Howdy! Here's a pic of my Nuts!

Man Accused of Placing Lewd Photos on Cars because he thought "they'd find it funny".

I'm not sure but do you find the idea of a 40 year old man putting pictures of his nuts on your car funny in any way? I don't.

Mehtinks Jeffrey J. Hein's one of those folks who are a few cards short of a full deck. Now, if he'd done the goatse thing, THAT would have been funny. But only to the people who read about it, not the ones that saw it.

The Business of Businesseratin'

SEPTEMBER 21, 2005, BATON ROUGE, LA (AP) - The White House announced today that President Bush has successfully sold the state of Louisiana back to the French at more than double its original selling price of $11,250,000.

"This is a bold step forward for America," said Bush. "And America will be stronger and better as a result. I stand here today in unity with French Prime Minister Jack Sharaq, who was so kind to accept my offer of Louisiana in exchange for 25 million dollars cash."

The state, ravaged by Hurricane Katrina, will cost hundreds of billions of dollars to rebuild.

"Jack understands full well that this one's a 'fixer upper,'" said Bush. "He and the French people are quite prepared to pump out all that water and make Louisiana a decent place to live again. And they've got a lot of work to do. But Jack's assured me, if it's not right, they're going to fix it."

The move has been met with incredulity from the beleaguered residents of Louisiana.

"Shuba-pie!" said New Orleans resident Willis Babineaux. "Frafer-perly yum kom drabby sham!"

However, President Bush's decision has been widely lauded by Republicans.

"This is an unexpected but brilliant move by the President," said Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist. "Instead of spending billions and billions, and billions of dollars rebuilding the state of Louisiana, we've just made 25 million dollars in pure profit."

"This is indeed a smart move," commented Fox News analyst Brit Hume. "Not only have we stopped the flooding in our own budget, we've made money on the deal. Plus, when the god-awful French are done fixing it up, we can easily invade and take it back again."
Thanks to Jay for forwarding this on.

Cows - A Treatise on Political Science

A forward from Jay that's worth a post but I would like to note that if being a Democrat means we get Barbra Streisand then I'm going to go and start my own damed third party.

DEMOCRAT
You have two cows.
Your neighbor has none.
You feel guilty for being successful.
Barbara Streisand sings for you.

REPUBLICAN
You have two cows.
Your neighbor has none.
You think your neighbor should get a job
and buy his own damned cow.

SOCIALIST
You have two cows.
The government takes one and gives it
to your neighbor.
You form a cooperative to tell him
how to manage his cow.

COMMUNIST
You have two cows.
The government seizes both
and provides you with milk.
You wait in line for hours to get it.
It is expensive and sour.

CAPITALISM, AMERICAN STYLE
You have two cows.
You sell one, buy a bull, and build a herd of cows.

DEMOCRACY, AMERICAN STYLE
You have two cows.
The government taxes you to the point
you have to sell both to support
a man in a foreign country who has only one cow,
which was a gift from
your government.

BUREAUCRACY, AMERICAN STYLE
You have two cows.
The government takes them both, shoots one, milks the other,
pays you for the milk, and then
pours the milk down the drain.

AMERICAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You sell one, lease it back to yourself
and do an IPO on the 2nd one.
You force the two cows to produce
the milk of four cows.
You are surprised when one cow drops dead.
You spin an announcement to the analysts stating
you have downsized and are reducing expenses.
Your stock goes up.

FRENCH CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You go on strike because you want three cows.
You go to lunch and drink wine.
Life is good.

JAPANESE CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size
of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk.
They learn to travel on unbelievably crowded trains.
Most are at the top of their class at cow school.

GERMAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You engineer them so they are all blond,
drink lots of beer,
give excellent quality milk,
and run a hundred miles an hour.
Unfortunately they also demand
13 weeks of paid vacation per year.

ITALIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
But you don't know where they are.
While ambling around, you see a beautiful woman.
You break for lunch.
Life is good.

RUSSIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You have some vodka.
You count them and learn you have five cows.
You have some more vodka.
You count them again and learn you have 42 cows.
The Mafia shows up and takes over
however many cows you really have.

TALIBAN CORPORATION
You have all the cows in Afghanistan, which are two.
You don't milk them because you cannot touch
any creature's private parts.
Then you kill them and claim
a US bomb blew them up while they were in the hospital.

