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 $10.
Then the magic happens.
Manboy descends from his tree house, scurries across the bar to grab a bottle of grandpa's cough medicine, and then runs back and forth pouring its contents into the mouths of patrons.
I know what you are thinking, that after the forty hands, I starting speaking in tongues and seeing strange visions (after all Absinthe was in the mix right?), and this whole midget madness is nothing more than an artifact of a really twisted imagination.
We'll this link says otherwise.
As does this picture.
So who is up for a road trip to da 'burg?
Friday, February 23, 2007
So long... farewell... Auf wiedersehen... Goodbye!
Yesterday we had to say goodbye to a good friend who left the company I work for. Upon his departure, he sent a goodbye letter out via email
I found the original draft the goodbye letter, which is slightly different than what was sent.
Quite the colorful writer if I do say so myself,
----------------------------
Final version that was sent
Hey Everyone,
It's Departure-Day! I'm leaving the company, Reston and soon even the Great Commonwealth of Virginia to pursue other dreams.
My exit interview paperwork asks "What did you like most about the company and your job?" That's a no-brainer. You guys have been the best thing about working here. I can honestly and genuinely say I like every one in this office personally and that I think is rare.
My email is [removed] -- use it, keep in touch and let me know how life treats ya.
Best of luck to all of you!
John
---------------------------------------------
Original Draft
Hey losers!
I'm getting the F#$K out of here. Thanks to your shennanigans and computer savviness of a retarded monkey, not only am I leaving the company, I am leaving the entire f'ing state of Virginia. I know some of you are slow, so let me spell it out for you...I am getting as far away from the daily nightmare saturated with your dumbasses as possible (in case that my superior intellect is further tainted my your ass-hattery antics).
My exit interview paperwork asks "what did you like most about the company and your job?" That's a no brainer. Hands down the best thing about working here is taking this exit interview and wiping my ass with it after taking an "upper-decker" in the fourth floor bathroom. I could deliver that answer in poo slathered writing, but unlike most of you savages, I am a gentlemen, so I won't. I also refilled the yellow ink cartridges with hobo urine.
You guys have been the best thing about working here. I mean, who can say that they have worked with an entire cast of missing links? I can honestly and genuinely say I like imagining the inevitable deaths of every one in this office such as eating cactus, walking into open elevator shafts, and staring at the sun with a telescope only to blindly wandering into small aircraft propellers.
My new email address is I_am_your_financial_daddy@eatshitanddie.com . Feel free and send me emails that will be routed straight into my junk mail folder. Your requests for where to find the CYAN printer cartridges will be in good company of wang enlargement supplements and black market prescription medications.
Best of luck with that new "coffee"
--John
I found the original draft the goodbye letter, which is slightly different than what was sent.
Quite the colorful writer if I do say so myself,
----------------------------
Final version that was sent
Hey Everyone,
It's Departure-Day! I'm leaving the company, Reston and soon even the Great Commonwealth of Virginia to pursue other dreams.
My exit interview paperwork asks "What did you like most about the company and your job?" That's a no-brainer. You guys have been the best thing about working here. I can honestly and genuinely say I like every one in this office personally and that I think is rare.
My email is [removed] -- use it, keep in touch and let me know how life treats ya.
Best of luck to all of you!
John
---------------------------------------------
Original Draft
Hey losers!
I'm getting the F#$K out of here. Thanks to your shennanigans and computer savviness of a retarded monkey, not only am I leaving the company, I am leaving the entire f'ing state of Virginia. I know some of you are slow, so let me spell it out for you...I am getting as far away from the daily nightmare saturated with your dumbasses as possible (in case that my superior intellect is further tainted my your ass-hattery antics).
My exit interview paperwork asks "what did you like most about the company and your job?" That's a no brainer. Hands down the best thing about working here is taking this exit interview and wiping my ass with it after taking an "upper-decker" in the fourth floor bathroom. I could deliver that answer in poo slathered writing, but unlike most of you savages, I am a gentlemen, so I won't. I also refilled the yellow ink cartridges with hobo urine.
You guys have been the best thing about working here. I mean, who can say that they have worked with an entire cast of missing links? I can honestly and genuinely say I like imagining the inevitable deaths of every one in this office such as eating cactus, walking into open elevator shafts, and staring at the sun with a telescope only to blindly wandering into small aircraft propellers.
My new email address is I_am_your_financial_daddy@eatshitanddie.com . Feel free and send me emails that will be routed straight into my junk mail folder. Your requests for where to find the CYAN printer cartridges will be in good company of wang enlargement supplements and black market prescription medications.
Best of luck with that new "coffee"
--John
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles
Hi Blog and loyal blog readers. Sorry for the wicked long gap in posting. I've been on a bit of an adventure, in a lord of the rings sort of way, except for battling ogres and throwing a ring into lava, I have been battling A-hole delta employees and throwing my liver into hot liquid magma.
