"“In Obama’s worldview, our trust is in government not in God. A denial of how God designed and created our economic and social systems to actually work in the real world."
Minnesota Family Council PresidentTom Prichard
Why is universal health care such a scary concept? Is it because it’s sometimes called socialized medicine? Why is that frightening? Because it contains the word social which makes people think of Socialism which, in turn, makes them think of Communism…which is dumb.
If people without access to health care are given access that doesn't mean that somebody is going to goose step into your home and start taking your stuff…unless they’re a National Socialist*. . . in which case you have bigger problems than who’s taking your TV. So, calm down and start thinking of ways to fake a Prussian family tree. But! I digress. Universal health care, at it’s core, is a very Judeo/Christian concept. The strong take care of the weak in order to hopefully turn the weak into the strong some day. It’s a do unto others kind of a deal.
And this is why the "religious right" are wrong. They stand there in their two thousand dollar suits and pumps and talk about family values and Christian ethics while proudly fingering their WWJD? bracelets and, basically, flip the bird to the poor. Hell, to the middle class! And if, God forbid, you’re gay? Get right outta’ town!
No.
Seriously.
Go.
They don’t want you in their town. Unless, of course, you’ve been to a “reprogramming” camp or seminar and men /women no longer hold any sway over you…except for in public bathroom stalls…and then they’ll elect you to congress. I digress. Again. Sorry.
How can people say they abide by and have no faith in any teaching but those of Jesus Christ (Yeshua Bar Yoseph…look it up.) behave in this way? It maddens me. They quote and they quote and they spout their hate for every kind but our kind till their faces turn red. And, the funny part, if there is a funny part, is that these people have, in fact, studied the bible. All of their quotes come from the bible. But they skipped some important stuff.
Blessed are the peace makers: for they shall be called sons of God.
If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.
It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.
Love thy neighbor as thyself.
These are the rocks of the faith as I understand it. let’s face facts, if Jesus was alive today they’d want him deloused before being allowed into their eminent presences. And then, after he gave the sermon on the mount, they’d call him a dirty, hippie, commie Jew…well, they’d leave out the Jew bit. . . But, come on, they’d think it.
My point, if I may be permitted to believe I have one, is that a true person of God, any God, doesn’t turn their back on the infirm. They don’t pull themselves above the muck and then kick the people down who are trying to pull themselves up as well. They try to help those people. Why? Because that’s what a person does. Anything else makes you a schmuck.
So, the question is simple, my fellow Americans, do you want to help your fellow man? Or do you want to be a schmuck? And if you, just for a minute, look down at that shiny little bracelet of yours and actually think about the question I think you’ll find the right answer.
*FYI - not Socialists but Fascists
Showing posts with label People Make Me Sad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label People Make Me Sad. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tipping, It Ain't Optional
Short But To The Point
Folks, tipping is not optional (unless, of course, you receive crap service). And tipping doesn’t mean two percent. Or three. Or even five. For restaurant service you tip 15 - 20%. I don’t care what Rachel Ray does. She’s friggin’ wrong. . . as usual. For personal services (hair, massage, mani/pedi) you better tip 20 - 30%. Why? Because those people have to physically touch you. Also, you should tip them well because, who knows? Maybe next time they might just leave that peroxide solution on a few minutes too long. Perhaps your spine just won’t align properly. Possibly they may forget to clean that nail file. And, honestly, what‘s less expensive? Tipping properly the first time or buying wigs, chiropractic appointments and fungal cream? Do the math. Shocking, I know but, hey! This is America. You get what you pay for.
Also, gents, never cheap out on the tip in front of a woman. It’s a bad idea. It’s like trash talking your mom. Big red flag! Just a tip from me to you.
Monday, November 24, 2008
My Super (Nauseating) Sweet 16
Question:
When your 16 year old child asks you for a twenty-five thousand dollar Fendi mink coat what should your answer be?
A. What did you just ask me?
B. Are you out of your tiny mind?
C. Hell no!
D. All of the above.
E. Anything you want. It’s your world, we’re all just living in it!
Apparently, much to my shock, the answer is E. Who knew? Not me. I did not know that.
I would have imagined, actually, that the correct thing to do would be to laugh in the childs face for about an hour . . . Possibly while slapping them, lightly, about the head and neck with a rolled up newspaper. That would, surely, be my response. But, what do I know? If you go by the dim bulb, lack wit, parents of the Super Sweet 16 crowd I’m wrong as wrong can be. Hu.
Now, I’m sure, twenty-five thousand dollars is chump change to these people. Good for them. Way to hustle! But, instead of spending it on a, frankly, ugly coat that little baby precious dumplin’ angel will wear for about a minute before she’s “over it” how about you take that chump change and, oh, I don’t know…do something crazy? Like making her do volunteer work and then donating the money to the charity of her choice! How about doing something wacky like that? Why not show her that sometimes we don’t always get every little thing our hearts desire and that some, hell, lots of people don’t get the essentials let alone the luxury items? Wouldn’t that be a hoot?!