IRAQI CORPORATION
You have two cows.
They go into hiding.
They send radio tapes of their mooing.

POLISH CORPORATION
You have two bulls.
Employees are regularly maimed and killed
attempting to milk them.

FLORIDA CORPORATION
You have a black cow and a brown cow.
Everyone votes for the best looking one.
Some of the people who like the brown one best,
vote for the black one.
Some people vote for both.
Some people vote for neither.
Some people can't figure out how to vote at all.
Finally, a bunch of guys from out-of-state
tell you which is the best looking cow.

CALIFORNIAN
You have a cow and a bull.
The bull is depressed.
It has spent its life living a lie.
It goes away for two weeks.
It comes back after a taxpayer-paid,
sex-change operation.
You now have two cows.
One makes milk; the other doesn't.
You try to sell the transgender cow.
Its lawyer sues you for discrimination.
You lose in court.
You sell the milk-generating cow
to pay the damages.
You now have one rich, transgender,
non-milk-producing cow.
You change your business to beef.
PETA pickets your farm.
Jesse Jackson makes a speech in your driveway.
Cruz Bustamante calls for higher farm taxes
to help "working cows".
Hillary Clinton calls for the nationalization of
1/7 of your farm "for the children".
Gray Davis signs a law giving your farm to Mexico.
The L.A. Times quotes five anonymous cows claiming
you groped their teats.
You declare bankruptcy and shut down all operations.
The cow starves to death.
The L.A. Times' analysis shows
your business failure is Bush's fault

Stupid is the New Hot

Welcome to the United States of America circa 2005, a nation that celebrates stupidity, bimboism and unquestioned loyalty is called patriotism.

This is the year where dumbfuck rich twits like Paris Hilton become even more famous because, well, they're rich and can. Of the top 20 most viewed pictures at Yahoo, 10 are of this insipid moron trying to look mysterious, trying to look like there's something going on between those ears.

And what has she done to deserve all this adoration? Well, nothing. Oh wait, her star began to rise when that pathetically bad fuzzy green porn was leaked onto the internet and the world got to see her tiny little pointy titties and watch her interupt sex to giggle to another of her trust fund pals who haven't had to work a real day in their lives. Yeah, go bimboism, go idiocy.

And it is going to get worse, much, much worse. Bimboism is on the rise in this nation. From Britney to Jessica to their bastard little siblings to Christina to Anna Nicole to Lindsey. Stupid is the new hot.

It doesn't matter who you are or what you do as long as you look fabulous doing it. And as long as you would lose a battle of wits with a fence post.

Stupid is the New Hot.

Drinks as Personality Pointers

Forwarded on by Jay

Seven New York City bartenders were asked if they could nail a woman's personality based on what she drinks (and how you approach them if you're interested in them). Though interviewed separately, they concurred on almost all counts. The results:
Girl Drinks

Drink: Beer
Personality: Casual, low-maintenance; down to earth.
Your Approach: Challenge her to a game of pool.

Drink: Blender Drinks
Personality: Flaky, annoying; a pain in the ass.
Your Approach: Avoid her, unless you want to be her cabin boy.

Drink: Mixed Drinks
Personality: Older, has picky taste; knows what she wants.
Your Approach: You won't have to approach her. She'll send YOU a drink.

Drink: Wine - (does not include white zinfandel, see below)
Personality: Conservative and classy, sophisticated.
Your Approach: Tell her you wish Reagan had had four more years...
Alzheimer's and term limits be damned.

Drink: White Zin
Personality: Easy; thinks she is classy and sophisticated, actually has no clue.
Your approach: Make her feel smarter than she is...

Drink: Shots
Personality: Hanging with frat-boy pals or looking to get drunk... and naked.
Your Approach: Easiest hit in the joint. Nothing to do but wait.

Guy Drinks

Then there is the male addendum .... The deal with guys is, as always, very simple and clear cut.

Domestic Beer: He's poor and wants to get laid.

Imported Beer: He likes good beer and wants to get laid.

Wine: He's hoping that the wine thing will give him a sophisticated
image to help him get laid.

Whiskey: He doesn't give two shits about anything but getting laid.

