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  • 100th Post

    In celebration of my 100th post, I am inviting all of my lovely readers to first check this article about a couple who met at a bar and decided to get naked on a rooftop. The reason this made news is because they fell off the roof, did not die immediately but were unable to get up, and then died enroute to the hospital.

    I'm waiting for the laughter to taper off before continuing....


    Okay, you feel better now? Me, too.

    Alrighty, then. Here's the situation: I put my feet in my mouth at the Obscure Store by stating that there are tons of adventurous places to get busy without the added threat of dying with your pants down. I've thought of a few; I'd like your suggestions as well. Feel free to post comments anonymously if you need to.

    My ideas:

    • limo
    • tent
    • sailboat (docked or open water)
    • elevator
    • supply closet
    • public restrooms (beware of police)
    • corn field (beware of harvest and cow-tippers)
    I'm sure mine are rather mundane compared to getting the sexy on a rooftop, especially a roof that slopes. However, the point is to get the sexy without the death.

    Which brings to mind "Rosencrantz and Gildenstern are Dead," a fantastically great movie which has absolutely nothing to do with this particular post, or even anything in particular:

    You can have the love and the blood without the rhetoric. You can have the blood and the rhetoric without the love. But you can't have the love and rhetoric without the blood; blood is compulsory.
    It's just one of my favorite quotes, and I love to toss it out whenever it makes the least sense.

    I only hope my Veruca don't want one

    Oh, Fark, you are so magnificent. Being a lo-skilz geek, I check out the articles posted there as some are not "not news"-worthy enough to make the main page, but are still relevant to geeky Farkers. Take this gem, for instance:

    Sony is busy creating a television so thin, it's bendy and can be sewn into clothing. Mister will be so pleased!

    Just imagine it: you're walking the dog, and suddenly you recall that rerun of Will & Grace you wanted to catch was starting in 5 minutes. Damn! What to do, what to do! No problem, you've got your Sony t-shirt television charged up and ready to go!

    Somehow, just like that other technical marvel, the mobile phone, I anticipate that this will only end well.

    Drunken Dumbass-the newest "DD"

    In March, Vivica A. Fox was sentenced for driving while intoxicated. She has reemerged into the spotlight to share her story and to offer advice.

    Ms. Fox declared that she had made an "unfortunately judgment" and also took full responsibility for her actions, which clearly sets her apart from 99.999997% of all other wealthy and/or celebrity individuals in America. Celebrities are, according to Ms. Fox, "...not above the law." She says she has learned her lesson.

    But what exactly was that lesson? Did she learn that by traveling 80 miles per hour down a freeway put the lives of everyone who shared the road with her in jeopardy? Did she learn that she put her own life in jeopardy?

    Sorry to disappoint, but what started out so well as a turning point really isn't one after all.

    The lesson Ms. Fox learned was that all the rigamarole involved with being convicted of drunk driving is a pain the rump. Her regrets fall mostly on her driving record, about which she lamented the conviction would remain for up to ten years.

    Bless your heart, you poor thing. I'm so sorry that your error in judgment is going to remain on your record for a decade. On the other hand, I'm sorry you weren't stopped sooner. I'm sorry you weren't stopped before you got into your vehicle. I'm sorry you surround yourself with weakness.

    Who are these friends, coworkers, cohorts, people, that they would let you walk away from them knowing you were not in a fit state to drive? Do you still associate with them? If so, why? It's obvious to me that your celebrity has dazzled them into cowed submission, or ramped up their primeval greed. These people are not looking out for you, Ms. Fox. Indeed, they are looking out for themselves: how much can we gain by being with Vivica A. Fox, super-beautiful super-celebrity?

    The lessons to be learned from your experience do not stop at keeping a tidy driving record.

    Because the mind is a terrible thing

    I have officially and irrevocably lost my ever-lovin' mind. How is that possible, you ask, especially when there is much evidence to suggest I never had one to begin with?

    This parent, feeling sorry for her younglings who have to miss out on visiting grandparents this year thanks to some war over oil--I mean turrurists, took the opportunity of a sale and a lovely day to purchase a gaming console, some accessories, and a pair of games: the PS2, a wireless guitar, two microphones plus SingStar, and Guitar Hero 2.