No? Better to have her grow up believing that she’s entitled to any little thing she wants? Better she should never understand the value of a dollar or how, honestly, to get a dollar without pitching a fit and running to daddy? Better she should grow up to be a douche bag of staggering proportions? Well, if you say so I’ll . . . No. Come to think of it, I won’t believe you.
When your 16 year old child asks you for a twenty-five thousand dollar Fendi mink coat what should your answer be?
A. What did you just ask me?
B. Are you out of your tiny mind?
C. Hell no!
D. All of the above.
E. Anything you want. It’s your world, we’re all just living in it!
Apparently, much to my shock, the answer is E. Who knew? Not me. I did not know that.
I would have imagined, actually, that the correct thing to do would be to laugh in the childs face for about an hour . . . Possibly while slapping them, lightly, about the head and neck with a rolled up newspaper. That would, surely, be my response. But, what do I know? If you go by the dim bulb, lack wit, parents of the Super Sweet 16 crowd I’m wrong as wrong can be. Hu.
Now, I’m sure, twenty-five thousand dollars is chump change to these people. Good for them. Way to hustle! But, instead of spending it on a, frankly, ugly coat that little baby precious dumplin’ angel will wear for about a minute before she’s “over it” how about you take that chump change and, oh, I don’t know…do something crazy? Like making her do volunteer work and then donating the money to the charity of her choice! How about doing something wacky like that? Why not show her that sometimes we don’t always get every little thing our hearts desire and that some, hell, lots of people don’t get the essentials let alone the luxury items? Wouldn’t that be a hoot?!
No? Better to have her grow up believing that she’s entitled to any little thing she wants? Better she should never understand the value of a dollar or how, honestly, to get a dollar without pitching a fit and running to daddy? Better she should grow up to be a douche bag of staggering proportions? Well, if you say so I’ll . . . No. Come to think of it, I won’t believe you.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Sometimes, I Hate My Job.
Today, as part of my job, I listened to about sixteen people tell the story of how they met and had children with their exes. They all met in different places. They all came from different backgrounds. They all had one thing in common (besides the fact that all their relationships exploded and the now hate each other). They had absolutely no courtship period. This led me to wonder - What the hell happened to wooing?
It seems that now-a-days people don’t date anymore. At least they don’t in any way that I recognize it. They “hang out“. They become “friends“. They drunkenly “hook up” and then, SHAZAM!, they’re an item. This repels me on so many different levels.
I am disturbed by this. I’ve always stood by the adage - “You don’t ask? You don’t get.” I expect, no, I demand, a wooing phase. A courtship, if you will. I expect and I expect that my friends expect and I expect that their friends expect that there will be an expectation of…OK, I got carried away. Where was I? Oh! Yeah! I expect that if a man is interested in me he will, oh, I don’t know, do something crazy. Like tell me or show me. I know! I’m a nut.
I feel that this whole hanging out thing as a replacement for dating is along the same lines of the other two things I hate. “The 3 Date Rule” and “Friends With Benefits”. The first, as you all must know, states that on the third date a woman will “give it up”. Too subtle? How about “bang like a drum”? That clearer? Great! The second, as you again know, is a situation where two people who aren’t really interested in each other have sex on occasion. No strings, if you will .
Both these and the hanging out instead of dating trend are for one sole purpose - to make it easier for men to get laid. I shouldn’t even say that it makes it easier for men to get laid. I should say boys. Because, honestly, a man steps up and asks for what he wants. A boy just let’s things happen. That way he can always say, “Hey! I never intended that!” Or, “Oh, it just happened.” Usually these things are said while smirking. Repugnant. It’s called responsibility. Look into it. We have many fine reference materials available. They’re called “dictionaries”.
Now, men, obviously, couldn’t get away with this if it weren’t for women. And the women who are going along with this crap are standing around feeling good about the fact that they’re “fucking like a man”! They believe that this is what the fight for Feminism was for. Well, in a way it was. But, in most ways, it is completely and totally apposed to said principles.
I can see where you’re confused. I’ll explain. Feminism is all about choice. It is your choice to do with your body, mind, life exactly as you please. And, hey, if you want to go out and fuck the neighborhood blind? That’s up to you. Go for it. It’s your right. On the other hand, Feminism is also about respect. And if you think that anybody respects anything that they get without work you’ve obviously never met a rich person. I mean somebody who was born rich. Real rich. I’m talking Rich. Capital “R”. I have. They have no respect for most of what they have. “Oh, that? What? It’s just money!” Or, my favorite, “I just don’t understand why people go to work“.
