Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Let's just say I rode over 200 miles of mountain dirt roads on a daily patrol---most of which were far more pitted and rutted than the ones I was bitching about in our development. My teeth were shaking in my head, and at one point, the road was so bumpy that the radar apparatus flew off the dashboard and landed in my lap.
I spent half the time squinching up my butt cheeks for fear of a fart shaking loose, and the other half grasping the handle on the right side of the door with one hand and accidently grasping the handle of the M-16 strapped in on my left when we climbed the steep mountain curves. Oy!
The highlight was driving along a winding mountain highway and seeing a huge fall of dirt and rocks come down right in front of us.
The deputy said, "Oh, it's that time of year again," as she nonchalantly drove around the mess and called it in for road works.
I'm thinking---"uh yeah, but it's on MY side of the car that all this shit is falling!"
I didn't get a chance all day to blog and remind everyone that new entries for the American Midol Really Bad Poetry Contest were due tonight, so I'm extending it one more day.
I know you're all scared! But jeez, if you lose, it means your poetry was too good to be bad!!
Monday, February 26, 2007
8 Brave Souls jumped in for the first round. Thank you all!
Don't forget that this Wednesday the 28th at midnight (any time zone) is the deadline to enter for Week 2. For rules, prizes, and other fine print, go here.
Vote for your favorite bad poet! The comments section is open until midnight next Monday for audience participation in this round. The rules are as follows:
1). Each reader vote counts as 1/2 a point.
2). Readers may only vote once each round/week.
3). Anonymous comments/votes will not be counted and will be deleted unless the author provides their blog url with their vote.
A special welcome to our judges!
Now, on with the show!!
The Inner Thoughts...
Some forty miles per hour signs do say
So why does speed elude your fucking grasp???
That's it. You're done. Move out the fucking way.
You've luck. Your neck, in my hands I would clasp.
And where and when where you made fucking Queen?
To sit and act superior to me,
You're lucky, don't you know, that I'm not mean
Polite, a hidden bitch, I'll always be.
Remember when you voice a stupid thought
I'll always think inside that you're a twit.
And when you let a fart, please know you're caught
You're ass, I'll spray it down with reneuzit.
'Cause I am strong, I am invincible
You mess with me you face the crucible.
Mr. Fab: It's completely appropriate that the author mentions The Crucible because I'd like to burn him or her at the stake. If I'm being honest, this is completely incomprehensible to me, like trying to hold a conversation with a monkey with a speech impediment. I give it an 8. Truly wretched.
Annie: Yeah but Fab, they said twat so that's gotta' count for something. Oh wait...that's twit. Nevermind. I'll give it a 7.
Beki: My mind wandered as I read 'fucking Queen' as it gave me unpleasant visions of my Monarch engaging in marital relationships. Another sign of my Englishness is as you wrote about the Crucible my mind wandered again. The Crucible is a venue in England where we hold snooker finals (Snooker is a more complicated version of pool played by men dressed like Spanish waiters). Very bad so I'd score it 6 but add an extra two points for the mental anguish caused me, a total of 8.
Ma Titwonky: Well, of course it's incomprehensible to you, Mr Fab -- you're a guy! This poem goes to the very heart of women's angst. I'm particularly impressed with the reference to renuzit. I'd give this one a 4 because it speaks to me so strongly, and I'm adding 4 more points for an 8 total because this was almost a religious experience.
Stop watching me
Mr. Fab: And I'm blind, or I wish I was so I didn't have to read this. They say that brevity is the soul of wit, but it turns out "they" were wrong. I'd have to give it a 5. It's bad, but it didn't move me to the point where I was contemplating jamming my tongue into a light socket.
Annie: See, now I liked this one and I hate Haikus with a total passion so that's one of the reasons I gave it only a 3 because I thought it was too good to be bad. However, I'm tempted to take away those 3 points just because I hate the author for making me like it.
Mr. Fab: Annie, darling, that is not a Haiku. Are you back on the crystal meth, dear?