Let me 'splain.
I was in Rome all last week, fighting lions and eating pizza (read as overseeing market research and eating pizza). I laughed and laughed at the terrible weather youz guyz faced one week ago as I donned shorts only to blind people with my pale white legs at the Colloseum.
At that point, I must have offended some sort of ancient god of melanin, cause me luck took a run for Sicily at that point.
Example #1: While inflight from Rome to JFK, I noticed that my reading light had a pack of peanuts taped over it as it was turning off and on, on its own. "Oh that's cute" I thought and then remembered hearing some Ghetto version of a delta airline commercial that circulated via the Netz a few years back.
Then the electric anomaly extended to the stewardess call button and the entire flight was treated to incessant, arhytmic DING DING...DING.........DING...DING DING DING...DINGing for damn near 9 straight hours. It got so bad that I saw the priest in front of my grab his crucifix. I could not tell if he was praying for forgiveness for wanting to stab me with his crucifix or just praying to the sweet 6.2 ounce baby jesus to take us down. I have never seen so many dirty looks in my life, and let me tell you, I am no stranger to dirty looks (such as the time I called Mr. White Chocolate a "smelly pirate hooker" at a denny's in Hoboken)*
So we finally touchdown in JFK and I scramble to catch my connecting flight. No one likes missing flights, but this one was especially important, cause I was meeting a friend in Richmond to drive me to the outerbanks for my bachelor party. As I arrived to my gate, I noticed that my flight was postponed by 2 hours. As boarding time approached, I checked the board again only to discover that the flight had been cancelled. Rat farts.
So I wait in line to see what my options are. After waiting a hour in line, I told the Delta agent to work her magic and get me the F out of there to DC, Richmond, Norfolk, Newport News, anywhere closer to OBX. She gave me a sassy HMMMPPPH and typed away.
DeltaDouche:"Good news! we can get you to Richmond...on monday...maybe."
Irate T15:"Wait, you do realize that it is Friday F'iing night right?"
DD "Yes."
Doubly Irate T15: "So what do I do in this situation?"
DD: "I don't know."
Triply Irate T15: "Where is that priest and his crucifix shank, cause T15 is about to cut a bitch." "Just give me my bag so I can get my Amtrak salvation on"
DD: "I can't. It is going to Richmond."
T15: "I hope your child grows up to be the next Britney Spears." "So how am I supposed to get it?"
DD: "Pick it up at the airport."
T15: "And how am I supposed to get to the airport."
DD: "Stumped beyond all possible levels of stumpedness...I guess they will bring it to you"
T15: "To the outerbanks?"
DD: "I guess"
T15: "Just send it to my home address"
So you would hope that things would be smooth sailing after that fiasco, right? Well I got to Penn Station in NY at 8PM and asked for the 1st train to DC.
Ticket agent sez: "3:00 am and it is selling out fast"
T15: "All holy hell? are you kidding?"
Ticket agent sez: "Next train after that is 6:45am"
Broken, I buy the ticket, then call everyone I know to tell them the personal hell I am facing thanks to the laws of karma and laughing at the snow while in Italy. I guess my recognition of this allowed for my release, as for as soon as that conversation concluded, an old man came over and told me he overheard my plight and said the ticket agent gave him the same story, but after plugging away on the self serve kiosk for several minutes was able to get on the 9PM train.
A few tries later, I was on the 10PM train, on my way back to DC to catch a ride in the morning to the OBX, where two 40 ounce vessels of malt beverages and a roll of duct taped awaited.
To be continued....
Let me 'splain.
I was in Rome all last week, fighting lions and eating pizza (read as overseeing market research and eating pizza). I laughed and laughed at the terrible weather youz guyz faced one week ago as I donned shorts only to blind people with my pale white legs at the Colloseum.
At that point, I must have offended some sort of ancient god of melanin, cause me luck took a run for Sicily at that point.
Example #1: While inflight from Rome to JFK, I noticed that my reading light had a pack of peanuts taped over it as it was turning off and on, on its own. "Oh that's cute" I thought and then remembered hearing some Ghetto version of a delta airline commercial that circulated via the Netz a few years back.
Then the electric anomaly extended to the stewardess call button and the entire flight was treated to incessant, arhytmic DING DING...DING.........DING...DING DING DING...DINGing for damn near 9 straight hours. It got so bad that I saw the priest in front of my grab his crucifix. I could not tell if he was praying for forgiveness for wanting to stab me with his crucifix or just praying to the sweet 6.2 ounce baby jesus to take us down. I have never seen so many dirty looks in my life, and let me tell you, I am no stranger to dirty looks (such as the time I called Mr. White Chocolate a "smelly pirate hooker" at a denny's in Hoboken)*
So we finally touchdown in JFK and I scramble to catch my connecting flight. No one likes missing flights, but this one was especially important, cause I was meeting a friend in Richmond to drive me to the outerbanks for my bachelor party. As I arrived to my gate, I noticed that my flight was postponed by 2 hours. As boarding time approached, I checked the board again only to discover that the flight had been cancelled. Rat farts.
