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| It's time to say good bye to this site.
Yes, I'm signing off here, but I've moved to a new site. So redirect your mouses and your links to:
and enjoy!
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| In violation of my long-standing policy of only posting my own
original entertainment, and not links to any sort of other
entertainment, nor (God forbid) anything truly worthwhile, I present
you, dear readers, (all 10 of you) with a link to a rather worthy cause
from my friend Alisha:
http://lishhh.blogspot.com/2005/03/mishloach-manot-and-tzedakah.html
In return, I believe I have full rights to take her firstborn child or her first million dollars - whichever comes first.
And when you're done with that, and want some entertaining Purim
material, head on over to a swite made by dear friends of
mine, www.onlytzaras.com. Yes, it's everything you were afraid of. Just go with it. | | |
| This whole reality TV thing is getting out of hand. I mean, it's gotten out of hand already, but this is worse.
I mean, there are the maddeningly mad Martha Stewart-wannabes on
"Wickedly Perfect" (the first reality TV show in CT....figures), the
disturbing families on "Wife Swap" and "Trading Spouses," the whole
digging up emotional scars and picking at 'em on "High School Reunion,"
and who can leave out that mucus-encrusted gem (or is that
"gem-encrusted mucus?") of the Fox lineup, "Who's Your Daddy?"
Please tell me that there's a special level of Hell for the producers
of these shows. Like one with both "holy wrath" and
"great vengeance," with some brimstone mixed in for good measure.
What is brimstone, anyway? You never hear about it these post-biblical days. You don't see a newspaper with the headline
SEVEN-YEAR-OLD MIRACULOUSLY SURVIVES DANGEROUS BRIMSTONE ACCIDENT
"That Was Some Pretty Strong Brimstone," Authorities Say.
But that would be cool, wouldn't it? The headline, not the
brimstone. I imagine brimstone is very much in the "not cool"
category.
In any case, back to reality...TV. What's next? Who's going to be able to top that?
I'll tell you. Fox is going to strike again, with a show where
they just videotape real people being taken out back and getting
shot. It's called "When Guns Go Off," and it's sure to be a hit.
Ok, so that last one I made up, but admit it: for a split second, you believed me.
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| Ok. The natives are restless, and I'm out of excuses. The
largest complaint (as measured in square feet) I get about this site is
lack of regular updates. So I'm going to try this: In
addition to any extra posts I want to add, every Sunday or Monday, I
intend to provide you, Dear Readers, with an update the likes of which
the world has never seen. I intend to make one more drastic
change in the future, namely moving to another site,
but I have to add stuff and fiddle with the HTML before I can do
that. For now, it's just the weekly update. So, here it
goes:
My roommate thinks he's a pirate. No, not a software or music pirate, but the kind that plunder on the
high seas, sing about rum and dead men's chests, and wear far too much eye makeup.
I'm not quite sure whether it's a delusion or an aspiration, but either
way, there's reason to show concern. I'm not making this stuff up. He goes around singin pirate
sings, and enjoys everything pirate-related, except (hopefully) the
whole keelhauling bit. (What is
keelhauling, anyway? It's doubtless unpleasant, much like drawing
and quartering, thrawing, or garroting, but how does one
keelhaul, exactly?) Despite our best efforts to convince him otherwise, he has maintained this position.
College students. Can't with 'em, and....
....that's all I've got.
So it was his birthday two days ago, and a mutual friend and I went to
Walmart to find him a gift or two. We asked the guy at the front
of the store where the pirate section was. Honestly. I kept
a straight face, while he struggled to understand what we asking
for. Walking away, towards the toy section, I laughed about
this. Then I realized that we were making the life of a
hardworking, honest American more difficult with our childish joke.
Then I laughed again. (I'm going to hell, aren't I?) To
make a long story short, we got him a pirate balloon, a plastic pirate
sword, a copy of "Muppet Treasure Island," an ice cream cake, a flask,
a cup with the words "Drink. Pee. Repeat." on it (that one
wasn't my idea, and due to a misreading, we discovered the concept is worsened when you take out the first
period from that line), a Nerf-like missile launcher, and an axe, with
a sharpener, and we wrapped them in My Little Pony wrapping
paper. Let me clarify. The first two weapons are meant as
toys, and are relatively harmless, but this was a real camping axe,
about a foot and a half long. In case you were wondering,
we got him the pirate stuff because of the whole pirate thing, the
flask and cup because he's into bartending, and the axe because he like
camping. Looking at his presents, you'd think that he was a drunk
outdoorsman-pirate who likes ice cream, balloons, and My Little
Pony. Man, is he messed up.
In any case, I'm not sure what I was thinking. I actually bought
my roommate who thinks he's a pirate a real axe, with real and present
lodging-in-my-head potential. If this is my last post, please
let it be known that I leave my life savings to the Time Cube guy, my stereo to the Flat Earth Society
(I hear they throw wicked parties!), and my toenail collection to
science. Let it be known, or I'll keelhaul ya. Just as soon
as I figure out how.
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| Ok, so first of all, at
least three people asked me whether the implication in the last post
was true. Let me get this straight: You guys think
that having run over a defenseless animal, I would not only not
express deep and sincere remorse, but that I would actually ridicule the poor beast as well as its legal guardian?
Well, yeah. I guess I would. Good call.
But
in this case, I was making stuff up. I should clarify.
Since funny stories are almost always funnier when true,
I generally make it quite clear when I am telling a true
story. For instance, I might say "I am not making this up," or
"This is a true story," or "Leave $1 million in unmarked bills
underneath the water fountain by 5 PM, or little Fifi is going back
into the well." In all of those cases, I'm serious, ok? In
all other cases, assume I'm joking, or assume it might be true
- whichever makes me look better. Bear this in mind while
perusing these here postings, and you will not be the lost souls you so
clearly seem to be, seeing as how you're busy reading this.
Remember these rules, because, after all, little Fifi is depending
on you. | | |
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