I mean, it’s America and it’s up to you. Be the catch or be the thing just came along so I took it. It’s up to you. But, please, remember that someday you’ll have children. Maybe you’ll have daughters. . .Think about it. . . I’ll wait. . . There it is! I knew you’d catch up. I have faith in you.
Now, let’s get back to expectations. Everybody should have standards and expectations. They don’t make you picky. They don’t make you high maintenance. They make you, well, a person with standards and expectations. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, we, as in humans, wouldn’t have survived this long without them. We want to pick out the best mate to continue the species. It’s in our DNA. Is the best way to do that to just take what you can get? To say, eh., you’ll do? No. It’s not.
So, in conclusion, ladies step up to the plate. Have expectations and standards. Gentlemen, step up to the plate. Give us a reason to have expectations and standards. Trust me, you'll be rewarded for it. Why, Dark Fury, I hear you cry out as one, What do you mean? I mean that since nobody out there is doing the right thing when you do you’ll be a king. You’ll be beating the broads off with a stick. I promise you this.
I shall close with a quote that is very close to my heart . . . .
“He that is more than a boy is not for me. He that is less than a man, I am not for him.”
Shakespeare, “Much Ado About Nothing”
It seems that now-a-days people don’t date anymore. At least they don’t in any way that I recognize it. They “hang out“. They become “friends“. They drunkenly “hook up” and then, SHAZAM!, they’re an item. This repels me on so many different levels.
I am disturbed by this. I’ve always stood by the adage - “You don’t ask? You don’t get.” I expect, no, I demand, a wooing phase. A courtship, if you will. I expect and I expect that my friends expect and I expect that their friends expect that there will be an expectation of…OK, I got carried away. Where was I? Oh! Yeah! I expect that if a man is interested in me he will, oh, I don’t know, do something crazy. Like tell me or show me. I know! I’m a nut.
I feel that this whole hanging out thing as a replacement for dating is along the same lines of the other two things I hate. “The 3 Date Rule” and “Friends With Benefits”. The first, as you all must know, states that on the third date a woman will “give it up”. Too subtle? How about “bang like a drum”? That clearer? Great! The second, as you again know, is a situation where two people who aren’t really interested in each other have sex on occasion. No strings, if you will .
Both these and the hanging out instead of dating trend are for one sole purpose - to make it easier for men to get laid. I shouldn’t even say that it makes it easier for men to get laid. I should say boys. Because, honestly, a man steps up and asks for what he wants. A boy just let’s things happen. That way he can always say, “Hey! I never intended that!” Or, “Oh, it just happened.” Usually these things are said while smirking. Repugnant. It’s called responsibility. Look into it. We have many fine reference materials available. They’re called “dictionaries”.
Now, men, obviously, couldn’t get away with this if it weren’t for women. And the women who are going along with this crap are standing around feeling good about the fact that they’re “fucking like a man”! They believe that this is what the fight for Feminism was for. Well, in a way it was. But, in most ways, it is completely and totally apposed to said principles.
I can see where you’re confused. I’ll explain. Feminism is all about choice. It is your choice to do with your body, mind, life exactly as you please. And, hey, if you want to go out and fuck the neighborhood blind? That’s up to you. Go for it. It’s your right. On the other hand, Feminism is also about respect. And if you think that anybody respects anything that they get without work you’ve obviously never met a rich person. I mean somebody who was born rich. Real rich. I’m talking Rich. Capital “R”. I have. They have no respect for most of what they have. “Oh, that? What? It’s just money!” Or, my favorite, “I just don’t understand why people go to work“.
I mean, it’s America and it’s up to you. Be the catch or be the thing just came along so I took it. It’s up to you. But, please, remember that someday you’ll have children. Maybe you’ll have daughters. . .Think about it. . . I’ll wait. . . There it is! I knew you’d catch up. I have faith in you.
Now, let’s get back to expectations. Everybody should have standards and expectations. They don’t make you picky. They don’t make you high maintenance. They make you, well, a person with standards and expectations. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, we, as in humans, wouldn’t have survived this long without them. We want to pick out the best mate to continue the species. It’s in our DNA. Is the best way to do that to just take what you can get? To say, eh., you’ll do? No. It’s not.
So, in conclusion, ladies step up to the plate. Have expectations and standards. Gentlemen, step up to the plate. Give us a reason to have expectations and standards. Trust me, you'll be rewarded for it. Why, Dark Fury, I hear you cry out as one, What do you mean? I mean that since nobody out there is doing the right thing when you do you’ll be a king. You’ll be beating the broads off with a stick. I promise you this.
I shall close with a quote that is very close to my heart . . . .
“He that is more than a boy is not for me. He that is less than a man, I am not for him.”
Shakespeare, “Much Ado About Nothing”
Saturday, June 7, 2008
DO NOT Rent This.