Beki: Disappointingly this made total sense to me. Score 4
Ma Titwonky: I'll give this one a 7 for the mental imagery alone. It's also short which means I could memorize it if I had to. Which I don't, but I'm just sayin'. Definitely a 7.
From Fatman at NuclearFamily
Who said, "Does my bum look big in this?"
Her man was too slow
With his "no, no, no"
And now he's pushing up daisies.
Mr. Fab: A truly horrible limerick deserving of a 7. I actually started to bleed out of my eyes while reading this. There is nothing on the Visine label that mentions what to do about that...
Annie: Fab, I'm with you on this one. I almost wished my coffee had arsenic in it; I was so upset that I had to read this. I give it 7 points as well.
Beki: The construction of this limerick is as bad as the first piggy's house, yet the sentiment is well-placed. Score 6
Ma Titwonky: This would have been easier to read without all that eye blood dripping from every word, but I managed to make out the entire text. This one was terrible enough to make my toenails curl up and hide in the hair on my legs. I give it an 8.
Total for badness: 28 points
And fell through the seat.
I got water on my hiney
And it dripped to my feet.
I cursed and swore
until you came to check.
You asked what was wrong,
and I punched you in the neck.
Something so simple
should be easy to do
Yet you are a moron
When it comes to the loo.
I called someone
To get you back.
As it turned out
His name was Jack.
I married a jerk
It is such a bummer.
But I got my revenge,
When I screwed the plumber.
Mr. Fab: No surprise here that there are no words with more than two syllables. It's definitely not good, but it's not as bad as I had hoped either. I feel like I do when I am brought to the brink of orgasm and then denied. I give it a 6, but I had hopes for so much worse.
Annie: The author had me at "I got water on my hiney". I'm giving you a 6 on the suckage scale. And then I'm giving you an extra point for your violent tendencies. You show him who's boss, Baby! Total of 7.
Beki: Oh dear, oh dear. This is rather good. In another form it could be a scene from King of Queens. I'm looking for bad and this is just stale with no sign of pin mould. Score 5.
Ma Titwonky: I love tails of revenge, and I would have given this one a 5 if it hadn't had that godawful parting image of butt crack. Definitely a 7.
Total for badness: 25 points
Sought the wisdom of a sage,
"Oh tell me why, wise one" she asked,
"In my darling's love I once did bask
Back in the days when young and slim,
But now I age, his love grows dim?"
"Dear lady," said the sage so wise,
"I see the pain which fills your eyes.
I promise you, your point is moot,
His love for you is resolute.
His heart is not the problem here,
Look farther south for answers, dear".
The woman thought, what did he mean?
She racked her brains, her senses keen.
And then at last it all was clear,
And resolution very near,
She knew the reason for his droop,
So placed Viagra in his soup.
Mr. Fab: Here's the problem: it's actually pretty good. In fact, I got a little starch in my pencil when I was reading it. It's not worth more than a 3 for badness, but I give it another 4 because it's funny and I can relate: it's been a while since I felt much down there as well...so a total of 7 and I've got half a chubby.
Annie: Again, I have to agree with Fab. I gave it a 2 because I just wasn't feeling the badness but I'm feeling generous today so I'll give it 3 more because it caused me to snot out a huge booger at the last line. Total of 5.
Beki: This hardly measures on the Richter scale of badness yet for humour the earth moved for me. Indeed I suspect it will be included on government health booklets regarding impotence in the near future. 2 for badness but 4 for making me smile, score 6
Ma Titwonky: See, now this is what's wrong with male perspective. There's always a chubby to deal with. I can only give this one a 5 because it's just not bad enough. Clever though, very clever.
Total for badness: 23 points
I wish I could get mad, but I have no truck
with the doctor, that cad
or the ambulance driver that was, to say it nicely, bad
But next time I'll know what to do
when the mailman tells me "The next Publishers Clearing House winner could be you."
I'll slam the door in his face
and put that sneaky sucker in his place
He didn't profess love undieing
nor did he ever stop trying
he looked at me with eyes so innocently
and I hadn't had any carnal attention recently
So I couldn't resist
and before I knew it I had been kissed
and it culminated in urgent lovin'
and putting a bun in the oven
Now what do I tell my husband true
this baby growing inside me belongs to you
never mind about your vascetomy
I know you've been meeting the preachers wife at the rectory.
