be harder than I thought. I was still puzzled over this as I reached the Jeep. I tossed the rest of the bags in the back and set the fruit on the bumper. After choosing which one of my regular brace of pocketknives to use, I cut the cherimoya in half.

But instead of being filled with a tasty tropical delicacy, the fruit was instead filled with a rolled up piece of paper. Well, more accurately, two pieces of paper. My razor sharp knife had cut the note in half. I was starting to have a familiar sinking feeling as I lined up the two halves and started reading.

Agent GEBIV, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find the reasons for North Korea being so darned grumpy.

Now these are a bunch of crazy communists, so be careful on your mission. These guys make Californians look normal. If you are captured or compromised in any way, we will be unable to help you or even acknowledge your existence.

Oh, and while you’re over there, pick me up some kim chee. I haven’t had any since they kicked me out of the Navy. American FDA rules make it impossible to find any authentic kim chee around here. Well, that and the fact that no one else likes fermented cabbage. It’s almost as hard to find as baalut outside the Philippines.

Mmmm. Now I’m getting hungry…

Anyways, this message will self destruct in 10 seconds.

I crammed the paper back into the fruit halves and pitched the whole thing into a nearby cart corral.

*KABOOOOOOOOM*

The shopping carts were propelled across the parking lot like wire-frame missiles. I jumped into the Jeep and expertly navigated the metallic minefield. And as I watched several thousand dollars worth of door dings occurring in my rear view mirror, I knew that it was once again time for another…

MISSION: IMPLAUSIBLE!
(Cue Theme Music) I decided to get some help on this one, so I called my blogless brother up on the phone as soon as I got home. I hoped that he was done moving into his new house, and would be available to help me. But busy or not, he was still the best man with a search engine that I knew. I was in luck, and he answered his phone on the second ring. “Hey, Culbrez,” I asked, “can you help me out on this assignment? I need to find out why North Korea is so grumpy.”

“Sure.” He replied. “I’ll see what I can find, and then I’ll get right back to you as soon as I get something.”

Half an hour later, he called me back. “Find anything?” I asked.

“Sorry, nothing definite.” He said. “But I was able to book you on the next flight into Pyongyang.”

“What!?” I exclaimed.

“Well, I was able to hack into some military surveillance satellites over the Korean peninsula. And when I ran the pictures from them through that grumpiness detector you gave me for Christmas last year – oh, by the way. Thanks. That has been a real lifesaver on my last couple of dates. As soon as she starts getting grumpy, I know it’s time to retreat. – But where was I… oh yeah. I ran the pictures through it, and found that, nearly all of the grumpiness in the entire country is emanating from Pyongyang.”

Then he added, “After that, I checked some blown up photographs of the city, and it seems that the focus of the grumpiness is right in the presidential palace. So I booked a flight for you so you can go and investigate it yourself. Personally, I’m betting Kim Jong Il is the source. But you’ll have to find out what makes him so grumpy.”

“Gee thanks.” I was sure that it was Kim Jong Il myself. But I wasn’t planning on having to go to North Korea. I was grasping at straws, but I asked him again. “Did you find anything else?”

“Just one more thing. Kim Jong Il is going to be staying at a health spa just outside the city this week. You might be able to catch up with him there.”

“Well, that’s something. As long as he’s not at the palace, I might have a chance to get close to him.” I was now resigned to my trip. I just hoped that I would be able to use the flight towards my Sky-Miles.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” my brother added as I was saying goodby, “the flight is a cargo carrier going to pick up a load of basketball sneakers. So dress warm, they don’t always heat the cargo holds.” *Click*

Oh boy.

I packed up my stuff and locked up my apartment. I had to hurry to catch my flight. On the positive side, at least I wouldn’t be getting any airline peanuts on this trip…

Twenty hours later, I felt the bump of the landing gear as we touched down at Pyongyang International. I slowly pulled myself out of the folding chair that I had been buckled into. A groan escaped my lips as the blood returned to my legs. Maybe I should have paid extra to sit up with the crew. I thought to myself. But I wanted as few people to know I was in the country as possible, and as long as I stayed in the cargo area, only me and the crew chief knew I was back here.

*Clack* The sound of an AK-47 being chambered made me freeze in place. OK, make that me, the crew chief, three North Korean officers and the twelve North Korean soldiers holding the rifles pointed at my head. Time to go to plan B.

“Hi,” I said as brightly as I could force myself, “My name is John Liberal. I’m Michael Moore’s personal assistant, and I’m here to do research for a documentary.”

I kept my hands in the air while I watched the two officers debate what they heard. One of them broke away from the others. “You no Michael Moore.” He accused in broken English. “Michael Moore no fit on plane this small.”

“No.” I tried to clarify my lie, “I’m Mr. Moore’s assistant. I work for him.”

“Oh.” He seemed to understand me, and he took this new information back to the discussion. Suddenly, the other two both smiled. The highest-ranking one (I’m guessing that stars on the shoulders mean the same there, as here.) walked up and shook my hand. “How can we help the assistant of the famous Mr. Moore?” he asked in much better English than his lower ranked associate.

“I’m here to get some background information about your ‘Glorious Leader’ Mr. Kim Jong Il.” I said. “That way Mr. Moore will be able to put him in the best possible light. We want to make him the Castro of the East!”

“Better yet,” joked the general, “make it so Castro is called the Kim Jong Il of the Caribbean!”

I laughed along with the other officers. I knew that as long as I was with them, I had to pretend to be a commie loving liberal. I just hoped that the strain of acting contrary to all of my beliefs wasn’t too much for me to handle.

In what seemed like no time at all, I was being ushered into the “Presidential Suite” at the health spa Mr. Kim was staying at. The limo ride over had been rather uneventful. Unless you were paying close attention, you wouldn’t notice that the healthy, happily waving people that we kept passing were all wearing uniforms under their “simple peasant garb.” I was given the standard Hollywood treatment. They were making sure that I didn’t see anything that would disillusion me about the wonders of communism.

I was seated by myself at a small table in the center of the ante-room to the suite. I was in a comfortable, but plain chair. It didn’t look like it had any means of restraints built into it, so I wasn’t worried about that, yet. My only concern was with being able to pull off the charade. Would the formerly poofy-haired dictator believe that I was really there to interview him for an upcoming movie?

After sitting there for half an hour, other thoughts started to nag me. Could they be calling Hollywood to check my story? Were they too paranoid to trust a seemingly liberal gift horse? Were they at that moment preparing a cell in which to lock me up and throw away the key? Did I leave the stove on at home?

I gave myself a mental slap. Pull yourself together. And then because I don’t like it when someone slaps me, I slapped myself back. That was about to escalate into a mental knuckle and skull brawl when the door going into the next room opened.

A man dressed in a valet’s uniform told me that I could come in. I quickly composed myself and tried to look as much like a Hollywood liberal as I could. (Without looking totally gay, that is.)

Finally, I was standing in front of the “Glorious Leader” himself. I could see that even though he was trying to put on a good face for me, someone he thought was going to be making a movie about him, he was still pretty grumpy.