Seriously. I don't have words to explain the utter, well, badness of this movie. It's horrible. G-d offal, really.It hurts me to say it but it's true.
Monday, June 2, 2008
"A doctor can bury his mistakes but an architect can only advise his client to plant vines.”- F. L. Wright
Above: A Craftsman Style Bungalow a.k.a The Perfect Home
I must stop watching HGTV. It just makes me bitter. All the wrong people have all the money. And by that I mean all the people with horrible taste.
Somebody, please, tell me why a single person needs a 3000 sf home. Please! I need to know. You have four kids? OK. Fine. I'll give ya' that that amount of space is desirable (not necessary). But a single person? Come on!
Why do they all choose the mcmansion? If I see one more show where they pass up a pristine original craftsman style bungalow for a trashy, may as well be a pre-fab 4000 sf behemoth because they "need" the space I shall scream. Scream, I tell you!
How much crap do you have? Do you need it all? No. No, you don't. But, please, continue to spend millions of dollars on houses that won't last for more than fifteen years. Go for it. Sound investment. Well done.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Look At What I Found On My Car! Sweet.
Grrrr! I scanned the letter that I found on my windshield but it won't load! Damn. Damn. Double damn!
Oh, well. I shall have to type it out for you.
"If Clinton had did his job and took Oboma out during his administration 9/11/2001 would not have happened. USS Cole, the 1st bombing of the World Trade Center, US Embassy in Africa and Saudi Arabia all happened on his watch while he was having sex in our White House. Get Educated!"
Open Letter To The Lady (I assume from the writing) Who Wrote The Above:
For you to be so angered by a few bumper stickers that you felt the need to write a note I have to assume that you are, in some way, attached to the military or attached to one of it's soldiers. I want to be clear, I support our troops. The official death toll reached 4000 in March of this year. In April it was at a seven month high. Things are not getting better. I support our troops. I support their families.
I don't want anybody put in harms way for an illegal war. I say bring them home. Let them watch their kids grow up. A lot of them are kids themselves. They are so young they haven't even begun. Let them live their lives. Let them live. Bring them home.
I recommend you, and everybody, visit the following site - http://www.vaiw.org/ (Veterans Against The Iraq War).
That being said, and I do mean every word, I must take issue with the following points of your missive.
A. "...had did"? Really? I'm going to call that a gimmee Mrs. Anonymous Angry Person.
B. Oboma? Who the hell is that? I think you were trying to write Obama but, even then, you're wrong.
C. USS Cole -
Do you really expect President Clinton to capture and convict anyone in one month? Hu. President Bush has had how many years and trillions of dollars to capture Bin Laden? Oh, wait. I’m sorry. We don’t have standards for him. My bad. Well, that’s a good thing. Because the only confession they got for that was from a man who was tortured under the Bush regime. Yeah. That’s right. Regime. Did we want to give anybody more martyrs? Hu. That’s a stellar idea. Wait. Hold on. No. It's not.
D. The first WTC attack -
Ramzi Ahmed Yousef, the leader of this attack, was captured in 1995 and sentenced to 240 years in prison. A few more were captured and also sentenced. One man is at large and believed to be hiding in Baghdad. Um, has Bush captured him? No. Again, good thing you don’t have standards for him.
E. US Embassy In Africa -
President Clinton ordered missile strikes to try to not capture but kill Bin Laden in 1998. Republicans, in an effort to keep our country safe from oral sex, accused him of trying to manufacture a crisis to get attention away from the Lewinsky scandal.
PS? Four conspirators were captured & sentenced to life without parole. True, there are, I believe, 15 (I’m rocky on the exact number) who remain at large.
F. Saudi Arabia -
I can only assume you're talking about the attack on Khobar Towers which was used as military housing. The Saudis arrested 13 Saudis and a Lebanese chemist but didn’t allow US agents to question them. Where are they now? Has Bush used his “close” relationship with the Saudi royal family to have them extradited? No. They’re still in Saudi custody even though they were convicted by grand jury in 2001. US agents haven’t even been allowed access to question them as yet. What kind of information might they have? I guess we’ll never know.
G. Yes, President Clinton had sex in our White House. So? Most presidents have. Warren G. Harding, Franklin D. Roosevelt and, of course, John F. Kennedy to name three. I say, again, so what? That, my friend, is between them, their wives and their G-d. It's not my business. Nor, I feel I must point out, is it yours.
In conclusion, I believe in your right to express your opinion. I also believe you're wrong. Ain't America grand?
Oh, well. I shall have to type it out for you.
"If Clinton had did his job and took Oboma out during his administration 9/11/2001 would not have happened. USS Cole, the 1st bombing of the World Trade Center, US Embassy in Africa and Saudi Arabia all happened on his watch while he was having sex in our White House. Get Educated!"