So I wait in line to see what my options are. After waiting a hour in line, I told the Delta agent to work her magic and get me the F out of there to DC, Richmond, Norfolk, Newport News, anywhere closer to OBX. She gave me a sassy HMMMPPPH and typed away.
DeltaDouche:"Good news! we can get you to Richmond...on monday...maybe."
Irate T15:"Wait, you do realize that it is Friday F'iing night right?"
DD "Yes."
Doubly Irate T15: "So what do I do in this situation?"
DD: "I don't know."
Triply Irate T15: "Where is that priest and his crucifix shank, cause T15 is about to cut a bitch." "Just give me my bag so I can get my Amtrak salvation on"
DD: "I can't. It is going to Richmond."
T15: "I hope your child grows up to be the next Britney Spears." "So how am I supposed to get it?"
DD: "Pick it up at the airport."
T15: "And how am I supposed to get to the airport."
DD: "Stumped beyond all possible levels of stumpedness...I guess they will bring it to you"
T15: "To the outerbanks?"
DD: "I guess"
T15: "Just send it to my home address"
So you would hope that things would be smooth sailing after that fiasco, right? Well I got to Penn Station in NY at 8PM and asked for the 1st train to DC.
Ticket agent sez: "3:00 am and it is selling out fast"
T15: "All holy hell? are you kidding?"
Ticket agent sez: "Next train after that is 6:45am"
Broken, I buy the ticket, then call everyone I know to tell them the personal hell I am facing thanks to the laws of karma and laughing at the snow while in Italy. I guess my recognition of this allowed for my release, as for as soon as that conversation concluded, an old man came over and told me he overheard my plight and said the ticket agent gave him the same story, but after plugging away on the self serve kiosk for several minutes was able to get on the 9PM train.
A few tries later, I was on the 10PM train, on my way back to DC to catch a ride in the morning to the OBX, where two 40 ounce vessels of malt beverages and a roll of duct taped awaited.
To be continued....
Friday, February 09, 2007
Lost, we have to talk...
I know we have just come off from spending time apart, but I really think it is time that we go our separate ways.
Now, now, don't go getting all upset, really it is for the best. After all, things have been going downhill for quite sometime, and I am struggling to deal with some of your habits. You're a great show really. It's all about me and my lack of patience and demanding personality and it is not fair to expect you to change just to fit my needs.
It has become quite evident that your free spirited nature (read as: aimlessness and in ability to commit) does not fit with my need for stability or purpose (read as: time to answer some damn questions...like where the hell is that radio transmission coming from? or Why is there a cable going into the ocean? Or who was the freak with the eyepatch?).
We will always have the good times, like the first time you forced a new character into the line-up, only to blow him up during sweeps week. As Hurley said, "Dude, you got a little Artzed on you." And who could forget the Dharma branded sharks among all of the other fun easter eggs you used to provide. Ah those were good times.
I am sure we can still be "friends" but I think the healthy decision to make is to see other shows. To be totally honest, I have been courted by Heroes and that show where Anthony Bourdain travels around the world to make fun of people and eat gross food.
So, goodbye for now.
KIT
Topic 15
Now, now, don't go getting all upset, really it is for the best. After all, things have been going downhill for quite sometime, and I am struggling to deal with some of your habits. You're a great show really. It's all about me and my lack of patience and demanding personality and it is not fair to expect you to change just to fit my needs.
It has become quite evident that your free spirited nature (read as: aimlessness and in ability to commit) does not fit with my need for stability or purpose (read as: time to answer some damn questions...like where the hell is that radio transmission coming from? or Why is there a cable going into the ocean? Or who was the freak with the eyepatch?).
We will always have the good times, like the first time you forced a new character into the line-up, only to blow him up during sweeps week. As Hurley said, "Dude, you got a little Artzed on you." And who could forget the Dharma branded sharks among all of the other fun easter eggs you used to provide. Ah those were good times.
I am sure we can still be "friends" but I think the healthy decision to make is to see other shows. To be totally honest, I have been courted by Heroes and that show where Anthony Bourdain travels around the world to make fun of people and eat gross food.
So, goodbye for now.
KIT
Topic 15
Monday, February 05, 2007
I left my Clown in San Francisco
Probably for the best, but among the gifts I was planning to bring home for the future Mrs. T15 was a bag of cheese curls with a disturbing clown on the bag. I found it in the ethnic food isle next to the taco supplies in a market out near Berkley.