I started in with the movie pitch, and hoped for the best.

“Mr. Kim Jong Il,” I started, “what we’re looking to do, is show the rest of the world, the caring and sensitive side of you that those evil conservatives are always saying you don’t have. We want this movie to say to them, you’re a great guy!” Boy, I was laying it on thick. I just hoped that we didn’t need hip waders soon.

“So can you start by telling me a little about yourself? How are you feeling right now?” It was silly, but maybe I’d get lucky and he would tell me.

“I’m not in a real good mood right now.” He confessed. “I’ve had things bothering me for a while. That’s why I came to this health spa this week.”

Jackpot! I did a couple of mental cartwheels. This was going to be easier than I thought!

“Can you tell me what’s bothering you?” I asked. “Maybe I can help, somehow.”

“Well, the first thing that was really bugging me was the neighbors.” He started. “Those South Korean’s dogs were barking all night long!”

“Ah,” I said, “So you haven’t been able to get any sleep?”

“No, no.” he replied. “I’ve been sleeping just fine. All that barking made me hungry. But once I’ve had my midnight snack, I usually feel just fine.”

“Oh… well that’s good news.” Strike one. I was sure that I had found the cause of his grumpiness. “Anything else bothering you?”

“My favorite sit-com was canceled last month. They stopped making ‘I Love Loo Chee’ right in the middle of the season.”

“I can see why that might make you a little angry.” I commiserated.

“Oh, that didn’t make me angry. Just hungry again.” He said.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“They replaced it with ‘Lassie’ re-runs.”

I barely managed to keep the nausea I was feeling out of my facial expression. I swallowed back the bile I could feel and asked him again, “Was there anything else that was bothering you?”

“Yes there was.” He said. “I had a pair of underwear that was really chafing me.”

“Is there anything that we can do to help?” I questioned. If all it took to end North Korea’s political saber rattling were some new underwear, it would be worth the purchase.

“No, that’s all taken care of. I gave them to my cousin. It used to be I could wear one pair for a whole year without taking them off. But now I can only seem to get six months out of them.” Suddenly an idea seemed to hit him. “Maybe I should try washing them once in a while!”

Must not vomit! I thought to myself. Out loud all I said was, “Yeah, that might help.”

I was getting desperate. I didn’t think that I could take any more of these personal revelations from the North Korean. But I had to find the real source of his grumpiness. I hope this time I get the real answer. I thought as I asked, for what I hoped was the last time. “Is there anything else bothering you right now?”

“There is one thing that has been really making me grouchy lately.” He admitted.

Oh please, don’t let this be about eating dogs, or poor personal hygiene. I prayed. “What is it?” I asked him.

“I just haven’t been happy since the NHL lockout.” He said. “I miss my hockey so much.” He added with a moan.

“I can’t agree with you more.” I agreed. For the first time, I was not lying to him. A small tear formed in the corner of my eye, the cancellation of the entire hockey season had hit me hard too.

While hockey wasn’t my entire life, I could definitely understand how the loss of the season could drive a man to threatening nuclear war. I’d probably react that way myself if a whole football season was called off.

A feeling of compassion for this little dictator spread through me. I was really starting to understand him, and he didn’t seem that bad a guy.

However, his next statement completely erased any good feelings I was starting to have.

“I was really hoping the Rangers would win the cup this year.” He mused.

This time I was unable to keep the look of revulsion off my face. “You monster!” I cried. “How could you root for them?”

His reaction to that statement was as severe as mine was to his. “Blasphemer.” He cursed. Then he yelled out, “Guards! Arrest this man!”

Fortunately, none of his guards spoke English, and before he could repeat himself in Korean, I was out of my chair and racing for the door.

I burst out into the hallway, and saw the guards at each end. Using the stairs to escape was now out of the question. I spotted the laundry chute set into the wall. Hey, sometimes clichés are the only answer. I dove for the hamper door.

*Clang*

Ouch! It was locked shut. I guess the security detail for the spa had seen all the same spy movies I had. Well that egress was out. I had to come up with a different way out. And fast. Kim Jong Il had remembered to yell for his guards in Korean, and they were approaching fast.

I ducked into a doorway across the hall from the presidential suite I had just left. From the décor, it was another large suite. I locked the door behind me and ran to a window.

As the soldiers started kicking in the door, I pulled open the window and jumped out. I knew I was on the top floor, but I was getting desperate.

I was in luck. Below me I could see a swimming pool. Bad news was, it was only March, and there was no water in it! Good news was it was filled with snow. I hoped that it was light and not too hard packed.

I landed with a soft thud. I quickly climbed out and ran for my life. Fortunately, being completely covered in snow, the soldiers had a hard time picking me out among all of the snowdrifts and none of them got any clean shots at me.

I made my way back to the airport, and managed to hide myself in an outgoing crate of sneakers. I just hoped that the shipment was going to Buffalo. Or at least somewhere in the North-east.

As I settled in among the shoes, I realized two things. One, North Korea was grumpy for the same reasons as most of Canada and the Northern U.S.; no-hockey meant no-happy.

And two, I had forgotten Harvey’s authentic kim chee. Well, TNT would probably appreciate that…

Slow day at work...

Between customers, all I have to do is sit around and make "meep meep" noises.

It keeps me occupied...

Coming tomorrow.

An epic MISSION: IMPLAUISBLE! two days in the making!

(It's not finished yet, but I'm too tired of writing it at the moment... I'll work on it more after work.)

There are 10 kinds of people

Those that understand binary numbers.

And those that don't.

FINE!

Since my blogfather is complaining soooooooooo much, I'll do something about the blue.

The colors look great on my laptop screen, but apparently those using ancient CRT technology have problems.

(I bet Harvey probably blames his hard drive crashing on the blue I used...)

Thought for the day

Those who can, do. Those who can’t, blog.

Spring has sprung!

Er... it doesn't feel a lot different to me though.

I guess I just have the blahs today....

On the other hand, it is also Palm Sunday today. The day we remember and celebrate Christ's triumphal entry into Jerusalem. A day that contrasts so sharply whith what happened to Him the rest of the week. Personally, I can't look at Palm Sunday without seeing Good Friday looming.

And while I know it was all necessary for His plan, it is still sometimes too much to believe that someone would go through all of that for me. I know that may sound a little egotistical. But unless I acknowledge that He suffered for my sins, there is no attonement for them. And it is hard, sometimes, to feel worthy of that sacrifice.

Of course, I know that I wasn't wothy of what He went through before He went through it. That is why it is called Grace. It is a gift given that I could never have earned or merited. But what I have trouble feeling, on the level that I should, is the value that He has given me.

Sorry to sneak in a little sermon there.

Anyways, enjoy spring everyone.

Hillary Moves Right(?)

The front page of the Buffalo (Liberal) News today is covered with pictures of Sen. Clinton. And it's talking about how she is "paving a 'third way' between conservatism and liberalism."

And the caption under this picture is just priceless.

