The GOP just gave it a royal munging.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
NEWSFLASH: It can always be worse...
Ok following up on that last post, I thought I might need to spice it up a bit with a nice picture or something.
My google search revealed some interesting information courtesy of Wikipedia.
Apparently, Food Lion is engaged in some reverse voltron antics, where the Lion splits into one of two different entities, depending on the nature of the surrounding market.
As the previous post covered, the swank uptown Food Lions go all Bloom. But what about markets where Food Lion is a bit too fancy?
I'm no real estate agent, but all I am saying is when the local Food Lion changes to Bottom Dollar, it's time to move, the rat tails are not far behind.
My google search revealed some interesting information courtesy of Wikipedia.
Apparently, Food Lion is engaged in some reverse voltron antics, where the Lion splits into one of two different entities, depending on the nature of the surrounding market.
As the previous post covered, the swank uptown Food Lions go all Bloom. But what about markets where Food Lion is a bit too fancy?
I'm no real estate agent, but all I am saying is when the local Food Lion changes to Bottom Dollar, it's time to move, the rat tails are not far behind.
You can put lipstick on a pig...
but it is still a pig. Or in this case a Food Lion.
In my heart of hearts, I have always been a dirty old man and as such take pride in such domestic activities as drinking bum wines and checking out new supermarkets.
New players on the market circuit are far and few between, so you can only imagine my joy when I caught wind of Bloom. Unfortunately, that wind turned out to be more of a fart, when I discovered this swank new supermarket was nothing more than a re-branded Food Lion.
Who you foolin with that mess? You can't pawn yourself off as a swank new grocery store and then stock your endcap with Steel Reserve 211.
Now don't get me wrong, I luvs me a store that stocks end caps with 40s, but let's not pretend to be something that we aren't. We don't live in opposite world. We needs to keep it real!
Food dawg! That's the budget grocery store that I know and love! Plus all your 18 wheelers tout they drive 65MPH or less!
My college days Friday night ritual involved swinging by Da' Lion to cop me two luke warm 40s of Magnum* and a pack of orange tic-tacs. Total cost $2.89, hands down the most fun you can have for under 3 bucks. And I made sure to let the cashier know that every time.
Anyhow Bloom, let's be clear, we know who you are and where you're from. And if you plan on keeping this farce up, you are hopping on the express train to Milli-vanilli-vile and destined to become the first grocery store to be featured on VH-1's behind the music. It's not too late to turn back.
*Not far enough up the beer chain at that time to rank "cooler" status.
In my heart of hearts, I have always been a dirty old man and as such take pride in such domestic activities as drinking bum wines and checking out new supermarkets.
New players on the market circuit are far and few between, so you can only imagine my joy when I caught wind of Bloom. Unfortunately, that wind turned out to be more of a fart, when I discovered this swank new supermarket was nothing more than a re-branded Food Lion.
Who you foolin with that mess? You can't pawn yourself off as a swank new grocery store and then stock your endcap with Steel Reserve 211.
Now don't get me wrong, I luvs me a store that stocks end caps with 40s, but let's not pretend to be something that we aren't. We don't live in opposite world. We needs to keep it real!
Food dawg! That's the budget grocery store that I know and love! Plus all your 18 wheelers tout they drive 65MPH or less!
My college days Friday night ritual involved swinging by Da' Lion to cop me two luke warm 40s of Magnum* and a pack of orange tic-tacs. Total cost $2.89, hands down the most fun you can have for under 3 bucks. And I made sure to let the cashier know that every time.
Anyhow Bloom, let's be clear, we know who you are and where you're from. And if you plan on keeping this farce up, you are hopping on the express train to Milli-vanilli-vile and destined to become the first grocery store to be featured on VH-1's behind the music. It's not too late to turn back.
*Not far enough up the beer chain at that time to rank "cooler" status.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Do you know what that means?
Think of it as an effervescent blend of an appletini and kerosene.
I saw the new MD20/20 kid on the block during one of my recent adventures and am kicking myself for:
(a) not taking a picture
(b) not shelling out the $3 for actual evidence
(c) not buying it and drinking it out of a Fendi paper bag
(d) all of the above
(e) yo mamma
I'll choose (B).
Anyhow, this finding raises at least one interesting discussion point. If Mad Dog is continuing to churn out new flavors, one would speculate that somewhere right now, someone is getting paid good american dollars to head up Mad Dog Research and Development. I think I may have found my true calling.