Mr. Fab: Hmm...I'm torn here. I kind of like the last verse, but the rest of it looks like it was scraped off someone's shoe. The scheme is so off I felt like I was reading the literary equivalent of several speedbumps. I'm going to tack on an extra point for the last verse, added to a 6 for badness, for a total of 7.
Annie: This one made me want to grab a spoon and scoop out my own uterus. Anyone got one handy?! I'll give you a 7, too.
Ma Titwonky: I don't have a spoon big enough for that. Would a snow blower do?
Beki: I feel positively dirty after reading this torrid prose of gut wrenching darkness put together with less structure than a jelly fish. Score 7
Ma Titwonky: This one's kinda all over the place, but it does stick to the general theme of post-partum depression, and by the time I got to the end I could see Tom Cruise bashing Brooke Shields and arguing with Matt Lauer. It's also pretty darn terrible, so I give it an 8.
Total for badness: 29 points
by Jennifer B.
First comes our little red friend
if she's bad, you'll be wearing depends
monthly, she brings gifts of pain and bad moods
as well as a craving for fattening chocolately foods.
Next comes pregnancy, labour and birth
this is where you really prove your worth
nine months of nausea, aches and swelling feet
never-ending labour that will grind your teeth
Years later when life is getting good
menopause tears away your womanhood
Now it's all about mood swings, hot flashes and low sex drive
weight gain, depression. What's the point in being alive?
With all the issues women have to deal with,
and men wonder why we are so crazy.
Mr. Fab: I don't know if the other judges will find this piece as amusing as I did, but as a man I take a lot of pleasure in all the crap that you chicks go through. It's not as horrible as it could have been. I was going to give it a 5, but I am adding one point for what seems to have been an attempt to rhyme "with" and "crazy", so a total of 6.
Annie: Holy crap! I'll give you an 8 if you promise to step away from that ledge!
Beki: After reading this I had to up my own medication dose and contemplate gender reassignment. Sadly the construction was quite good until the last rhyme when the writer reeled back in crapness. Score 7
Ma Titwonky: I actually wept while reading this one for the accuracy and resonance of the descriptions of life as most women know it. Amusing? Yeah, well, I find my humor in prostate examinations. Just puts me away every time I hear about one. A life goal is to actually see one in progress...but I digress. This one just doesn't meet the standard for godawful terrible so I give it a 5, but add 2 points for depth and reality for a total of 7.
Total for badness: 28 points
The blushing bride — all dressed in white.
The loving couple — their smiles so bright…
Fast forward now — ten years or so
I’m kinda’ drowning — feeling low.
Changing diapers, wiping butts
This is a life? I must be nuts.
I need some sleep, I need a pill
Some time for me, some time to chill.
Cooking, cleaning — God, I’m great.
‘Cause all this crap I really hate.
The spouse comes home — it’s his turn now.
Let’s hit the sack and fake a “wow.”
I’m now in sweats, no stylin’ here
All’s I’m gettin’ is the old Bronx cheer.
The wrinkles come, the boobs hang low
I need a fix. Botox? God, no!
But all in all, despite the hell
I can’t complain — my life’s been swell…
For every crappy job above,
I get back …a whole lotta love…
(With acknowledgement to Led Zeppelin.)
Mr. Fab: I'd like to acknowledge Led Zeppelin too, as one of the most overrated bands ever. I could go either way on this one...at least it rhymes....I have to give it a 5. I don't really feel strongly either way, kind of like the time I let a guy blow me. As long as I didn't look down, it was okay. Yeah, just a 5.
Annie: This one reminds me of the time my Grandma Nettie made me eat chicken livers. I cried. I'm giving you an 8.