Tequila: Piss off, all you wankers, I'm gonna go shag something.

White Zin: He's gay.

Keep this in mind the next time you stop by the pub for a drink on the way home and see who's sipping what and what they are there for.

Look at my Striped Shirt, Fucking Look At It!

Look at my Striped Shirt!

This is the spirit of Sarcasm Incorporated. And its damned funny too. Are you wearing a striped shirt right now?

Evolution's the Damnest Thing

or How Can Something Like "The Wiggles" Have Evolved?

It really is amazing to consider that, a hundred years ago, we were just getting started with internal combustion engines. Five hundred years ago, we were just "discovering" America from the people who had settled here a few thousand years before.

Now turn back to now and consider The Wiggles (I linked to the 2nd index because the other home page has a damned loud introduction). Now, I understand that kids love, love, LOVE the Wiggles. My boy likes them well enough but doesn't care for the talking parts much, he likes the music and dancing. Which is fine, Tivo's plenty useful for this as well.

And tonight he up and danced and jiggled himself to the music all on his own, with a great big grin on his face. Either that or he was having a poop, it really is hard to tell sometimes. He held onto my knee for balance but it was all him.

I understand its for him and not me and thats fine and all. But I sit and watch it with him. And its not for me, at all. I find myself analyzing Greg, Anthony, Murray and Jeff and all the others, Captain Feathersword? yoiks dude, what's up?

I find myself watching their eyes. Watching them all to look for signs of something, signs of dissent, signs of inner turmoil, signs of over-with-it-itis. Not to mention the strange and rampant stereotypings.

Jeff's Chinese, Cantonese, I think. And he's a narcoleptic. Hmm, lazy Chinaman? Check.

Anthony's an Aussie, a twinkle in his eye and a penchant for trickery and thievery and gluttony. Nice.

Murray, Murray's a fucking Martian, look at those damned eyes and his ungainly movements. I see more "Holy fuck, what kind of strange, fucked up fucking world have I found myself on, these humans are the most bizarre creatures I've ever come across. And children are very tasty."

And then Greg, Greg who looks like a huge version of everyone's childhood friend. From the surgically enhanced dimples, to the extra gleam in his, boom in his song and just that little bonus shimmy during the dance numbers. Greg's actually a robot, a really, really good one (yes, they make a female version but it costs like $38 million so forget it). There's no chance a real human could behave the way he does show in and show out. Either that or he's the real life Julius from Twins, the original super shake kid, now with extra white, white, white teeth and a can't stop me grin.

I could continue, oh, you don't mind some more? Good.

Captain Feathersword, egads, who comes up with a pirate named Feathersword? I know there were gay pirates but I pretty highly doubt they used feathers for swords or danced for their exercise. And anyone who says "Me hearties" as often as Captain F should be planked up and down the walk, that is, beat about the head and shoulders with a 2x6.

And why is the mute policeman an obvious woman with a badly drawn mustache and enormous feet? What message are they sending? Cops have big feet and feminine bodies and can't talk?

And in spite of it all, in spite of the deeply freaky and disturbing nature of the show to me, I love watching my kid watch it. Because its not for me, not at all.

Patrick Henry in My Heart

No man things poorly of our armed service man and women because their trunks do not have magnetic ribbons on them. No woman questions the abilities of the officers who direct our soldiers in the field both domestically and abroad. But different people often see the same subject with different lights; and as I model this address after Patrick Henry's more apt oration please do not think me disrespectful to those soldiers if my thoughts and ideas contradict those in suits and ties who direct our troops within the Arabian World, for I will speak my thoughts without reservation.

This is not the time for blind nationalism. The question facing our people is both a miraculous and awful opportunity for this country. In my mind and heart I consider it nothing less than the choice between honoring a century old partnership with the international community and divorcing our brothers and sisters abroad in favor of a throne; and in proportion the importance of our decision will frame whether our children and grandchildren will live in a unified prosperity where international issues will be space exploration, medical discovery, and a philosophy based on honoring all people; or a broken land where religious tradition strangles science, where ignorance will be rewarded and curiosity repressed. In the history of our world this has already happened. After the fall of Rome, Europe was left a broken toy of children emperors. We as a people took five hundred years to emerge from their darkness. So as I wet my lips, should I fear my actions to be those of treason toward my country and disloyalty to G-d as our forefathers once did? Has the accomplishments of two hundred and twenty-nine years be reduced so?