Sen Clinton's supporters, and even some Republicans who have worked with her, say she's dismantling a liberal image that was faulty from the beginning.

First, I wouldn't trust what a New York RINO has to say about Hillary as far as I could throw a buick.

Secondly, the only thing that makes that caption even come close to being truthful is that Hillary isn't merely a liberal. She's practiacally a communist.

Remember her speach where she said, "We're going to take things away from you for the common good."? Marx would have been so proud.

Words to live by

A man can either keep his silence, and have people think him a fool. Or, he can open his mouth and remove all doubt.

Wait-a-minute! Does that mean I should shut up?

Oops, too late.

Filthy Lie: Evil Glenn's Investment Advice

I was in a convenience store, looking for a little snack. I needed something to tide me over till supper (about 6 hours away), but I couldn’t decide on what to have. Then a flashy bit of advertising caught my eye.

“INSTANT WIN GAME!!!! You could be a millionaire!
Details inside.”

That decided it for me. It was the last O’Harvey bar in the store, and if I didn’t buy it, someone else might win the money.

I peeled back the wrapper to see if I had won, and was shocked by what I saw!

SORRY, BUT YOU ARE NOT A WINNER!

However, Agent GEBIV, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find out what investment advice you would get if you asked Evil Glenn.

(I need to raise a small amount of seed money into a large amount of money really quickly, and Evil Glenn seems to be able to make money like you wouldn’t believe.) If you are captured, or discovered, we will of course disavow all knowledge of you and your actions.

If, by some strange quirk fate, of you are successful, please let me know right away. You can reach me at (555) 555-5245, Cell D-27, upper bunk. Ask for "Sweet-Cheeks."

Please hurry.

This message will self-destruct in 10…9…8…

I dropped the wrapper and just to be safe, the candy bar, into a trashcan as I raced to my Jeep.

*BOOMP*

As I watched the trash drifting down to the ground in my rear-view mirror, I knew that it was time for another…

MISSION: IMPLAUSIBLE!
(Cue Theme Music)

Since I was already on the road, I decided to head right to the Fortress of Evil. Then I passed a gas station and noticed the price at the pumps…

OK, let’s reach out and touch someone, instead.

I flipped open my cell phone, (don’t worry, I pulled over and parked first) and called the operator.

“Hi, I need to call the Fortress of Evil. And can you reverse the charges? You can! Great! (He can afford it more than I can.)”

While I waited for the operator to connect us, I decided that a little subterfuge would be in order. I would have to pose as someone Evil Glenn would want to help. A few moments later, I was talking to the Dark Lord of the Blogsphere himself:

Evil Glenn: Wha…? Hello?

Me: Herro! It is I, Mao!

Evil Glenn: Chairman Mao? I thought you were dead.

Me: No. I just had a rittle cold.

Evil Glenn: But all the papers said you died in 76.

Me: Umm…

Evil Glenn: Anyways, it’s good to hear from you again! What’s with the silly accent?

Me: (dropping the lousy fake Chinese accent) Oh, nothing. I just wanted to test out… um… I was just… er… It was a clever ruse, yeah that’s it, a ruse to keep people from spying on me. Uh… I needed to make sure it was really you on the phone.

Evil Glenn: Wow. Brilliant!

Me: Well, I’m glad it worked.

Evil Glenn: So, what did you call for.

Me: You see, I needed a little advice.

Evil Glenn: On what?

Me: Money.

Evil Glenn: Go on.

Me: Well, I need some investment advice. You’ve always got money. What with the revenue from your website, and being a lawyer, and being a teacher, and that penguin brothel-

Evil Glenn: Hey! That’s just for private use.

Me: …

Evil Glenn: But you’re right, I’m rolling in it. Money, that is.

Me: And what would your advice be if I had a small amount of money and needed to make it grow?

Evil Glenn: Why don’t you just steal more from the Chinese people?

Me: Um… well, they think I’m dead. Remember?

Evil Glenn: Oh yeah. Bet that helps with not getting spam, eh?

Me: Hey, focus. Money advice!

Evil Glenn: OK. The first place to invest is hardware stores. People just can’t buy enough hammers. Hammer, hammer, hammer. Whack, whack, whack. Must hammer. Must whack! MUST KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL HOBOS!

Me: STOP! DOWN BOY!

Evil Glenn: (panting) Sorry, got caught up in the moment. What were we talking about?

Me: Investments.

Evil Glenn: Oh, yes. The other thing that I would recommend putting your money in is gold. Lovely gold. Smooth shiny gold…

Me: Gold?

Evil Glenn: Of course. It’s a great way to make obscene profits without all of the tedium of going through law school. Gold is always a good bet. But definitely not silver! Can’t stand the stuff.

Me: Right. What with being a vampire and all…

Evil Glenn: Yep. Well, that’s all the advice I have. Anything else.

Me: Just one more thing… INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!

*CLICK*

Now, I just had to get this information to Harvey before he drops his soap…

My finest hour

Expanding on something contagion said in the comments of the last post:

My wife keeps telling me I'm special... but I don't think she means it in a good kind of way.

At one friend’s apartment one evening for game night (I think we were playing Taboo) when another friend, in a comeback to something someone said, made the statement, “That doesn’t matter, because I’m special.”

My response was, “Yeah, but we don’t make you wear the white helmet anymore.”

She eventually forgave me.

Remember...

...you are a unique person.

Just like everyone else.

More new colors!

Wow. It looks like I'm not the only one trying out new colors.

The nearly totally unused surface of Buffalo Sabres' HSBC arena is getting a makeover for the Sabres' AHL affiliates the Rochester Americans to try out.

Blue is good...

(Hat tip: Rocket Jones)

PGHA: Dan Rather's sign off

I was out taking Slinky the Wonder Ferret for a walk, when I saw a beautiful super-model talking in a phone booth. Out of nowhere, she waved to me, and made hand motions that I should come closer. I know that sounds hard to believe, but there are actually a few phone booths left around the area.

As I approached her, she held out the receiver and said in a sultry voice, “It’s for you.”

She started fussing over Slinky, so I decided to see who was on the phone. When I tried to bring the phone to my head, the cord was twisted and seemed to be caught on something. I gave it a hard tug.

Whatever it was hooked on gave way, and I inadvertently smacked myself in the head with the phone. Instant tears sprang to my eyes and I cut back a curse.

When I finished blinking away the tears and pain, the supermodel was gone. All of a sudden, I had a bad feeling about the whole setup.

With more than a little apprehension, I held the phone up to my ear. “Hello. Hello? Helloooooooo.”

“Ah good, you finally picked up.

“Agent GEBIV, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find out what Dan Rather should have done to make his last CBS Evening News broadcast more memorable.

“Oh, and if she hasn’t left yet, can you ask TNT to pick up some Reddy-Whip on the way home?”

“Um, the super model?”

“Yeah, she’s my formerly-blogless Beloved Wife, TNT of Smiling Dynamite.”
(SHAMELESS PLUG!!!!!!)