It's like a more deviant version of the job of coming up with names for new colors of Crayola crayons. Hmmmm I wonder if they thought of a crayola flavored mad dog. You know what they say, get them early, get them for life!
Since I failed to grab a bottle, I decided to do a lil net recon and low and behold, Mogen and David (the vinters of tha dawg) do not have an official online presence. Now that IS shady. I am sure that now, even as I type this, that questionnably retarded audience member from last night's american idol (you know the 12 yr old girl who was bawling every time the camera cut to her) is having her very own site made as you read this.
Now, that being stated, MD DOES have a very real UNoffical presence on the web. According to Wikipedia, they once produced wildly exciting flavors such as white lightening and purple rain?
Or if you go to ghettowine.com, you can see where MD is actually made?
Ug, after seeing their facilities, I retract my previous "dream job" statement. That place looks like an OSHA posterchild.
There is no real coherent way to wrap this post up, but after all it is about bum wine, which eliminates coherency at a lethal rate, so it's all good.
Well, That's My Mamma!
Then I'd put him on notice...
This is a funny little bit following Jon Stewart's interview of Sam Sheridan, author of: A Fighter's Heart: One Man's Journey Through the World of Fighting
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
American Crydol
WTF was up with that little girl bawling in the audience of last night's American idol?
Or were the producers playing a cruel joke and kept sending in notes to her like:
Note1: "Your hermit crab has cancer"
Note2: "Just kidding, your hermit crab is fine, but your parents are getting divorced."
Note3: "Your parents are together and not getting divorced. They did, however drive their car off a cliff"
Note4: "Parents survived the wreck, but were eaten by dingos"
Note5: "Michael Jackson is now your legal gaurdian"
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
It will cost you an arm and a leg paul...
Well possibly just a leg.
I heard on the radio today that Heather Mills (former wife of Beatle Paul McCartney) is gonna cash out that shaggy headed knight to the tune of 32 million pounds (that's roughly $50 some odd million dollars).
In the early 90s Heather Mills was run over by a police motorcycle, and they had to amputate her leg. After the settlement, ole stumpy ought to be able to buy the finest wooden leg around with that kind of scratch.
Good timing, too, as she will be featured in this season's Dancing with the stars and will need a sturdy peg. In fact, right now, Bodog is taking bets as to whether or not the faux leg with fall off during the competition. See as the show is broadcast on ABC, not FOX, current odds favor no.
Now before I sign off, let's revist the whole "it will cost you an arm and a leg" phrase. Word on the street is that back in the day, fine art was commissioned by portions of the body. For example, if you wanted a self portrait on the cheap, you would get a painting of yourself from the neck-up. If you wanted more parts painted, costs went up exponentially. The most expensive art was full body art including head, torso, arms and legs. Hence, something very expense would cost you an arm and a leg.
I heard on the radio today that Heather Mills (former wife of Beatle Paul McCartney) is gonna cash out that shaggy headed knight to the tune of 32 million pounds (that's roughly $50 some odd million dollars).
In the early 90s Heather Mills was run over by a police motorcycle, and they had to amputate her leg. After the settlement, ole stumpy ought to be able to buy the finest wooden leg around with that kind of scratch.
Good timing, too, as she will be featured in this season's Dancing with the stars and will need a sturdy peg. In fact, right now, Bodog is taking bets as to whether or not the faux leg with fall off during the competition. See as the show is broadcast on ABC, not FOX, current odds favor no.
Now before I sign off, let's revist the whole "it will cost you an arm and a leg" phrase. Word on the street is that back in the day, fine art was commissioned by portions of the body. For example, if you wanted a self portrait on the cheap, you would get a painting of yourself from the neck-up. If you wanted more parts painted, costs went up exponentially. The most expensive art was full body art including head, torso, arms and legs. Hence, something very expense would cost you an arm and a leg.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Mind playing tricks on me
Ok this will be 100% entertaining to exactly .006% of Topic 15's loyal readers.
Someone remade the Geto Boys Video using a bunch of props, all Robot Chicken style.
It's hott.
Someone remade the Geto Boys Video using a bunch of props, all Robot Chicken style.
It's hott.
It's been a long time...
Some have been asking, Where art thou, T-15?
Recovering.
It has taken damn near two weeks to be of sound mind and capable of sitting up straight and formulate sentences beyond pointing and grunting.
What happened?
Well, this for starters...