Beki: This didn't truly waste my time though I hate to think too much ink and paper was wasted in its writing. The poem warrants a score of 5 but I shall give an extra two points - one for each of the sagging breasts as that hit home. Score 7
Ma Titwonky: Hey, Fab! We agreed we'd keep bragging rights and personal achievements strictly on our journals. This one almost had me until I got to the part about the whole lotta love. That made me think of the wise words of Tina Turner, "What's Love Got To Do With It?" so while I was going to give this one an 8, I have to subtract 2 points (for the Blech Factor) for a total of 6.
Total for badness: 26 points
If you're fans of the original Idol, please visit the folks at American Midol the blog---a source for news, gossip and snarky good fun. They were gracious enough to allow me to use the title for my contest name instead of ripping my arm off and beating me over the head with it for not doing a blog search first. Many thanks to them!
Sunday, February 25, 2007
New Gasbagger Ben from Dreamers, Liars and Tellers of Tall Tales scores a touchdown with his review of the football series Friday Night Lights! Except it's not really about football.
I think that's why he's throwing down the penalty flag.
Visit his review and give him a big rah! rah!
Previous reviews this season:
Looking Beyond the Cracked Window
A Droll Way to Look at Things
Sven's Personal Memos
My Beautiful Life
Cheaper Than Therapy
Enema Portal For Groan-ups
A Tykes Progress
Smells Like Bullshit
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Had a lot of assignments and a couple of exams due this week, had a sick kid, plus had to move my refrigerator into my living room and live without a kitchen for a few days (getting the new floor in). Everything has been a little crazy around the Attila house!
And ironically, right after my post about tw*ts, t*ts, and knobs, we had a revolting development.
My first bath went like this:
Me, at 5:15am, starting the water in my very very first bath in the new tub. So far, everyone is asleep, I have a cup of freshly-brewed coffee, my book, my bubbles and 45 minutes before I have to get the little guy up for school. I'm prepared for bliss!
Either the tub is making a hell of a lot of noise, or it's Bathtub Mommy Murphy's Law----the family senses that you have a moment to yourself and has to encroach on it, whether they were initially comatose or not.
Because it's wider and deeper, this tub is taking it's own sweet time filling up.
I hear Hubby get up and pour himself a cup of coffee. He then goes into HIS bathroom, which is back to back with this one. He blows his nose. He settles down for his morning java, New Yorker and bidness.
"Taking a bath?" he asks through the wall.
Yes. Oh HELL yes! Now shut up and let me enjoy this in peace.
"How's the new tub?"
Well now, I hadn't decided yet. Although it's 4 inches wider than the old one, I have just discovered that Kohler, for some odd/stupid reason (which wasn't shown or disclosed in the ad for the tub) has chosen to add 1 and 1/2 inch mini-ledges on the butt-end about half-way down each side of the tub.
What for? You can't grip them to help yourself out, and there is an enormous amount of calf room from side to side on the other end.
You'd think that maybe they'd realize the human heinie is wider than the foot-end. Except for cartoon characters, maybe. Or people with elephant legs.
What's the point of buying a bigger tub if the designer thinks everyone has a butt (or lack of one) like Kate Moss?
Now the 5-inch additional deeperness is cool. It makes me feel like a little kid inside a big cavern. Instead of having to lay down or splash water up to get the top half of my body wet, my breasts are just bob-bob-bobbing along like little seat cushions in the Atlantic after a plane crash.
In the middle of my musings, Big Kid knocks on the door. At 5:30am. I'd been in the tub for 4 measly minutes.
"Mom, I have to use the bathroom!"
"Mom, I really have to poop!"
What do you expect me to do about it?
"Could you like just close the curtain so I can come in?"
Men. Boys. Doods. Whatever are they thinking?
Like I want to bask nekkid in my first official bath in 9 days while my 20-year-old kid is on the other side of the curtain pinching logs.
I ask Hubby through the wall....are you almost done?
Grumble, groan and a couple of swear words. Then flushing. That solved.
A couple of minutes later there is a tapping on the door. 5:35am.
"Mom? Mommy?" This time it's the Little Guy, who is now up.
"Can I have the rest of the milk for my cereal?"
Yes, yes! Just go away!!