“Oh. Uh, she’s gone.”

“Drat! Oh well. This message will self destruct in 10… 9…”

I grabbed Slinky and ran for my life.

*KAAAAABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM*

As I dodged the burning pieces of Verizon property falling from the sky, I knew that it was time for another…

MISSION: IMPLAUSIBLE!
(Cue Theme Music)

I had the perfect place to start. Find out what Dan Rather really said in his farewell broadcast.

Nah, I decided to just imagine what he said.

Yada yada yada … pretend to support the military … yada yada yada … pretend to like America … yada yada yada … pretend to care about everyone … yada yada yada …courage.

OK got it. Now to come up with better ways he could have done his sign-off.

I determined that in order to come up with a better broadcast, I would need to be marginally smarter than the CBS broadcast programmers.

Hmm, how to loose 100 IQ points…?

I slammed my head in a drawer repeatedly, and then sat down in front of a six hour Spongebob marathon.

Duh…

Gradually, my intelligence returned. I wiped the drool off of my chin and looked at what I had come up with. These are what I was able to decipher from the crayoned scrawls.

Dan Rather: … and to Mr. Shieffer here who is going to be replacing me, I admit that you are a better reporter than I am.

Shieffer: Then why are you smiling?

Rather: Because I know something that you don’t know. I am not left handed!

Then Rather and Shieffer proceed to duel with pencils all over the news set.

Then next one was:

Dan Rather: … courage. And now, my associate Gonzo and I will be attempting a first for broadcast television. Reverse bungee jumping.

Gonzo: First we tie these bungee cords to our ankles! And then we strap these rocket packs to our packs, which will propel us over fifty feet into the air! Then the bungee cords will yank us back to the ground at over one hundred miles an hour!

Rather: (strapping on his rocket pack) Where our fall will be broken by…?

Gonzo: THE FLOOR!

Rather: Wait!

*WHOOOOSH* *SPROING* *SPLAT*

The next one I could decipher from pile was:

Dan Rather finishes up the news and takes a sip of water from a glass on the desk.

Rather: …and finally, I would like to tell all of the viewers at home what I really think of them. (truth serum in the water kicks in) I… can’t… stand… you. I hate your guts! You people make me sick! Who do you think you are, getting me fired over those memos? You people can’t tell me what to do! I’m the one who tells you what to think!! You will all pay for this…

Rather is tackled by two large sound guys and dragged off the air cursing at the camera.

The next two were related:

Dan Rather finishes up his broadcast “…courage. And now I’d like to present a little something for everyone.”

Rather then produces an electric guitar and performs Queen’s “God Gave Rock And Roll To You.”

He finishes the performance by jumping off the top of the desk while shouting “WILD STALLYNS RULES!”

… and …

This ends the same as the last one, but instead of playing like the end of “Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey,” he plays like the end of “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.”

The last one of the bunch that I could figure out was this:

Dan Rather finishes up his broadcast and starts humming. His humming gradually gets louder, and suddenly he breaks into song.

“They're coming to take me away, ha-haaa!!
They're coming to take me away, ho-ho, hee-hee, ha-haaa
To the funny farm. Where life is beautiful all the time and I'll be
happy to see those nice young men in their clean white coats and they're
coming to take me away, ha-haaa!!!!!”

A group of men in white coats appear from off screen. Rather pulls a straightjacket from under his chair and starts putting it on. “Got to go everybody!” he shouts. “My rides here!”

That’s all I seemed to be able to come up with. I might have been able to do more if I could have lost more brain cells, but those things are tougher to loose than I thought.

NEW COLORS!

Let me know what you think.

Some Headlines gleaned from Yahoo.

Robot Finds Life in Desert, Mimicking Skills Needed on Mars
(Robot now searches for 'Stratego' and 'Monopoly')

Museum Spotlights Neglected Exhibits
(Equal Rights groups demand spotlights to shine more fairly.)

Serena Still Upset with Indian Wells Treatment
(It's a lot like an 'Indian arm burn' but involves a bucket.)

Baseball Gives Steroids Records to Congress
(Dashel is new 'Most Anabolic Injections' title holder.)

Galaxy Makes Order out of Chaos
(Asks for a cheeseburger, fries and milkshake.)

Yes, this idea for a post was stolen from the great and glorious IMAO. Long may Frank J. post!

Look Out! Zombies!

I make a point of not watching Zombie movies if I don't have to. (I have a very good imagination, and don't need help having nightmares, thank you.) But I do know that the way to fight them is with firepower and fire. (Salt works well in classic zombie literature, but that didn't come up in the quiz. Neither did the subject of Maltov Coctails, come to think of it...)

Anyways, that's not a picture of me below, but that is about how big the pile of brass would be before the undead finally got to me...

Check the extended entry to see how well I did.

(Hat tip to Curmudgeonly & Skeptical and Rocket Jones)

Official Survivor Congratulations! You scored 79%!

Whether through ferocity or quickness, you made it out. You made the right choice most of the time, but you probably screwed up somewhere. Nobody's perfect, at least you're alive.

Liberal Press

The Pope is visiting DC and President Bush takes him out for an afternoon
on the Potomac...sailing on the presidential yacht. They're admiring the
sights when, all of a sudden, the Pope's hat (zucchetto) blows off his
head and out into the water. Secret service guys start to launch a boat,
but Bush waves them off, saying "Wait, wait. I'll take care of this. Don't
worry."

Bush then steps off the yacht onto the surface of the water and walks out
to the Holy Father's little hat, bends over and picks it up, then walks
back to the yacht and climbs aboard. He hands the hat to the Pope amid
stunned silence.

The next morning, the Washington Post carries a story, with front page
photos, of the event. The banner headline is: "Bush Can't Swim."

Beware...

the Ides of March.

Pointless Trivia

By my calculations, I will be 1,000,000,000 (one billion) seconds old around 8:40P.M. on July 2nd of this year. (That's a little over 31 and a half years old.)

If you want to see how many seconds old you are right now, check out this site. But this only works for people over 5 years old. (Don't put in the '19' part of the year you were born in. e.g. '1973' get's put in as '73'. Otherwise you get a negative number.)

990+ million and going strong!

Announcement!

I finally got my pre-spring haircut. And boy, is that a load off my mind. (rimshot)

I’m gambling that it will stay warm enough from here on out to not need the extra layers of insulation on my head. Of course, I usually wear a hat anyways, so it’s not like I’m going to catch hypothermia or anything.

At four months or so since my last haircut, I figure that I lost a good 3 to 4 inches off the back. (No more pony-tail. Not that it was really long enough…)

Don’t worry, this isn’t one of the signs of the apocalypse like some of my family seems to think. I just got sick of trying to keep the hair out of my eyes.

Unfortunately, one thing did hold true. It seems that every time I get my hair cut lately, the amount of grey in it doubles. Oh well, it could be worse. At least my forehead is still the same size…

Words to live by...

Change the oil every 3000 miles or four months, whichever comes first.
- Car Manual

Rowr...

Shut up, stomach.