    I just have to say that if I hear "Shout at the Devil" ONE MORE TIME this week, there will be the devil to pay.

    Holy freakin' cow, I had no idea just how damned annoying that game really is! "Shout, shout, shout, shout at the devil!" I disliked that song when it was popular; I detest it now. If I were the praying type, I'd be asking for the gift of hacking so I could rip that damn song off the game.

    Plus, the kids just couldn't get enough of it. I think there's a subliminal hypnosis in the game, mostly because when I told them it was time to shut down, I got little opposition, just a quiet, "Oh man..." Is this game why teenagers have such a vacant expression these days?

    Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Holy crap, this is funny.

    I swear, I laughed so hard. Mary-Mother-of-Jesus, this is good.

    Some of you may recall I was a huge, nearly-orgasmic fan of Eddie Vedder's. Gawd, I still go all light-headed just looking at those lovely curls...

    Anyhoo, fan that I am of Pearl Jam, I am helpless without a lyric sheet. However, any real fan of Pearl Jam knows that in the end lyric sheets are useless as Vedder really never sings any song the same way twice.

    This site, Misheard Lyrics, posted their interpretation of "Yellow Ledbetter" to youtube, and I found it via the blog "Fresh Hell" and through them, VH1's "Best Week Ever" blog.

    Enjoy. Just put down that drink first, okay? KTKSBY

    Monty Python and the Holy Grail: The French Taunter

    Bwahahaha! You must watch until the very end. You must!

    Found me some funny

    Well I must say, this blog's a real downer. What the hell is going on here?!

    So, in the spirit of lifting spirits, no one does it better than Monty Python. Join me whilst we cruise the bookseller's....

    I have watched The Holy Grail since I was in grade school. I got sent to the principal's office for yelling at a boy I was trying to beat up, "Running away, eh? You yellow bastard!"

    I was also quite embarrassed in my teenage years to suddenly learn that spankings and oral sex were nothing to be asking for in polite society. Fortunately, my sister and I talked so fast and with a pseudo-British accent that most people didn't understand us, and those that did simply didn't believe their ears.

    This fansite is a compendium of Python fun. I check this place out from time to time if my spirits need a lift but too many kiddies are running about. Hope you enjoy!


    the war at home

    On Wednesday last, Reality crashed down on me like a ton of bricks, a nine-pound hammer, like the sky is falling.

    Mister had called to share his latest karaoke exploits and to ask about the children. Thankfully, no one had been injured or required the emergency room in a while (touch wood!). However, within 5 minutes of the conversation, something new happened.

    It was about 10pm his local time. This crazy siren went off, somewhere behind wherever Mister was standing to make the call. Mister said, "Uh, I gotta go," and the line went dead. I sat there on my comfy chair, just staring at my phone.

    What did that siren mean? What was going on? Can I call someone? Who would know? What do I do?

    I cried for a few minutes, because it instantly occurred to me that the call could very well be our last conversation. But then I pulled myself up hard, because The Girl would be home soon and I couldn't let her see me like that. You see, I have to be strong for everyone: my mother-in-law, who fears for her only son; my mother, who understands all too well that death is a reality of war and that warfare can turn a man's heart to stone; my children, who really have no clue; my friends, who suddenly don't know what to say anymore. There's no one here to be strong for me, so I guess I'll have to save that for later, like so many other things in my life.

    All evening and into the night, I stayed by my phone and checked my email, hoping for some contact. Morning came and went. I spent the day with the phone in my hand and my computer waiting whilst I tidied up a bit in the event I had visitors. Finally, around 2:30 Thursday, the phone rang. I nearly jumped out of my skin. He was fine, claiming "that happens all the time, hardly worth mentioning." Utter tosh, but I was so relieved just to hear his voice I didn't press the issue.

    Later that night, I found myself sleepless again. Thoughts of what are, what might have been, what may very well be, kept haunting and taunting me. I know that thousands of soldiers, Marines, sailors, and airmen have come and gone in the theater, but too many have returned not as passengers but as cargo. As soon as my eyes close, I hear that siren again. Sleep is no longer a refuge; my room is no longer a sanctuary.

    Would that I could speed time along, but like so many other things, I'll just have to wait for that, too.