At some point during this first-bath fiasco, my brother has awoken, gotten his coffee, and gone downstairs to do some equipment arranging for the day's work.
He heard me hit the drain on the tub.
A couple of minutes later, he heard water splashing out onto the basement floor from some kind of overflow valve by the washer and dryer.
Apparently, the newer, wider pipes he installed with our bathroom plumbing---plus the pressure from the added depth--are a little too much for our older, narrower-piped septic system to handle.
And our old pipes are probably filled with all kinds of gunk as well.
So, our new bathroom not only has tw*ts, t*ts and knobs, but now we have to SNAKE THE DRAIN.
Life is kind of pervy sometimes, isn't it?
Pics of everything next week, I promise!
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
The bathroom isn't finished yet---there's still trim, staining, and a few other things to complete, but it's functional.
Last week was a long week, especially with having to share one bathroom with 4 men. Couldn't even have a couple of hours to nap without the parade of potty-goers making their way past my bed through to the master bathroom.
Little Guy has the flu, Big Guy and I have assignments and exams due later this week (plus he continues to have exhausting emotional issues), and I haven't even had the comfort of my little oasis to take me away.
45 minutes of silence and bath salts is the psychological balm equivalent to 2 boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and a pint of Ben and Jerry's with whipped cream and cherries.
Since my lil' brother went home for the weekend, construction was halted to give the grout and stuff time to cure. I spent the time whipping up a custom shower curtain and valance.
Took me a little while to find the perfect fabric. I wanted something would tie in the dark red/orange and dark brown tile with the pastel peach floor and oak cabinets/walls. Plus I wanted to throw some green in there as an accent color. Although our little log house screams for "kitschy cabin" or "southwest styling", with all the testosterone I'm surrounded by, I'm a romantic gardener at heart and I virtually lust after florals.
I guess lust is a bad word choice in this situation.
I finally found a great pattern with all the colors I wanted, plus lots of olive foilage in varying shades. Added a little dark burnt orange diamond fabric for trim, and I was good to go!
On Saturday night, when I was pressing the seams of the panels of the almost-completed shower curtain and minding my own damn business (and drinking my second rum and coke), a thought smacked me upside the head.
"Awww, CRAP!!" I exclaimed.
What's wrong? Hubby asked from the other room.
He was watching the final season of The West Wing on DVD. Not that this factoid is significant other than to point out that there is absolutely nothing but dreck on TV on Saturday night.
"Come here and look at this!"
I pointed out the calla lilies, all in shades of dark peach to dark red.
What's wrong with that?
"Don't they look almost obscene? They're like VULVULARIC!!"
WHAT are you talking about? Is that even a real word?
"I've got little vulvas all over my shower curtain! I CANNOT believe I didn't see this when I picked it!"
Are you serious? I never would have noticed if you hadn't pointed it out!
"I should look for something else. Something southwestern, maybe."
Hubby gave me a hug. You're tired. It's a beautiful fabric. The colors are perfect.
I was close to tears (like I said, it had been a long week. Add hormonal and buzzed to the mix and you never know what is going to come flying out of my mouth).
"I just don't want our guests to sit on the can, look around, and say, Oh My God, this bathroom is teeming with TW*Ts!"
I wish you hadn't said that. I'm never going to be able to get that image out of my brain...
On Sunday, after a good night's sleep, I was feeling a little better. Better enough to try to weedle new knobs and back plates out of the old man for the cabinets.
"Look at how much money we saved! It won't look finished with the old beat-up ones!"
He agreed. So I googled.
It's amazing how much this stuff adds up. You can look at a knob and think, "wow, 6 bucks, not too bad". Until you multiply it by 10. Ouch!
I found a back plate that I liked, and then 3 knobs with the same finish, all at a reasonably low price. The back plate has a leaf design, which I thought would go nice with the floral motif.
I asked hubby to come check out the knobs, because hey---you have to pretend they have SOME decision-making power---out of the 3 finalists.
He wasn't too jazzed with any of them. They look like they'd be hard to clean.
"Uh yeah---how much time have YOU spent polishing knobs?"