Anyone know where I can get some decent Chicken Parmesan?

Preferably in Western New York...

What's in your pocket?

Following a meme started over at Rocket Jones.

Left front: Some bills, mostly ones, change, receipts and cell phone.
Right front: Lots of change and a pocket knife.
Left back: Wallet (mostly stuffed with receipts.)
Right back: Comb and Swiss Army knife.

Update: I forgot, my keys are on a D-ring hooked to the beltloop on my left hip. And sometimes my Leatherman is on my belt on the right hip.

Murderer Caught

I am not a proponent of “gun control” laws. And in fact, the tragedy that started yesterday, and was finally ended in Atlanta, GA this morning would not have been prevented by any “gun control” law.

However, this system could have had a major impact on what had happened. The O’Dwyer Vle Handgun, made by Metal Storm Ltd. would have prevented Nichols from using the Deputy Sheriff’s gun.

But more importantly, this could have been prevented if the Sheriff’s Department had handled Nichols better in the first place.

Nichols was being re-tried for rape. His first trial had ended in a hung jury. He was said to be expecting a guilty verdict at this trial.He was a man who looked at women as targets, as victims… as something he could control as he wished. And yet he was put in the custody of a single woman, nearly a foot shorter than himself.

I’m not sure that he should have been in handcuffs. Although that may have been justified, I don’t know how he was brought into the courthouse. I don’t know if he was brought in as a prisoner, or came in under his own recognizance. But at the same time, anyone being charged with the crimes he was charged with should have been considered dangerous. Especially to any women.

I’m not saying that the Deputy Sheriff is not capable of doing her job, but her job should not include single handedly guarding a dangerous man half again her size. Unless she is going to hold her gun on him the whole time, she has no way of controlling that kind of situation.

I wouldn’t want to be put in that situation myself. I’m a guy with no real fear of anyone else, yet at only 5’6”, I recognize that I could be easily overpowered in that circumstance.

In closing, while I am anguished that three, possibly four, people lost their lives at the hands of this… monster, at least the Deputy Sheriff is expected to recover. And I am very relieved that this didn’t turn into a shoot-out where many more were killed. I just hope that this man gets everything that is coming to him.

Scary thoughts...

Just one thought on seeing the preview for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, (a remake of the ’71 film Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.)

Is it just a coincidence that Johnny Depp, playing Willie Wonka, the eccentric chocolate maker who lures children into his fantasy world of a factory with promises of free candy, is made up to look a lot like Michael Jackson?

It’s kind of creeping me out…

Quote of the day.

“I’m made of ‘afraidium’. It’s a yellow metal and it tastes like chicken.”

- Fender in ROBOTS

Filthy Lie: Evil Glenn's Historic Feat

I was just sitting down at my desk to do a little old-fashioned correspondence, when all of a sudden my pen jumped out of my hand and started sliding across the page. I was a little startled at first, but then I started reading what was being written.

Then I was completely astounded. (And more than a little nervous.)

Agent GEBIV, your mission, should you choose to accept it, (and not wimp out like a total chicken) is to find out what historic feat Evil Glenn is attempting.

As usual, if you are discovered or captured we will disavow all knowledge of your actions. In fact, we will not only deny that we know you, we will deny that you have any right to exist. Um… Don’t make us lie about not knowing you. Yeah, that sounds good.

Anyways, this message will self-destruct in 10 seconds.

I ducked behind the chair and waited for the explosion. But nothing happened.

Cautiously, I stood up and looked over the seat back. Still nothing. I stepped around the chair figuring that for once, Harvey’s self destruct system didn’t work.

*SPLOIT*

I was wrong. The pen burst, showering the paper and half the room with ink. Just great, I thought. That was a new shirt.

As I tried to sponge the ink off of my clothes, I realized that it was once again time for another…

Trip to the drycleaners!

And after that, another…

MISSION: IMPLAUSIBLE!
(Cue Theme Music)
I thought that I might get lucky, and not have to risk my neck on this mission. So I made a quick phone call to the Guinness Book Of World Records to see if Evil Glenn was trying to set a new record.

I got good news and bad news. The good news was that, yes he was trying to achieve an historic first. The bad news was they didn’t know what it was, and had only that morning sent a representative to meet with the Dark Lord of the Blogsphere.

It looked like I was going to have enter Evil Glenn’s Fortress of Evil to get to the bottom of this assignment. So I gassed up the Jeep and headed to Tennessee.

When I entered the Fortress grounds, I was surprised to not have to deal with any security. Even the Attack Rabbits were locked away in their pens.

When I entered Evil Glenn’s study, I learned why the alarms and such had been turned off. The Guinness Book representative was sitting there looking at a stopwatch. He was a short man, wearing a top hat and tails, and holding a stopwatch. I figured that Evil Glenn had shut everything off so the representative would be able to enter and make an official judgment. Something hard to do while being gnawed on by carnivorous rabbits.

Evil Glenn looked over at me as I walked in. “Oh,” he sneered. “Harvey only sent you.”

“Yeah, I’m all that’s here.” I answered. “But I think that I can handle anything you’ve got.”

He just snorted in reply.

“Let’s just get this over with.” I said. “What ‘historic first’ are you trying to do?”

The Guinness rep spoke right up. “Mr. Reynolds here is going to be the first man to ever wear sandals with dark socks-“

“That’s not true!” I interrupted.

“Ahem. If you’d let me finish. He will be the first man to ever wear sandals with dark socks up to his knees, for five years straight, without ever removing them.”

“Why would anyone ever want to do that?!” I exclaimed.

“Simple.” Answered Evil Glenn. “When you wear you socks up to your knees like this, your calves stay the nicest, palest white.”

“I don’t believe you.” I groaned shaking my head. “That has to be the silliest reason-“

“Here! Look!” He shouted as he rolled down his socks to show me. The fluorescent lighting reflecting off of his chicken-legs almost blinded me.

*Click* “And mark.” Said the Guinness rep.

“What?” asked Evil Glenn.

“Let’s see,” muttered the rep. as he punched buttons on his calculator. “Carry the 3 and… times 12…”

“What are you talking about?” demanded the Dark Lord.

“You’re total sock wearing time.” Answered the shorter man. “I’m afraid you were short of 5 years by 10 minutes. Therefore, I regret to inform you that we can not award you the certificate.”

“Nooooooooooooooo!” moaned Evil Glenn. He turned back towards me. “This is all your fault!

“Insta-henchmen!” he yelled. Then as they filed into the room, he pointed at me. “Throw him in the dungeon!”

“Wait!” I had to think fast. This was a little more muscle than I was prepared to face. I looked at the Guinness Book man. “Isn’t there something else he could do to get into the book?”

“There is one thing…”

Evil Glenn stopped his Insta-henchmen with a wave of his hand. “What is it?”

“Well, the only record that you could set quickly is the one for ‘consecutive kicks to the groin without loosing consciousness.’”

“I’ll do it!” announced Evil Glenn. He picked out two of his Insta-henchmen. “I want you two to keep kicking me, no matter what I say or do, until I break the record.”