Open Letter To The Lady (I assume from the writing) Who Wrote The Above:
For you to be so angered by a few bumper stickers that you felt the need to write a note I have to assume that you are, in some way, attached to the military or attached to one of it's soldiers. I want to be clear, I support our troops. The official death toll reached 4000 in March of this year. In April it was at a seven month high. Things are not getting better. I support our troops. I support their families.
I don't want anybody put in harms way for an illegal war. I say bring them home. Let them watch their kids grow up. A lot of them are kids themselves. They are so young they haven't even begun. Let them live their lives. Let them live. Bring them home.
I recommend you, and everybody, visit the following site - http://www.vaiw.org/ (Veterans Against The Iraq War).
That being said, and I do mean every word, I must take issue with the following points of your missive.
A. "...had did"? Really? I'm going to call that a gimmee Mrs. Anonymous Angry Person.
B. Oboma? Who the hell is that? I think you were trying to write Obama but, even then, you're wrong.
C. USS Cole -
Do you really expect President Clinton to capture and convict anyone in one month? Hu. President Bush has had how many years and trillions of dollars to capture Bin Laden? Oh, wait. I’m sorry. We don’t have standards for him. My bad. Well, that’s a good thing. Because the only confession they got for that was from a man who was tortured under the Bush regime. Yeah. That’s right. Regime. Did we want to give anybody more martyrs? Hu. That’s a stellar idea. Wait. Hold on. No. It's not.
D. The first WTC attack -
Ramzi Ahmed Yousef, the leader of this attack, was captured in 1995 and sentenced to 240 years in prison. A few more were captured and also sentenced. One man is at large and believed to be hiding in Baghdad. Um, has Bush captured him? No. Again, good thing you don’t have standards for him.
E. US Embassy In Africa -
President Clinton ordered missile strikes to try to not capture but kill Bin Laden in 1998. Republicans, in an effort to keep our country safe from oral sex, accused him of trying to manufacture a crisis to get attention away from the Lewinsky scandal.
PS? Four conspirators were captured & sentenced to life without parole. True, there are, I believe, 15 (I’m rocky on the exact number) who remain at large.
F. Saudi Arabia -
I can only assume you're talking about the attack on Khobar Towers which was used as military housing. The Saudis arrested 13 Saudis and a Lebanese chemist but didn’t allow US agents to question them. Where are they now? Has Bush used his “close” relationship with the Saudi royal family to have them extradited? No. They’re still in Saudi custody even though they were convicted by grand jury in 2001. US agents haven’t even been allowed access to question them as yet. What kind of information might they have? I guess we’ll never know.
G. Yes, President Clinton had sex in our White House. So? Most presidents have. Warren G. Harding, Franklin D. Roosevelt and, of course, John F. Kennedy to name three. I say, again, so what? That, my friend, is between them, their wives and their G-d. It's not my business. Nor, I feel I must point out, is it yours.
In conclusion, I believe in your right to express your opinion. I also believe you're wrong. Ain't America grand?
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Conversations With . . . Vol. IV
Anonymous (I’m trying out tact.)
Him: Tangled webs deceive!
Me: Pardon?
Him: Tangled webs deceive. It's Shakespeare.
What I WANTED to say: No. It's not. Nowhere, in any of his myriad works, did Shakespeare write that tangled webs deceive. Not once. I promise. Sir Walter Scott did write "oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive." The two are quite different. Seriously.
And, while we're having this little chat, I'd also like to point out that you misquote Shakespeare all the time. Every day. Every. Single. Day. I wish this to cease. At once, if you would be so kind. I would also like, if I may, to assure you that the following statements you have made over the past few weeks are also incorrect.
A. Hamlet never said "alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well." "Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. " That is the line and it isn't, as you seem to assume, suitable to every occasion.
B. Romeo and Juliet did not live "happily ever after". Spoiler Alert! They didn't live. Period.
And last but by no means least,
C. Shakespeare did not, let me be perfectly clear on this point as, if you take nothing else from this conversation, you must learn this, live in Victorian England. Unless, of course, he was a time traveler and, even then, he would have been more of a tourist and not, as you assert, a subject of Her Majesty Victoria Regina.
Comprende, chief?
What I ACTUALLY said: Hu.
Then I walked away.
Him: Tangled webs deceive!
Me: Pardon?
Him: Tangled webs deceive. It's Shakespeare.
What I WANTED to say: No. It's not. Nowhere, in any of his myriad works, did Shakespeare write that tangled webs deceive. Not once. I promise. Sir Walter Scott did write "oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive." The two are quite different. Seriously.
And, while we're having this little chat, I'd also like to point out that you misquote Shakespeare all the time. Every day. Every. Single. Day. I wish this to cease. At once, if you would be so kind. I would also like, if I may, to assure you that the following statements you have made over the past few weeks are also incorrect.
