Also, About the Smoke Detector

Yes, this is a lot of posts for me today. Why? Because I promised myself I’d spend all day actually working on work-related stuff. So… Yes… Obviously, I’m working really hard.

Hire me, America! I’m a real self-motivator.

Ha, anyway, here’s what the Butcher made himself for breakfast–scrambled eggs, toast, and sausage. I had to call down twice and ask what was burning.

Not a peep from the smoke detector.

But I go to boil some water. Yes, water, my friends and that fucker goes off like I’m burning witches at the stake right underneath it. Finally, I yell, “Okay, I hear you. Shut up.”

And I kid you not, it turned right off.

Of course, I blame the Ghosts of the Civil War.

"Oh, you can’t get a man with a gun!"

Newscoma’s post lacks only a witty title. I propose the above gem from Irving Berlin. I know it’s tacky to reprint someone’s whole post, but I’m going to make an exception in this case.

How funny is this?

From Newscoma:

Vice-president Dick Cheney is really having a bad day, but no worse than the guy he accidentally shot.

Gun nuts, what’s the proper etiquette in a situation like this? Does the guy who got shot now get a free shot at the vice president? Have we had a vice president shoot anyone since Burr shot Hamilton? Is this what you conservatives mean by a return to traditional American values–bringing back the fine tradition of vice presidents shooting people?

If so, this must be an especially proud moment for you.

Bill "The Kitten Killer" Frist Moves to Screw Gay People

I couldn’t find any information on Senator Kitten Killer’s website, but our friends at the Family Research Council are reporting that Frist announced that the Senate is going to hold a cloture vote on the “Marriage Protection Amendment” the week of June 5th.

I’ve been trying to think of something particularly funny to say about this, but really, there isn’t anything. There has only been one amendment to the constitution that limited the rights of the people of the United States. That was also the only amendment to be repealed.

Should this piece of crap amendment attach itself to the Constitution, I can only assume that we’ll end up going back and repealing it as well.

I would like to ask if my senator has any sense of decency or regard for the feelings of others, but the kitten killing and the diagnosing people from afar, seems to already answer that question for me.

Blogger Pajama Party

Shoot, I blog in my pajamas all the time. I’m blogging in my pajamas right now. It just makes things a little easier; if anyone starts talking about home improvement, I’m all set.*

Via Twisty, I bring you the most vapid story ever written about chick bloggers. Read this and you’ll begin to understand why I could only live in New York City for six weeks before I had to go hide in my aunt’s basement and pray for death.

Anyway, for your amusement, here are all the moments that would have caused me to taser someone if I had been present for this interview.

• Even though I pretend I don’t think I’m that great, really, I am that great. I know important people.–“Every so often I’ll meet someone–like, I met Jake Weisberg, the editor in chief of Slate and he was like, ‘You do what? Huh? Um, okay…?’ I was like, ‘Don’t you know who I am?'”
• My life is so great. So much better than the pathetic losers who read me.–“I get so many e-mails from people fascinated with my life and convinced it’s fiction because to them it’s so extreme and removed from their own experience.”
• I don’t blog to be famous. No, really. Fame is so annoying. I blog as a way to warm up before writing my novel, which I’m also just writing because I love writing, not because I want to be famous. Go ahead, ask me some more questions, media person!–“Thirteen days later, thousands of people were reading it. Most bloggers would love that kind of traffic, but I wasn’t one of them. I have a new Web site with a blog, but it’s not a publicity device so much as a vanity project.” and “My blog started out as a means to tell my crazy dating stories! That, and to help me warm up in the mornings before I set out to write my novel.”
• It never occurs to me that other people will treat me how I treat them. How dare they! Don’t they know I’m special?–“Jessica: Someone sent me [hate mail] and I saw their IP address–they sent it from their work address at a law firm. So I forwarded it to the partners of his firm and said, ‘You should know that this guy is reading my blog.'” and then “Jessica: After I got fired I applied for a normal job the next day and they sent all my contact info to the Washington Post and Wonkette.” with Rachel chiming in, ” Wow, that’s really ethical.”
• I’m not like those other bloggers, I really can write a book. I have talent, people, real talent.–“I don’t think every blogger is meant to be a novelist, no matter how popular their daily writings may be. It’s a different beast. Writing is a talent.” and “There’s a misconception that a book can be churned out in a week or two. It takes consistent and sustained effort and lots of frustration.”
• And I’m different from other bloggers, because I don’t let blogging rule my life, even though I totally want to be famous for blogging, I don’t really do it.–“How often do you blog? Jessica: Whenever I feel like it, but never more than an hour per day. Heather: Five hours a week. Mimi: Usually about five or ten hours total [each week]. Melissa: About 20 or 30 minutes a day, if you count answering comments and e-mails.
• Also, I’m a pretentious jackass.–See the whole rest of the article, where they talk about their favorite restaurants, designers, and magazines. Extra points for calling a magazine a “book” so that everyone knows you’re hip to the lingo.

And then they all have their cutie-pie bios at the end.

I guess I need a cutie-pie bio. I’ll have to work on it. Here’s one fun fact. I don’t know who any of these women are and I’m tickled to death to never have to read their blogs.

*I love a good masturbation reference first thing on a Sunday morning, don’t you? There are some folks who don’t care for them; it makes them feel bad. Those folks should probably try a little harder on Saturday night. I kid. It’s not like I’m that great in bed either. Maybe I need some good training (first heard about at Pandagon). Though, if it has to involve Mickey Mouse, maybe I’ll just settle for sticking with what I have. Though I love the “I’m not kinky, but if a woman wants to imagine that I’m Mickey Mouse and she’s a prostitute, that’s fine with me.” tenor of the whole thing.

Mrs. Wigglebottom Explores Religion

Yesterday, Mrs. Wigglebottom and I walked over to the Presbyterian church*, which means we go by a small Lutheran church (which is having a pancake dinner or a porkchop breakfast, I forget which one, in honor of their 75th Anniversary) and the Free Will Bible College.

Those Free Willers–Free Willies? No, I suppose that’s a different kind of college–are so nice. We saw three of them and they all smiled and seemed genuinely happy to see us.

Oddly enough, Mrs. Wigglebottom was not that excited to see them. She couldn’t even deign to acknowledge them, because she was entranced by the kid singing. I was entranced by him, too. And I’ve been thinking how nice it would be if young men regularly sang to themselves where I could hear them in such beautiful confident ways.

We didn’t see any Presbyterians, though I’m guessing there’s a gaggle of them, by the amount of Presbyterian vans ready to take them anywhere on a moment’s notice.

Perhaps they need all those vehicles to take them over to fight with the Methodists. You don’t hear a lot about good inter-denominational street fighting, which is really too bad. Even if there wasn’t some kind of rumble, there could be a bake-off or a “Who can sing the most verses to ‘O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing’ before going insane” contest.

For pink slips! God, that would be so awesome I might go back to church for that.

When my parents lived across the street from the Catholic church, someone would invariably park across our driveway–not in our driveway, which would have been understandable, sort of, but across the end–thus trapping us without cars for the length of Mass. I always thought, as revenge, that my mom and I should put on my dad’s robes, and sneak over there with milk and brownies and start a competing communion line.

Looking back on that, I guess it’s not that funny, but my mom and I used to laugh pretty damn hard about it.

*If for no other reason than to give me practice spelling ‘Presbyterian.’