He assumed his stance. “Begin.”

*THUNK*

“OWWWWWWWWW!”

*THUNK*

“AIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE…”

*THUNK*

“No more…”

*THUNK*

“Please stop…”

*THUNK*

“I’m begging…”

*THUNK*

As the kicking kept going, and Evil Glenn’s voice continued to climb into the higher ranges, I took my chance to leave.

As I passed the Guinness Book man making notes on a clipboard, I asked him what the previous record was.

“One.”

Question for the day...

What would you do for a Klondike Bar?

Question for the day...

What would you do for a Klondike Bar?

Thought for the day.

I plan on living forever.

So far, so good.

(Can't remember who said it first, though.)

Finally...

Well, at last I got around to putting up the Bad Example Family blogroll on my sidebar.

Of course that would never have even happened if Harvey hadn't done all the hard work for me.

I'm so lazy...

PGHA: Terrorist Warning Label

Terrorists in general, and more specifically car bombers, are facing their first real threat. No longer can they go about their business without a care in the world. No longer do they have the tacit approval of all of the liberals of the western world. No longer are they allowed to act with impunity.

And why?

One word.

One awful, spine-tingling, nerve wracking, stomach churning, bowel loosening, ulcer causing word.

Lawyers

First, terrorists were forced to respond to legal charges that they were not giving fair warning when using their IEDs. Their legal representatives argued that their product emitted a visible flash, and “warning shrapnel.”

Next, the terrorists were hit with a lawsuit charging that there were no warning labels on their car bombs, alerting people to the possible dangers of using them. In an effort to prevent punitive legal charges, and cover all possible future lawsuits, they have come up with a new warning label to be fixed in a prominent position on the bumpers of all future cars being used for car-bombings.

WARNING!! – This product MAY be harmful to your health.

- For external use only.
- Do not use in shower.
- Do not use while sleeping.
- Do not use while under heavy medication.
- Not safe for use by minors.
- Contents under extreme pressure.
- Always make sure to wear proper eye protection.
- May cause loss of bladder control.
- May cause sterility in men.
- Has been proven to cause hair loss in laboratory mice.
- Not a toy.
- May contain small parts: not suitable for children under 3.
- May become hot after use.
- May be harmful if swallowed.
- Misuse may cause injury or death.
- Not dishwasher safe.
- Do not attempt to put in pants.
- Do not use orally.
- Not safe for use around pets.
- May cause skin irritation.
- Can cause birth defects.
- May cause cancer.
- May cause hearing loss.
- May contain peanuts or peanut products.
- May contain dairy products.
- Do not use as a marital aid. (That one was for Harvey.)
- Dry clean only.
- Not recommended for use while pregnant.
- May cause headaches.
- May damage delicate clothing.
- May cause memory loss.
- May cause liver damage.
- May lead to heart disease.
- Misuse may result in damage to property.
- Misuse may void warranty.
- Do not use while eating.
- Do not use under water.
- Not for use as a floatation device.
- Not to be used by livestock.
- Contains at least 24% recycled materials.
- May cause flu-like symptoms.
- Not for use by those with back problems.
- May have sharp edges.
- Not recommended for use while on the phone.
- Do not use with aspirin.
- Do not use while drinking coffee.
- Not for use in bed.
- Must be disposed of in a properly marked receptacle.
- May contain PCBs.
- This is not part of a well-balanced breakfast.
- You may already be a winner!
- May contain lead.
- May contain Dihydrogen Monoxide.
- May cause Carbon Dioxide emissions.
- Not for use as a diving board.
- Do not use without adult supervision.
- Does not protect from UV-A rays.
- May cause tumors.
- May cause kidney disease.
- May contain tar.
- May contain nicotine.
- Do not point at eyes.
- Do not expose to temperatures above 14,000 °F.
- Do not leave in direct sunlight.
- Not a safe alternative to cigarettes.
- May cause emphysema.
- May result in low birth weight.
- Not intended to treat, cure or prevent any disease.
- Results not guaranteed.
- May cause drowsiness.
- May cause sleeplessness.
- May cause hives.
- May induce shock-like symptoms.
- May be associated with Reye’s Syndrome.
- Do not use if you have stomach problems.
- May contain Red Dye #5.
- Fragile: Do Not Drop.
- This side up. ↑
- May interfere with pacemakers.
- Keep away from sparks and open flames.
- Do not puncture or incinerate.
- May cause fever.
- May cause nausea.
- May cause swelling.
- Do not use with a sore throat.
- Slippery when wet.
- If swallowed, do not induce vomiting.
- Not a dietary substitute.
- May contain sugar or a sugar substitute.
- May cause Methane emissions.
- May harm the ozone layer.
- May contribute to global warming.
- May contribute to global cooling.
- Not for use as educational material.
- Not to be used for heavy lifting.
- Caution: Low Ceiling.
- Always wear gloves.
- No shoes, no shirt, no service.
- May contain pet dander.
- May contain Ginseng.
- May contain Taurine.
- May cause bleeding.
- May cause gingivitis.
- Void where prohibited by law.
- Helmet use is recommended.
- Objects may be larger than they appear.
- Results not tested by the F.D.A.
- Usage and other fees may apply.
- May induce puppy-blending.
- May cause Penguinophilia.
- May cause drifting in spots.
- Not suitable for Hobo Bashing.
- May cause an Instalanche. (OK, that last one is just wishfull thinking.)

On a related note, all car bombings have come to a complete halt while terrorists frantically search for a car with a large enough bumper to affix the warning label to.

Remember...

"There is no spoon..."

"Woah."

Ratio... ratio...

Let's see, according to a recent study, the length of a man's index finger in proportion to his ring finger shows his agressivness. That is, the shorter the index finger, the more agressive a guy is.

So let's see... hmmm, let me get out the tape measure... can't find it. Measure each hand against the other... average everything out...

And my index finger is...

SHORTER THAN THE RING FINGER!!!!! FEAR ME!!!!!

I AM AGRESSIVE!!!!!

Well, not that much shorter.

I'm glad to get that out of my system.

Tune in tomorrow for a truely great... well at least it should be a little funny... Precision Guided Humor Assignment.

Says Yoda.

Do or do not. There is no try.

The plot to assassinate a reporter?

I’ve been slightly keeping track of the whole mess with Giuliana Sgrena, the Italian reporter/hostage being wounded at a roadblock checkpoint, and an Italian Intelligence Officer, Nicola Calipari, being killed.

Sgrena is claiming that this was an intentional act by American forces. That it was an assassination attempt.

She’s quoted as saying:

"I believe, but it's only a hypothesis, that the happy ending to the negotiations must have been irksome. The Americans are against this type of operation. For them, war is war, human life doesn't count for much." "when they let me go, it was a difficult moment for me because they told me, `The Americans don't want you to return alive to Italy.'"