A. Hamlet never said "alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well." "Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. " That is the line and it isn't, as you seem to assume, suitable to every occasion.
B. Romeo and Juliet did not live "happily ever after". Spoiler Alert! They didn't live. Period.
And last but by no means least,
C. Shakespeare did not, let me be perfectly clear on this point as, if you take nothing else from this conversation, you must learn this, live in Victorian England. Unless, of course, he was a time traveler and, even then, he would have been more of a tourist and not, as you assert, a subject of Her Majesty Victoria Regina.
Comprende, chief?
What I ACTUALLY said: Hu.
Then I walked away.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Where Are We Going & Why Are We In This Handbasket?
I saw a girl today. She had teased out 80’s hair. She was wearing a Playboy logo t-shirt. She had makeup on. She was all of eight years old.
Let me repeat that - Eight. Years. Old . . . Playboy. Logo.
I almost threw up.
I’ve been thinking, all day, about that girl and the idiot she probably still calls mommy. What kind of person let’s their child out of the house like that? No. Wait. What kind of person buys clothes like that for their child period? Is it not hard enough to be a little kid? Are there not dangers on every street corner? What? Is she afraid that there just aren’t enough pedophiles to go around so she better tart her baby up so she’ll be sure to get their attention? Stellar. Fantastic plan. Nice to see people are taking tips from the Ramsey family play book. Way to hustle!
I’ve been trying to convince myself that this isn’t as horrible and offensive as it, clearly, is. I reminded myself, repeatedly, that I’ve been wearing cosmetics since I was five and nothing horrifying ever happened to me. I must, I reasoned, be overreacting. But, no, I can’t buy that.
For one thing until I was thirteen I was only allowed to wear makeup at home (playing dress up) or on stage (so that my flat, white face could be seen in the theatre). Even on stage there were limits. I was allowed, as I recall, powder, pale pink lipstick, blush, mascara and a light gold eye shadow (I have small squinty eyes that would otherwise have been lost in the cheap seats). I’m pretty sure the effect, from the audience, was that I wasn’t wearing any makeup at all. PS? My face got washed the minute the show was over and I wasn’t allowed to sing age inappropriate songs or, it must be said, dress like a hooker.
What is going on? Every time I go to look at outfits for my little cousin, who’s three, I’m astounded and stupefied by the clothes made for little girls. Short shorts? Check. Mini skirts? Check. Lucite kitten heels (go to Target or Payless, if I’m lyin’ I’m flyin’)? Check. Tops and dresses with low or no backs? Check and check!
Why can’t kids just be kids anymore? Why must they be dressed not just as little adults but as the trashiest saddest segment of society? Whatever happened to overalls and dresses with smocking? Since when do kids want to be “sexy”? That’s sick. And, even if your child said that they wanted to dress like a Playboy “bunny”, why would you let them? In short, why do people think it’s cute and/or appropriate to dress their daughters like sex workers? When did that become an acceptable option? Oh, wait. It’s not. And, just so everybody knows, it never will be.
Let me repeat that - Eight. Years. Old . . . Playboy. Logo.
I almost threw up.
I’ve been thinking, all day, about that girl and the idiot she probably still calls mommy. What kind of person let’s their child out of the house like that? No. Wait. What kind of person buys clothes like that for their child period? Is it not hard enough to be a little kid? Are there not dangers on every street corner? What? Is she afraid that there just aren’t enough pedophiles to go around so she better tart her baby up so she’ll be sure to get their attention? Stellar. Fantastic plan. Nice to see people are taking tips from the Ramsey family play book. Way to hustle!
I’ve been trying to convince myself that this isn’t as horrible and offensive as it, clearly, is. I reminded myself, repeatedly, that I’ve been wearing cosmetics since I was five and nothing horrifying ever happened to me. I must, I reasoned, be overreacting. But, no, I can’t buy that.
For one thing until I was thirteen I was only allowed to wear makeup at home (playing dress up) or on stage (so that my flat, white face could be seen in the theatre). Even on stage there were limits. I was allowed, as I recall, powder, pale pink lipstick, blush, mascara and a light gold eye shadow (I have small squinty eyes that would otherwise have been lost in the cheap seats). I’m pretty sure the effect, from the audience, was that I wasn’t wearing any makeup at all. PS? My face got washed the minute the show was over and I wasn’t allowed to sing age inappropriate songs or, it must be said, dress like a hooker.
What is going on? Every time I go to look at outfits for my little cousin, who’s three, I’m astounded and stupefied by the clothes made for little girls. Short shorts? Check. Mini skirts? Check. Lucite kitten heels (go to Target or Payless, if I’m lyin’ I’m flyin’)? Check. Tops and dresses with low or no backs? Check and check!