Forget I said that. Another poor choice of words.
At the bottom of the page was the other knobs I rejected in the "previously viewed" section.
I really like this one, he said.
Luckily for him, he's fast on his feet.
Or my bunny slipper of doom would have bounced off the back of his head on his way out the door!
Monday, February 19, 2007
If I'm not Happy, Nobody's Happy!
Wednesday at midnight (in any time zone) is the deadline for round one!
Send in your really really bad poetry and win fabulous prizes!
And yes, you'll have to endure a little humiliation first, but that's what you get when you're a bad poet appearing on American Midol.
For rules, deadlines and prizes, go here.
Now I'd like you to meet our judges!
Originally we had 5 lined up, but one has had to bow out due to work and family obligations. We wish her the very best and hope everything works out well!
And now without further ado (drumroll please):
Annie Drogynous hails from Kazakhstan. She speaks Farsi, Tagalog, Urdu and sometimes English. Okay, she just speaks English. And she's not really
from Kazakhstan. Actually, she doesn't know where she is half the time.
But she does know that she's very honored that "Mom" asked her to help judge the American Midol contest and she wishes all participants the best of luck!
You can visit Annie in her native habitat at: It Puts the Lotion in the Basket...
My Name is Rebecca Hobbs and I live in England, in the middle bit. I like to think I am 27, but I am not.
During my school days, with my partner in criminal poetry Liz, I would write ridiculous poems. As it has turned out writing ridiculous poems has proved to be a far more useful tool in my life than ever trigonometry or learning the formation of Oxbow lakes has been, which I think is a damning indictment on the current education system.
By day I am a mild mannered freelance PR officer but by night I am a blocked writer. I have illusions of humour and was recently a finalist in a BBC Talent Search for new writers. I now have my first radio credit under my belt and the news I am to be a commissioned academy writer for the next series of a radio sketch show. I am very pleased as this time last year I was too scared to tell people I wanted to be a comedy writer in case they laughed at me (sic)
My favourite poem is Valentine by John Fuller
Stop by Backwards in High Heels and talk her into posting more hilarious greeting cards! Congrats Beki!
Ma Titwonky resides in an undisclosed location sometimes referred to as "Her Fenced In Area". She can't understand a word Shakespeare wrote, doesn't have a clue what Emily Dickinson is talking about most of the time, thinks Robert Frost is a blowhard, and barely has a workable understanding of Dr Seuss. She does, however, write really bad poetry, and once won the highly coveted Mr Scribbler's Poetry Award blog button. Ma speaks English and a highly complex form of Gibberish.
Enema Portal for Groan Ups is a must-read! Drop in for a chuckle!
Mr. Fabulous, a self-professed Renaissance Man, raconteur, and stylish man-about-town is fluent in twenty-seven languages and has the strength of ten men. He can often be found dancing the night away with several lovelies at the trendiest clubs on the eastern seaboard. He is the subject of several restraining orders and paternity suits, and he likes to juggle small children in his spare time.
Mr. Fab's blog, Pointless Drivel is aptly named. He's always good for a giggle, responds to every comment, and won't feel you up unless you give permission!
And if you're fans of the original Idol, please visit the folks at American Midol the blog---a source for news, gossip and snarky good fun. They were gracious enough to allow me to use the title for my contest name instead of ripping my arm off and beating me over the head with it for not doing a blog search first. Many thanks to them!
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Yesterday I watched one of my all time favorite movies, Tin Cup, with Kevin Costner. It is a good movie and if you haven’t seen it I would suggest you go rent it or go buy it. I know Kev has taken a lot of shit for his last 10 movies or so, but I attribute that to his trying too hard, and not knowing when to quit, too long and sometimes silly.
But with Tin Cup, much like Bull Durham, it is a sports movie that he plays an affable, goofy, sports type guy. In this case he is a small time driving range pro that is trying to make a living in Salamone TX when he meets with his ex-golfing partner’s girlfriend, played by Rene Russo, then he tries to qualify for the US Open in order to win her heart.