Of course many Americans believe this to be a load of tripe. I particularly like Blackfive’s comment on the matter:

She fails to understand that she and the other Italian agent survived. The shooting stopped when the car stopped being a threat. If the US (or the troops at the checkpoint for that matter) wanted her dead, the car would have been blown to bits and you would have needed the guys from CSI to identify the remains of the Italians.

The point Blackfive makes here, is that if American forces wanted her dead, she would be dead. There was no reason for the soldiers to stop shooting if they knew it was her and were targeting her. How can something that obvious be so hard for them to see?

There are many other problems with the theory that this was an intentional act, but to me it boils down to the fact that the soldiers stopped shooting. The Italians didn’t escape from an ambush, or turn around and run from the roadblock. The car was stopped, and then the firing stopped.

And then our soldiers administered medical treatment. Not exactly the behavior you would expect towards someone you intended to kill.

It’s a shame that a man died because of the mistakes that occurred, but saying that this was intentional is downright criminal.

Sorry for being serious. I’ll go back to inane postings later. But I had to put my feelings about this into words.

Remember...

Every cloud has a silver lining.

But make sure that it's not just a jumbo jet coming through from the other side...

What can I say? I'm a guy...

I've seen this around the internet in a few places, but I'm too lazy to try to figure out where...

But here's my brain:

The Line Painter

A blonde (A guy this time. Yes, even blonde guys can be dumb.)gets a job painting the yellow line down the middle of the road for the county.

The first day, he paints 20 miles worth of line. His boss is really impressed.

The second day, he only paints 10 miles worth of line. Still a good amount of work, but his boss is a little concerned about the drop off.

The third day, he only paints 5 miles. And it gets worse as the week goes on, untill on the fith day, he only paints half a mile of line.

His boss asks him what the problem is, "On the first day, you painted 20 miles of line. Today you only painted half a mile. What is the problem?"

"Well, boss," the blonde replies. "Each day, the can is so much farther from where I have to paint."

Confucious Say...

Never trust a smiling politician.

Note to self...

I like CRAB cakes.

Not CLAM cakes!

Ptui! Ptui!

Confucious Say...

Don't count your chickens before they hatch, because they're just eggs.

If you have enough, make an omelet! If you don't, I'd like mine over easy.

Filthy Lie: Evil Glenn's Rehab Clinic

I was sitting in the hammock in the back yard reading the news. I noticed my hand tremble a bit as I turned each page. Well, what did I expect? It was only a little above freezing and there I was sitting a few inches above a snowdrift. (Cabin fever can make you do strange things at the beginning of March.)

Then an item caught my eye. It was an article about the opening of the latest Insta-Rehab Clinic® in my neighborhood. Part of a large chain of them stretching across the country.

I slowly closed the paper. This time, the shaking of my hands was not a result of the cold. I had a bad feeling about this.

As if on cue, my cell phone started ringing. I checked the caller-ID. *whew* It was only my Dad.

“Hi Dad,” I answered.

“Agent GEBIV.” The voice on the phone said. “We have a mission for you.”

“Harvey! What are you doing with my Dad’s phone!?” I yelled.

“I don’t have his phone,” was the answer. “I just have his caller-ID. You have no idea how handy this is when I want to call 900 numbers… but I digress.

“Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to find out what goes on in Evil Glenn’s Rehab Clinic.

“If you are discovered or killed, hey it’s no skin off my nose. I mean, they can’t even trace this call back to me. I am invincible! …er, I mean we will be forced to disavow all knowledge of your actions.

“Out of the kindness of our hearts, we won’t self destruct your new cell phone.”

Gee that was nice of him…

“However, your newspaper will self destruct in 5… 4… 3…”

I quickly wadded up the paper and threw it as hard as I could. Then with the same motion, flung myself behind the… hammock. Oh great. This is really going to protect me. I covered my head with my arms as best as I could and waited for the worst.

*KAAAAAABOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!*

…when I came to, I could see the hammock swinging slowly, without a singe. Unfortunately, I was now lying in a snow bank in the woods a good forty feet from where I had been crouched. A trail of broken branches led back to where my body had crashed through the stockade fence.

As I walked back through the debris and picked splinters out of my skin, I knew that it was once again time for another…

MISSION: IMPLAUSIBLE!
(Cue Theme Music)

I knew that I would need a disguise to get into the Insta-Rehab Clinic. Those places were known to only cater to the rich and famous. They wouldn’t take just anyone in off the street.

I dug through my closet, and was able to come up with a reasonable disguise that made me look like a relatively well know actor. (I can’t remember his name, but remember in the movie Princess Bride, when the main character confronted Prince Humperdink outside the fire-swamp? Remember the Prince’s chief henchman Count Rugen? That’s right, I impersonated the soldier-extra who was standing to his left.)

I drove over to the new Insta-Rehab Clinic®. I didn’t want them to recognize my Jeep, so I parked a few blocks away, and perfected my drunken stagger on the walk there.

At the door, I saw an Insta-henchman escorting out a young woman who, even to my untrained eye, was obviously going through withdrawal. “I don’t care how sick you are.” He growled as he threw her onto the sidewalk. “We don’t treat sit-com actresses here.”

Uh oh. I thought. This might be tougher than I expected.

Fortunately, my worries were unfounded. As soon as I walked into the lobby, the check-in guy and the henchman came running over. “I loved you in Princess Bride!” they both shouted in unison. Then following the whole “Jinx, Jinx. Buy me a coke/ double hits, no punchbacks” argument they had, I was finally able to check in.

The clerk was nursing a shiner and a Coke as he checked me in. He smiled knowingly when he saw me, with shaking hands, illegibly scrawl a signature at the bottom of the standard alcoholism form.. “I see that you’ve gone a little while without a drink.” He said. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix you right up. We have all of your credit information already, so let me lead you to where you’ll be staying.”

We walked down a large foyer, and he ushered me through a set of large double doors.

It was a huge room! The mini-bar was so big that it had an actual bartender! This was puzzling. Why would they put someone they thought was an alcoholic in a room with so much alcohol?

I looked around a little more and realized that I was standing in an actual bar! There was no one else in it at the moment besides the bartender and myself, but this was obviously no bedroom. Then I noticed someone quietly snoring in the far corner, and revised that. I could even see a restaurant through an archway at the other end of the counter.

The only conclusion I could come to at this point was that this Insta-Rehab Clinic was definitely not trying to cure people of alcoholism. And if the “Weight-Watchers All You Can Eat Buffet” sign next to the restaurant entrance was any indication, they weren’t trying to cure anyone of anything!

I knew that I would have to break into the office computers to get to the bottom of this. After muttering something to the bartender about needing to make room for more beer, I pretended to go looking for the restrooms, and slipped out of the bar.

A few minutes later, I was staring in frustration at the computer in the clinic’s main office. There was no way I was getting anything out of it. There was no way I was even going to be able to figure out how to turn it on! (Stupid Mac.)

I was defeated.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps in the hall outside. Someone jiggled a key in the lock. I looked around desperately! Just as the door started to open, I ducked behind a large, curiously plush object in the corner.