Why can’t kids just be kids anymore? Why must they be dressed not just as little adults but as the trashiest saddest segment of society? Whatever happened to overalls and dresses with smocking? Since when do kids want to be “sexy”? That’s sick. And, even if your child said that they wanted to dress like a Playboy “bunny”, why would you let them? In short, why do people think it’s cute and/or appropriate to dress their daughters like sex workers? When did that become an acceptable option? Oh, wait. It’s not. And, just so everybody knows, it never will be.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Drugs Are Bad, M'Kay?
Holy. Mother. Of. G-d.
Celebrity Rehab is a train wreck and I can’t look away. I feel dirty but I can’t look away. Jeff Conaway. Jesus. I can never watch Taxi again. I can’t even explain anything more about this show. Watch it.
http://www.vh1.com/video/play.jhtml?id=1578614&vid=201053
Drugs are bad, m’kay? M’KAY!
Celebrity Rehab is a train wreck and I can’t look away. I feel dirty but I can’t look away. Jeff Conaway. Jesus. I can never watch Taxi again. I can’t even explain anything more about this show. Watch it.
http://www.vh1.com/video/play.jhtml?id=1578614&vid=201053
Drugs are bad, m’kay? M’KAY!
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
“Only thing worse than watching a bad movie is being in one” Elvis Presley
It’s Elvis Presley’s birthday so, once again, the good folks over at TCM had a mini marathon of his movies. I was at work but I came home in time for “Stay Away Joe.” I couldn’t get past the first fifteen minutes. It was too depressing. Jesus. I’d have put half of Ecuador up my nose too (in liquid form, of course, soaked in to cotton swabs…little Elvis trivia for ya’.) if I was contractually obligated to be in a shite bomb like that. Also while I was getting ready this morning they were playing “Elvis: That’s The Way It Is”* a concert film of him in Vegas. Oy.
I love Elvis, I think everyone who knows me knows this, but come on! Why the later years? Why? Is it the same reason that people voted for the “old” Elvis stamp? Because both these things confuse me.
You want to watch some movies? Great! Here’s your list:
1. Elvis: ‘68 Come Back Special
2. King Creole
3. Jailhouse Rock
4. Follow That Dream
. . . . and I must admit I do actually enjoy “Double Trouble” but I recognize that it’s crap-tastic. Which is part of it’s charm, if you ask me. What? Bad movies can be great. I just object to the ones where he’s miserable, bloated and phoning it in. I’m weird like that.
*1 good point to this flick - Elvis says some girl “could suck the chrome off a Cadillac” and they try to cover it up with really bad dubbing. It makes me laugh. Why cover it? Elvis got laid a lot? The hell you say! I’m shocked!
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
If You Can't Afford To Tip Then You Can't Afford To Go Out!
The 30 minute whore is everywhere. Why? Why? Seriously, what am I? Job?!
30 Minute Meals was bad enough but I could live with it. I changed the station. Done. Then $40 A Day...OK. Too much but still ok. But now she's endorsing every product under the sun and has, what? 32 shows? On at any given time. Aurgh! It's too much.
Maybe it wouldn't bug me so much if she didn't constantly abbreviate words/phrases that take more time for her to explain the abbreviation of than to actually say. No. No. Even without the abbreviations she'd still be friggin' irritating. Perhaps if she learned how to use measuring devices? What kind of a cook "eyeballs" a cup of anything? How is telling someone to use a handful of something helpful? Um, hi! People have different sized hands. My handful and Mike Tyson’s handful? Probably different. Still, I can deal with this. I can live with her fake ass perky attitude. It's all good in the hood. I have a remote control I can flip away. So, Hmmm...what's the real issue?
The real issue is that she's rich as Roosevelt and apparently thinks that it's ok to tip less than 10% on any purchase. I came home a few minutes ago and her $40 a Day was on. It was that oh so exciting moment when they flash the break down for the price of her meal on the screen. She spent $10 on breakfast and, with tax and tip? It was a whopping $11.75. Now if one person wants to be a cheap piece of goods well then that's up to them but to imply that this is acceptable behavior to your legions (why? why? I need to know!) of fans is neither delish nor yum-o. It's creepy and sickening, just like those cutesy expressions.
Someday, come the revolution, the wait staff of the world will rise up and slay her and she'll have no one but herself to blame.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Scott Baio is 45...& A Schmuck.
Originally Posted: Wednesday, July 18, 2007
What do all the Playboy playmates since 1976 have in common besides the obvious? Scott Baio.
In case any of you missed this most intriguing of "celebreality" shows from VH1 let me recap it for you. Scott Baio (Happy Days, Joanie Loves Chachi, Charles In Charge, etc.) is forty-five and not married. He has, apparently, decided that this means that there is something wrong with him. So, what did he do? He hired himself a life coach to figure out his issue and conquer it. Way to be Mr. Baio. The first step is admitting you have a problem.
