I’m going to throw on some eyeliner, slap on some lipstick and be off to the blogger meet-up. I stumbled upon the perfect theme song for Sarcastro–Louis Armstrong’s “Potato Head Blues”–and made him a CD with that on it. I will deliver it shortly.
If Kleinheider doesn’t show up, I’m going to pretend to be him and spend the evening trying to ruin his reputation.
So, good fun.
Oh, how I love my fellow sinister-handed folks:
I hear you are left-handed … does that mean you’re evil?
My evilness is completely independent of my lefthandedness.
Why do you left-handed people always injure yourselves?
Because you right-handed people booby-trap the ENTIRE PLANET.
Preach on. Preach on.
Dear Readers, consider the following. Just soak in the funny.
Sarcastro quotes P.J. O’Rourke approvingly when O’Rourke says:
The second item in the liberal creed, after self-righteousness, is unaccountability. Liberals have invented whole college majors— psychology, sociology, women’s studies— to prove that nothing is anybody’s fault. No one is fond of taking responsibility for his actions, but consider how much you’d have to hate free will to come up with a political platform that advocates killing unborn babies but not convicted murderers. A callous pragmatist might favor abortion and capital punishment. A devout Christian would sanction neither. But it takes years of therapy to arrive at the liberal view.
You know, just as a side note, if complaining about not having anything to write about brings out this level of ridiculousness, I’m going to start complaining about not being rich, just to see if Mr. Smarty Pants starts slipping me Madisons.
God, libertarians snarking about ‘unaccountability’ just cracks me up. Who are the kings and queens of not wanting to be accountable to anyone but themselves or for anyone but themselves? Libertarians.
The Shill writes:
LE and I are having some trouble coming up a with a name for Tiny the Wonder Fetus after I’ve whelped in October (the word whelp cracks me up). Perhaps your readers could help. Maybe they have some thoughts on the prevalence of the -ayl and -ade sounds and why people give their kids moronic names.
Come on, folks, let’s name that baby!
Here are some things to help you out. The Shill’s kid will have a last name that is not Hiebert, but suffers from a similar set of vowels. Both the Shill and the Legal Eagle have perfectly fine, perfectly ordinary names. In fact, the Shill’s first name is so common that, if she’d taken the Legal Eagle’s last name, she would have had the same name as one of her sisters-in-law.
Many of Tiny’s cousins have, in my opinion, ridiculous names, like Wolf and Keagan.
Also, there’s probably no way Tiny’s going to be named Steve.
My choices: Henry and Isabel.
I’ve got nothing to write about. I’m totally frazzled and feeling remarkably uninteresting. Still, I post in the mornings and so I’m posting in the morning.
It tickles me that the one thing I’m even remotely disciplined about is so much fun.
First she snuck into the car. Then she wandered around outside without her leash on and pouted at me as I attempted to both kick the Butcher’s ass and yell at her to get back in the house, while the Butcher’s friend yelled over his loud speaker "Step away from the vehicle!"
We were fighting over who should take the dog out. You’d think that she could do us the courtesy of going to the bathroom while she snuck out while we were distracted with trying to kick each other’s asses out front of our house.
But no.
She did however spare me from having to wash the Butcher’s dinner dish by breaking it.
It sucks to loose a plate like that, but it was also funny as hell.
Poor Mrs. Wigglebottom. She just goes a little stir crazy on rainy days.
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On a slightly different note, didn’t "snuck" used to be a word? When did it happen that it changed from "snuck" to "sneeked"? How did I miss that? Well, fuck it. I refuse to switch to "sneeked." "Sneeked" is stupid. "Snuck" rules. In our house, we sneek. If we did it in the past tense, we snuck. That’s just the way it is.
1. Thursday, July 6, 5:30pm, Blogger (and friends) meet-up at Wolfie’s downtown.
2. The play. If you’d like to come see it, here’re the pertinent details.
Ha, shit. I thought I had more than that. But I don’t. Oh well.
"No, I’m not praying for him… Fine. I’ll pray he stops being such a butt munch. Do you think God will mind if I pray for that?"
Tiny Cat Pants 