I heard two voices as the lights came on and I saw that I was hiding behind a five-foot tall stuffed penguin.

But that was nothing to the shock of realizing that one of the voices was Evil Glenn himself!

“But sir, I don’t understand.” Said the other voice, which I identified as the check-in clerk. “Could you explain again why we aren’t curing any of these people?”

“Oh, but we are!” exclaimed Evil Glenn. “We are curing them of the awful habit of having money that should belong to me.

“And do you know what I’m going to do with all of that money?”

“Um. No, sir.”

“That was a rhetorical question, you dolt!” Evil Glenn sneered. “I’ll use all of that lovely money that they’re giving me, and I’ll buy Bubba-the-giant-lobster’s carcass.

“And do you know what I’ll do with that lobster?”

“Cook it, sir?”

“No! …I mean yes,” sputtered Evil Glenn. “And then I’ll throw the largest lobster party that congress has ever seen. And that will get my Blog Tax Law passed.”

“Is that the one where they tax bloggers by every word they type?”

“Mwahahahaha!” laughed the Evil Bloglord. “And since I only type one or two words per post, I’ll be paying only pennies why they are paying through the nose! No one will ever be able to get as big as me! I’ll own the blogsphere forever! Heh! Indeed!”

“But sir,” the timid clerk said, “it’s taken you years to build all of these Insta-Rehab Clinics®, and it will be at least five more years until we break even. Plus, some of the Congressmen are allergic to shellfish. Wouldn’t it have been easier just to give the money right to the Congressmen in the first place?”

“What? I never thought of that!” he exclaimed. “Drat!”

He started muttering, and then told his lackey, “Leave me. I need some personal time with Mr. Opus."

I heard his footsteps getting closer, and then I remembered that I was hiding behind Evil Glenn’s stuffed penguin.

“AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!” I ran, screaming, from his office. But at least I knew what he was planning.

His Insta-Rehab Clinics® are all part of his intricate plan to continue to dominate the blogsphere!

Confucious say...

Never lock your keys in your car... unless you know how to do that thing with the coathanger. Then it's OK.

Just wondering...

Have you ever meant to microwave something for a minute and a half but entered 1:50 on the display and over-cooked the food?

Don't you just hate it when that happens?

MWAHAHAHAHA!

I VIBEG WILL CONQUER ALLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!

*slap* *slap* smack*

Don't worry folks, I think I have him back under control...

THAT'S WHAT HE THINKS...

Confucious says...

"If you don't stop picking at it, it will never heal."

PGHA: Setting the Blogsphere's Crosshairs

I was browsing around the blogsphere and saw the latest Alliance Assignment. Apparently, the blogsphere has dragged down another big-wig like a pack of wolves, and now they are looking around for someone new to set their sights on.

So the question was set: Who will be the next person brought down by the blogsphere, and how will it happen?

I checked the major news reports to see if there were any big stories breaking, or major political figures doing something stupid.

Frankly, I was overwhelmed. You can’t open a paper or turn on the news without seeing someone who deserves to be brought down a notch or two. But I couldn’t figure out who would be a good target for the whole blogsphere…

EXCEPT HAROLD FINKWINKLESTEIN, WHO RUNS THE LOTS-O-STUFF DELI!

EVERY TIME I ASK FOR THIN-SLICED HAM, HE ALWAYS CUTS IT THICK. SOMETIMES I CAN ONLY GET THREE OR FOUR SANDWICHES OUT OF HALF A POUND!

AND LAST WEEK WHEN I ASKED FOR AMERICAN SWISS CHEESE, HE CLAIMED THEY WERE ALL OUT EVEN THOUGH I COULD SEE OVER A POUND OF IT INSIDE THE COOLER!

AND HE NEVER HAS ANY GOOD PICKLES! AND HE CLAIMS TO BE A HIGH QUALITY DELI! WHAT KIND OF DELI DOESN’T HAVE PICKLES?!?!

THE BLOGSPHERE MUST RISE UP AND SHOW THE WORLD WHAT A FRAUD HAROLD FINKWINKLESTEIN IS! THE LOTS-O-STUFF DELI MUST BE REVEALED AS THE LOW QUALITY ESTABLISHMENT IT IS!

ALL OF THE BLOGS OF THE ALLIANCE NEED TO BAND TOGETHER AND…

Sorry about that.

That was my evil anti-ego VIBEG.

You know how inside every nice person there is a nasty one trying to get out. Well a lot of people say that I am a very nice guy (usually the same ones who say that women like guys with a sense of humor, but I digress), so it just stands to reason, that the nasty guy inside me is really nasty.

Unfortunately, VIBEG is also a bit deranged. You’d think that being the anti-me, he would be sane… maybe I’m not as crazy as I think. I’ll try to keep him in check for the rest of the assignment.

The real sad part is that Harold Finkwinklestein is the owner of a dry cleaner, not the deli. I wondered why the told me to use the one across town from now on…

Personally, I figure that the next victim of the blogsphere will be Frank J. of IMAO. Since going to a group blog format, IMAO has been getting too big too fast, and Evil Glenn won’t allow that.

He all ready set up one attempt on Frank J.’s life. And since that didn’t work, it’s only a matter of time before he starts making an issue of Frank J.’s filthy lies.

The question is, will Frank J. be strong enough to withstand the blogsphere scrutiny?

I'm a Half-Elf?

Well, at least the shorter part is right...

A little survey I found via Castle Arggghhh!.

What D&D Character am I?

I Am A: Chaotic Good Half-Elf Ranger Druid


Alignment:
Chaotic Good characters are independent types with a strong belief in the value of goodness. They have little use for governments and other forces of order, and will generally do their own things, without heed to such groups.


Race:
Half-Elves are a cross between a human and an elf. They are smaller, like their elven ancestors, but have a much shorter lifespan. They are sometimes looked down upon as half-breeds, but this is rare. They have both the curious drive of humans and the patience of elves.


Primary Class:
Rangers are the defenders of nature and the elements. They are in tune with the Earth, and work to keep it safe and healthy.


Secondary Class:
Druids are a special variety of Cleric who serves the Earth, and can call upon the power in the earth to accomplish their goals. They tend to be somewhat fanatical about defending natural settings.


Deity:
Solonor Thelandria is the Chaotic Good elven god of archery and the hunt. He is also known as the Keen Eye, the Great Archer, and the Forest Hunter. His followers respect nature, and only hunt when needed, but are quick to defend the forest from intruders. Their favorite weapon is the bow, and they tend to be extremely talented with it. Solonor Thelandria's symbol is an arrow with green fletchings.


Find out What D&D Character Are You?, courtesy ofNeppyMan (e-mail)

Confucious says...

“Never criticize someone until you walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you’re a mile away and you have their shoes.”

Bwahahaha! Fire!

Found some good stress relievers over here.

(Found as a result of following Harvey's hampster-microwave link in his Totally True Tidbits About Nuclear Power post at IMAO.)

Zen thought

There is one thing that no home can be happy without...

Toilet Paper.