headline of the day, II
Compressed air turns NZ trucker into human balloon
headline of the day
We Have Found bin Laden’s Porn
Betty’s Party Pigs-in-a-Blanket Recipe
Ingredients
8 oz. refrigerated package crescent dinner rolls
24 small canned Vienna sausages
Dipping mustard
I’m sorry…
Danny started this tonight. I couldn’t help but play along.
In the sixties, my brother and I once owned an Allen Sherman album. We prided ourselves on memorizing the lyrics to his songs. At any given moment, I can pull this one out of memory. Danny’s heard me enough, he can pull most of it out himself.
Weird Al Yankovic don’t have nothing on Sherman.
I wish there were an “I’m sorry” category.
I wanted to do something special for my 300th post
Seen here.
The Presidential Ham
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: An imposing, handsome figure, Buchanan stood a bit over 6 feet tall and had broad shoulders and a sizable paunch. He had a very fair complexion and large blue eyes. His massive forehead receded to silky gray hair, which he wore swept up and back. He had rather small feet for his size and took quick steps. His most distinctive feature was a wryneck; his head was habitually cocked to the left. Unlike most victims of wryneck, his was not caused by muscular malfunction. Rather, it was a result of a peculiar eye disorder. One eye was nearsighted, the other farsighted; also the left eyeball was pitched higher in the socket than was the right. To compensate, Buchanan early developed the habit of cocking his head and closing one eye. If he were talking to someone or examining something close up, he would wink shut the farsighted eye; if gazing in the distance, he closed the nearsighted one. For reading he found it easier to focus with a candle in front of his eyes. He apparently coped well with the disorder, for he read much throughout his career and did not wear glasses until near the end of his life. His health otherwise generally was sound. One of Buchanan’s eyelids twitched, which, combined with his personality (in 1825, at least) led a modern Jackson biographer to describe Buchanan as a “winking, fidgeting little busybody.”
8. They are so grateful!!
From the pen of Benjamin Franklin in 1745 comes a once-scandalous letter to an unnamed recipient (very possibly fictitious but rumoured to be Cadwallader Colden) in which he begins by suggesting marriage as the best remedy for the young man’s sexual urges. In the event of marriage being out of the question for his friend however, Franklin then goes on to write an eight-strong list detailing the advantages of an older mistress which, due to its “obscene” nature, resulted in its being omitted from published collections of his writings during the 19th Century.
(via the browser)
My food truck fantasies
Fransk dog as served by Danish pølsevogn. (via Street Cuisine)
have been evolving over the past week, which began with my confessing to having entertained the notion of converting my Honda Element into a food truck. A friend asked what I’d serve.
“Pasties,” I replied. “Spicy pasties.”
Then I got thinking. Ooh, yes. And empanadas. And samosas. And calzones. And pierogis. And knishes.
But I got sidetracked by an art project.
Read more
car review of the day
Stick some flags on the front fenders and you’re halfway to running your own banana republic. Or, in the case of Americans’ actual S.U.V. assignments, running to Banana Republic.
Visibility is always a problem in a full-size S.U.V. You’re sitting up there in the wheelhouse and your bumpers are somewhere down below the cloud ceiling, possibly in different counties. You’re always getting home and finding small items like A.T.M.’s and hot-dog carts stuck in the wheel wells and wondering, “How long has that been there?”
The system really works; I drove the QX several hundred miles and didn’t crash into a single thing.
headline of the day, III
If You Work From Home, You Don’t Need Pants! Happy ‘Working Naked Day’!
Dubuque Plumpers
Plumpers. From Dubuque. (1989.)
Daryl & Cindy–Christmas Letter
We have been in El Paso all week, and Cindy has been sick the whole time. We meant to send out Christmas cards while there but didn’t plan for the task very well. Here’s this year’s Christmas letter:
Mary Christmas from Randy Taylor and the rest of us,
We went out last night for a Christmas tree and ended up having to shoot some people. That can put a damper on the holidays, but it’s not the end of everything if it happens in Texas. We went to buy it down by the tamale place. The boys had got into their presents early like they do and were in the backseat loading and unloading them. When the police came they were real nice and helped us get the tree into the back of the Tahoe. They felt bad that we had this happen to us in the middle of a family tradition. This fellow pushing a stolen shopping cart full of frozen turkeys he had also stole got a little too close to the car with his friends, and you know how you have to act fast with carjackers. Bobby got one of the frozen turkeys that hadn’t got anything on it, but I made him put it back. That’s not what we believe in. When we got home Paula cooked us some scrambled eggs and that venison sausage I’m having made for us now. It’s been a hard year. First the Pastor getting too handy with Paula, then the internet thing going all venereal about my complaint to the Jimmy Dean sausage factory that the sons of bitches recorded and let out all over the goddam world. Then Mama dead and cremated in January and Rusty finds a bone in the urn, sharpens it, and stabs Daddy with it. And then Bobby nor Donny either one making the football team because of grades. I almost didn’t let them go deer hunting this year, but I think it does no good to punish kids in unchristian ways. And Paula likes to catch up on praying when we’re gone anyway. I don’t know what the deal is with Vanna. She turned twelve and can dress herself now.
Anyway, I got the tree out and up and lighted and the target deer look real good out front of the house since I used spackle and brown shoe polish to cover the holes.
This is all I want to write about now. I hope everybody will think hard about how worse it could be and have a good Christmas. Okay then—bye. RT
Father Christmas fucked my pussy (Christmas pussy song)
(thanks, Aaron)
Tom Sale–Louisiana State Fair
(permission granted by Pinky’s mom)
Cuando estoy borracho, me muero de tacos en México | Para Cindita
Harley and the Ivy
My offering for the silent auction at DIFFA’s Holiday Fund Raiser this weekend.
Oklahoma voters tackle the big issues
Caricature of God’s Face
Thanks, Schweezy.
Una pregunta:
Steve Buscemi for the lead in The John Waters Story?
quotes out of context
I just read it, and I’m a woman, and that’s pretty much sexy.
Each one is like a little snowflake. There are different poses or scenarios or features or attributes. Whatever is there. I try to describe what I see, so they get a picture in their head.
It really is one of my favorite shows. Some people say it’s filth. It’s not. She helps me be current in pop culture.
“That would be a little strange. Doesn’t that just give much more dimension if a woman is actually doing it? It’s not a lurid lecherous guy slobbering all over it.
“It’s a lurid lecherous woman,” she laughed.
Overheard
Two male students, late teens/early 20s, sitting on a retaining wall–scoping out the passing babes. I have given them names:
Bob: Whoa!
Jack: No.
Bob: What about her?
Jack: Nope. Vegetarian.
Bob: What a waste.
We Want It
Pick a Number–Any Number
Republican U.S. Rep. Michele Bachmann told supporters shortly after the rally that “we’re not going to let anyone get away with saying there were less than a million here today — because we were witnesses.”
CBS commissioned an estimate from AirPhotosLive, a company that provides crowd sizes based on aerial photos. CBS noted that there’s a margin of error of plus or minus 9,000. So, by this estimate, there were as few as 78,000 attendees or as many as 96,000.
I’m sure miracles occured there, too. They just haven’t put the finishing touches on the documentation yet.
Poop Story
Porky Piggin’ it means wearing only a T-shirt.
dear clusterflock
What’s your love language?