While out on the west side, I saw several of the typical touristy things and several non-touristy things. For example, after a trip to twin peaks and en route to the golden gate bridge we drove through the Castro district, well known for its welcoming of"alternate" lifestyles. So welcoming in fact there are restaurants called "the Sausage Factory" and "Squat and Gobble."
No further comment necessary, those pretty much speak for themselves.
We had dinner in a much less flambouyant establishment located back in Berkley called T-rex. It was there that I had my dinner, a death and taxes and a "light" beer.
Death and taxes is good if you like dark, smoky stouts.
"Light" Beer is good if you like your PBR cut with Soda water, cause that is exactly what it is, but for 2 bucks I had to try it.
yes my dinner was 2 beers. I did have a side of fries, but that was only due to the fact that they came with Chipolte ketchup and really who in there right mind can say no to that?
While out on the west side, I saw several of the typical touristy things and several non-touristy things. For example, after a trip to twin peaks and en route to the golden gate bridge we drove through the Castro district, well known for its welcoming of"alternate" lifestyles. So welcoming in fact there are restaurants called "the Sausage Factory" and "Squat and Gobble."
No further comment necessary, those pretty much speak for themselves.
We had dinner in a much less flambouyant establishment located back in Berkley called T-rex. It was there that I had my dinner, a death and taxes and a "light" beer.
Death and taxes is good if you like dark, smoky stouts.
"Light" Beer is good if you like your PBR cut with Soda water, cause that is exactly what it is, but for 2 bucks I had to try it.
yes my dinner was 2 beers. I did have a side of fries, but that was only due to the fact that they came with Chipolte ketchup and really who in there right mind can say no to that?
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Random-o-rama!
Gonna make this quick since I have been up for the past 18hrs...
First, what kind of message is NBC trying to send with Heroes?
Everyone gets cool powers except the brutha. He gets the magical power to break out of jail. WTF kind of racist shite is that? And his son? The power to rob ATM machines. That's just low. TSK TSK!
Second, guess who I caught a rental car shuttle with at 5:20 AM this morning?
Former WWF mid-carder, Hardcore Bob Holly. I was tempted to have him sign my copy of Wrestlecrap (which I just picked up in Texas), but I thought he might have hit me with a spiked bat or maybe his wife sitting next to him. Hardcore Holly is know to run a little hot, so I decided to play it safe and just gawk.
So, as example of how much an 18hr day takes it's toll, while at the research facility I was forced to consume several cans of diet pepsi to keep from falling asleep. This, in turn, triggered multiple trips to the restrooms. On my second trip, I couldn't help but wonder why the bathroom was so much cleaner and well lit than my first trip. Then I asked myself, where the hell did the urinals go. And then it hit me like a rolled up copy of In Touch magazine. I was standing in the ladies room. Thankfully, I was in full drag, so no one noticed.
Ok that's a lie.
Truth be told no one was there.
First, what kind of message is NBC trying to send with Heroes?
Everyone gets cool powers except the brutha. He gets the magical power to break out of jail. WTF kind of racist shite is that? And his son? The power to rob ATM machines. That's just low. TSK TSK!
Second, guess who I caught a rental car shuttle with at 5:20 AM this morning?
Former WWF mid-carder, Hardcore Bob Holly. I was tempted to have him sign my copy of Wrestlecrap (which I just picked up in Texas), but I thought he might have hit me with a spiked bat or maybe his wife sitting next to him. Hardcore Holly is know to run a little hot, so I decided to play it safe and just gawk.
So, as example of how much an 18hr day takes it's toll, while at the research facility I was forced to consume several cans of diet pepsi to keep from falling asleep. This, in turn, triggered multiple trips to the restrooms. On my second trip, I couldn't help but wonder why the bathroom was so much cleaner and well lit than my first trip. Then I asked myself, where the hell did the urinals go. And then it hit me like a rolled up copy of In Touch magazine. I was standing in the ladies room. Thankfully, I was in full drag, so no one noticed.
Ok that's a lie.
Truth be told no one was there.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Hogwarts Idol
Hey kiddos,
Sorry for the recent lack of postage.
I am all caught up in the american idol craze.
No, not really.
But seriously I am.
Anyhow, me and melady were watching the Memphis tryouts when this dude rolled on the seen. He thought he was all undercover, but I totally recognized Voldemort with a tan.
Hey Voldie, don't quit you day job. You can't carry a tune in a bucket.
And while we are on the subject of freaks on TV, the zoo keepers at NBC were kind enough to bring us this...
NBC, have you no shame? I certainly hope not. Time to give FOX a run for their money.
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