Now, let me splain, I love me some charcoal filtered goodness of OE 800, but like the SOS band, I like to "take my time and do it right."
There is absolutely nothing about taking your time or doing it right with edward 40 hands.
Rather, it is a race against your bladder, to drain dem junx before you have drain your junx. Otherwise, you run the risk of becoming edward pp pants.
One a quick aside, what is one to do if one is allergic to gluten, but compelled to play EFH?
In a word, improvise.
In several words, find the equivalent volume of gluten free beer and tape that all up on your arm like so...
Prior to that weekend, me and my squirrel bladder were a bit scared at the prospect of this game, but my participation was inevitable as a moth to a flame.
When it became go time, edward 40 hands was the least of my worries.
You see, the fear of edward 40 hands is usually governed by the fact that once you knock out those 40s you are home free. Not me. The evil genius MC's (masters of ceremonies) saw EFH as an appetizer, an appetizer for destruction, followed by a shot of After-Schlager, Malt Liquor Helmet, Margarita and some Absynthe. The last thing I remember is wearing a pair of earmuffs made of tallboys of Colt 45 and connected to a tube that went right into my mouth.
This is what Gladwell calls a tipping point, as things stop going in and start coming out and all cerebral records crash.
Well all but one registry was purged, Casey's Drafthouse, located in Pittsburgh.
What, pray tell, would cause that one memory to stick amidst the wash of malt-memory eraser?
1 word...manboy.
What is manboy you ask?
Simple.
A midget.
A midget who spends monday nights in a treehouse.
A midget who spends monday nights in a treehouse located at the end of the bar.
A midget who spends monday nights in a treehouse located at the end of the bar until someone ponies up $10.
Then the magic happens.
Manboy descends from his tree house, scurries across the bar to grab a bottle of grandpa's cough medicine, and then runs back and forth pouring its contents into the mouths of patrons.
I know what you are thinking, that after the forty hands, I starting speaking in tongues and seeing strange visions (after all Absinthe was in the mix right?), and this whole midget madness is nothing more than an artifact of a really twisted imagination.
We'll this link says otherwise.
As does this picture.
So who is up for a road trip to da 'burg?
Recovering.
It has taken damn near two weeks to be of sound mind and capable of sitting up straight and formulate sentences beyond pointing and grunting.
What happened?
Well, this for starters...
Now, let me splain, I love me some charcoal filtered goodness of OE 800, but like the SOS band, I like to "take my time and do it right."
There is absolutely nothing about taking your time or doing it right with edward 40 hands.
Rather, it is a race against your bladder, to drain dem junx before you have drain your junx. Otherwise, you run the risk of becoming edward pp pants.
One a quick aside, what is one to do if one is allergic to gluten, but compelled to play EFH?
In a word, improvise.
In several words, find the equivalent volume of gluten free beer and tape that all up on your arm like so...
Prior to that weekend, me and my squirrel bladder were a bit scared at the prospect of this game, but my participation was inevitable as a moth to a flame.
When it became go time, edward 40 hands was the least of my worries.
You see, the fear of edward 40 hands is usually governed by the fact that once you knock out those 40s you are home free. Not me. The evil genius MC's (masters of ceremonies) saw EFH as an appetizer, an appetizer for destruction, followed by a shot of After-Schlager, Malt Liquor Helmet, Margarita and some Absynthe. The last thing I remember is wearing a pair of earmuffs made of tallboys of Colt 45 and connected to a tube that went right into my mouth.
This is what Gladwell calls a tipping point, as things stop going in and start coming out and all cerebral records crash.
Well all but one registry was purged, Casey's Drafthouse, located in Pittsburgh.
What, pray tell, would cause that one memory to stick amidst the wash of malt-memory eraser?
1 word...manboy.
What is manboy you ask?
Simple.
A midget.
A midget who spends monday nights in a treehouse.
A midget who spends monday nights in a treehouse located at the end of the bar.
A midget who spends monday nights in a treehouse located at the end of the bar until someone ponies up $10.
Then the magic happens.
Manboy descends from his tree house, scurries across the bar to grab a bottle of grandpa's cough medicine, and then runs back and forth pouring its contents into the mouths of patrons.
I know what you are thinking, that after the forty hands, I starting speaking in tongues and seeing strange visions (after all Absinthe was in the mix right?), and this whole midget madness is nothing more than an artifact of a really twisted imagination.
We'll this link says otherwise.
As does this picture.
So who is up for a road trip to da 'burg?
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