Mr. President, it is natural to indulge one self with the illusion of patriotism. It is only human to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to Toby Keith. It is always tempting to react instead of think. But is that the responsible action of men engaged in a great struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who have eyes and ears, but ignore them for the sake of temporary satisfaction? For my part, whatever pain imbibed, it is warmer to know the truth than to take solace in a lie.

I have taken along a path which is well worn but ill understood. The lights along my way are the voices that have come before me entreating, demanding, and at times begging; because, the ears of men need to hear these words in every circumstance: the voices of a race that fled Egypt to find a new home; the voices of Pilgrims who left their homes to find something more; and the voice of a subjugated people as they sang, "We Shall Overcome". My guides are Hope and my teachers History. I ask you where is Our People's Hope as their daughters and sons are delivered home broken. Where is our sincerity in hiding their pains? And judging by your past, I want to know how a crusade against our parents' security, a war to begin all wars, and utter disregard for the sanctity of our land is the justified conduct of a cabinet. Are you the caretaker of this house?

I do not trust you. You betray us with your stride, and console us with your smirk. You are a deaf emperor without clothes consoling himself because he cannot hear the children laughing, he cannot see his brothers in pain, and he cannot hear his parents too hungry to speak. Our fleets and armies abroad blind us to our shackles and torture at home. Do not fool yourself -- oppression renamed patriotism does not freedom become. What good is a war to preserve American values when it is fought through their very repression? These are the last arguments made before a coronation. These are the shackles of diplomacy. This is the Amendment of History.

And what have we to oppose you? We have our voices, we have our prayers, and we have our vote. Sir, steer clear from the storm. There is no future in a crusade against a white whale. We entreat you for your future as much as for our own. Yet, our voice has fallen unheard. Our prayers have fallen among the thorns and bushes. Our vote has yet to be counted. Have I anything new to offer? I have my words committed to paper and mind so I share them. Know that your path was chosen against council. We have become Cargo on your ship impotent to avert the course. We have entreated you as a brother, we have made demands upon you as our representative, and we have begged from the foot of your throne. And we sob when in vanity your court cries, "Mandate!"

There is one road left. If we wish to preserve our identity as a people, our values as a nation, and our hope for this City on a Hill. We must confront. We must question. We must abandon the notion of compromise and take the hard value of responsibility. You will no longer have our compassion. With that skill we must fight. I will repeat it, WE MUST FIGHT. I do not appeal to arms, I appeal to accountability: responsibility for the torture of foreign citizens; culpability for the lie that has led over 1,000 American Children to die in Iraq; and the future burden of millions of America's Greatest Generation dying in poverty. My hope lies in your History. Man has never seen someone so free of accountability. Sir, we as a people are not weak when we face our demons. In our broad shoulders the burden of many lies. You have traveled on the backs of corporations ripping apart the land and leaving the waste behind. Our backs are heavy with the innocent injured you have left behind to feed your machine. When you cannot run, you crawl. And when you cannot crawl you find someone to carry you. We have a strong back Mr. President. We hope that it is strong enough to carry the children you have left behind. We hope that it is strong enough to carry the voices of the parents who have lost their children. Most of all we hope -- but we will no longer allow you to stoke your fire. And when the time comes your suit of straw will make better kindling than additional burden.

It is acceptable to take the time to understand. Man is most holy when we have the strength to change the things we can, the humility to accept the things we cannot, and the wisdom to always know the difference. And while we toil internally to understand our differences maybe the important question has been asked, At the end of the day have we solved more problems than we have created? In my own life I think of the things I have built and I find pride in the charges I have seem come to fruition in my care. Steward of America, dare you stand on these scales?

It would be vain to continue. Some who share my ideals are still waiting for you to listen but you will not. Your war on our people began three years ago. We stood by you when the first plane struck. We stood by you as our first planes flew to Afghanistan. But do not think for one minute that my nightmare was not magnified when I saw you at the helm. Life is to sweet and peace is a lie when it is purchased at the price of silence and servitude. Give me justice or give me death.