Now I know that this is supposed to be about a movie or book, or a something else media related that you have heard, read, watched, or all three (and hated). I know and I get it, I DO have a problem with this movie.
The defining moment is at the very end of the movie where Kevin has a good shot to win the US open, IF he plays it safe. Naturally he has never played it safe and he sure as fuck never played it safe before. So for three days he tries to make a second shot on 18 that is a long par 4, with a water hazard. And for three days he has washed his balls. On the 4th day he finds himself ready to win the US Open and all he has to do is drive the ball long, lay up and chip in, and the open is his.
Well he has a real issue about not taking chances, and he goes with the 3 wood on his second shot, and once again tries to make the shot that has sunk him for 3 days previously. Naturally in true movie fashion, he DOES get to the green in two and would be putting for eagle…..If the ball would have stopped rolling down the green and into the water hazard. He invokes the right to a Mulligan….6 TIMES! and naturally he runs through every ball in his bag and nothing seems to work. He just keeps asking for more balls. So he runs through all of them and on the very last ball (dropping 11, shooting 12) and Hollywood kicks in again and he sinks it, from 200 yards out.
Here is my problem. Why if this asshole knows he doesn’t have enough club to make that second shot, why doesn’t he shoot a small club off the tee and then use a LARGER one on the second shot making it easier to get on the green? That has always bothered me. Use a fucking 7 iron (something they kept saying through out the movie, “I hit the 7 like Jon Daly hits the 3 wood”) THEN use the #1 wood and get on the fucking in two and putting for 1 under, winning the US open? Why doesn’t this happen? Is there a obscure rule that only professional golfers know about it? They aren’t allowed to play smart?
I don’t fucking understand it.
If you would like to participate in a Gasbag review Check out Atilla the Mom over in my link area on the left there. Shoot her a comment and ask real nice to play with the cool kids and she’ll do some research and then give you a time slot.
Previous reviews this season:
Looking Beyond the Cracked Window
A Droll Way to Look at Things
Sven's Personal Memos
My Beautiful Life
Cheaper Than Therapy
Enema Portal For Groan-ups
A Tykes Progress
Saturday, February 17, 2007
I've stared at this on and off, and still can't see it. Is it a joke? Is there really a man's head there? I can't find it. Don't be afraid to look closely----nothing is going to jump in your face, scream and scare the bejabbers out of you.
That said, I wonder a lot about people who find the face of Jesus or the Holy Mother on stuff. Like on burritos.
I'm not trying to dis' on anybody's religion, but I have questions.
Why would the son of God or the Virgin Mary appear on a burrito, of all things?
Did the intended burrito-eater pray before the meal, "Dear God, bless this food"?
God (who is said to work in mysterious ways) responds: I'm rewarding you for your faithfulness at mealtimes. Here is an image of my Son. Go sell it on eBay!
And another thing---how does anyone know that the images are those of Jesus or Mary? Considering that nobody had Canon Sure-shots back in the old days, the last physical sightings were a couple of thousand years ago.
Even paintings are artistic renderings. All those famous works of art are based on nothing but the artists' imaginations. They didn't have any more idea of what Mother and Son looked like than you or I do.
Recently, some people pruned their tree and thought they found Jesus. They didn't call the fire department to get Him down, they called the media. Now hundreds are flocking to see Jesus-on-a-stick.
Guess it wouldn't have fetched as much money on eBay if the owner claimed it was Clara Bow. All the ignoramuses who shell money out for that kind of crap would scratch their heads, ask..."who in the hell is Clara Bow?" and snap their purses shut.
I don't know about you, but I don't think this looks like Jesus on a crunchy fish filet.
It looks like Grizzly Adams.
I know, I know, I'm probably going straight to hell for this one. But before I go, can anyone please please tell me where the coffee-bean head is?
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Blogging buddy Annie Drogynous asked me this morning how it was going.
5 large humans. 1 working bathroom.
I probably shouldn't have served Mexican for dinner last night.
But progress is being made! woo hoo! Here are some pics (you can click on them to make them larger):
Now it's all prepped and ready for the new tile!