Now, to his credit, he did hire the only qualified applicant to be his life coach. He passed up the psychic, the "body feng shui" expert, and the hooker….no, seriously. She was a hooker. He picked the clinical psychologist. So far so good.
His first assignment from the life coach is to stop seeing his current girlfriend and to be celibate for the entire eight weeks of the "process". Hmmm….what can one say about that? Well, he didn't seem to have much of a problem with the no girlfriend part of the task but celibacy will be a problem.
Hu?
Oh! Right! He's a pathological philanderer! I forgot! Sorry. Did I not mention he's cheated on every girlfriend he's ever had (except the current one...sure. Right. You bet.)?
Let's do some math! It'll be fun! If he started dating when he was sixteen and he's now forty-five let's assume he's dated, conservatively, one woman a year then that's twenty-nine girlfriends. Now, let's, again being conservative, say he cheated on each one with three different women that's eighty-seven women. The scary part? I'm not including strippers/hookers that have probably come along. Is it any wonder that one of his ex's tells him she got her first AIDs test because of him? The only question on that episode is why is he shocked by that?
Now, it gets complicated after the first assignment so, I'm going to stop explaining the show to you. I think you've gotten the point.
What I really want to know is how much is he paying this life coach because I can solve his problem in ten minutes. Two problems and two steps. That's it. Done!
All he has to do to figure out the first part of his problem is look at a picture of each girlfriend then think about what he tells somebody when they ask him what he's looking for in a woman. The answer? Blonde hair! Blonde hair! (his exclamations not mine) Big tits, no taller than 5'6 and a nice ass. He wants a blonde hottie. That's all. Period. Full stop. Wow. Those are the only qualifications that matter? It doesn't take a psychologist to figure this out! He's been dating the same person since he was sixteen!
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I know that it's not right to assume that these women are all alike. I'm sure they have vast differences. One likes butterfly tattoos and another probably likes unicorns. One wants a tiny puppy to carry around in an expensive carrier and the other wants a kitty. One can count to ten with her shoes on and the others can't. Big woop. Basically they're still the same person.
Jesus! It's like those couples that get married then they get divorced and then they get married again…divorced….married again…divorced…married again…divorced…You get the point. It doesn't work out. Why? Because it's the same person! They haven't changed! You're the same person! You haven't changed! It's not rocket science.
Actually, when you think about it, a lot of people do this. They have a certain type in their head and they can't get around it. For the sake of argument let's say that I have a type. Let's say the type is, oh, I don't know. . . .Blonde! Blonde! No taller than 5'6, a nice ass and a big dick. That's all. I'll only go out with people who meet this criteria. I don't care about anything else. They can believe that Hitler had some good ideas as long as they fit this criteria. As long as they are super fine they can speak of themselves exclusively in the third person.
How long could such a relationship last? Not very long. Why? Because it's only about the physical. Don't get me wrong. Physical attraction is important. It's what gets you in the door. However, after that you better have something in common.
And there you have the real problem. His type is very Midwest/California girl. In fact, all his girlfriends are from the Midwest or California (OK, Pam Anderson is from Canada but small town Canada so same diff). Mr. Baio is a first generation Italian-American (who does research for their readers? I do!) from Brooklyn. He's forty-five and he's never dated anyone even close to his age since Erin Moran from Happy Days. Gee. What could the problem be? They have no common frame of reference. It's like me dating a sixty-five year old evangelical Baptist from North Dakota. Can you picture it? Me neither.
Now, I'm not saying that you have to be the scary couple that is exactly alike but you have to have something in common. And, from the show I saw and the clips from the other shows, he hasn't got a damn thing to talk about with these women, so, when the flush of lust has run it's course what's left? Nothin'. Therefore, he's out the door. The upside? At least he didn't pull a Nick Lachey (sp?) and marry a bimbo just because he wanted to bang her like a drum. No need to pay alimony so far! Good job!
If I was his life coach his first task would be to go to a bookstore. Stand in a section that he likes (literature, sci-fi, mystery, history, religion, etc.) when a girl comes along that he's attracted to and, ideally, picks up a book that he himself has enjoyed strike up a conversation. Picking up broads is not difficult for this man. Why? Who knows? Maybe he has great personal magnetism when you're in his presence. Whatever. Hell, I'm not even nixing fake tits! Just make sure you have something in common. That's all I'm sayin'. Task one down!
Now, for all that I've said, I must admit that Mr. Baio doesn't strike me as a bad person. I actually believe that he wants to figure out what his problem is. Good for him. His friends all seem to be behind him as well. Actually, all his friends but one are behind him and there you have the second problem. That guy, who's name I've forgotten, has been getting laid for years just by hanging out with Scott Baio.
How sad is that? He essentially takes the leftovers and that's ok with him. In fact that's great with him! He flips out when Mr. Baio announces his plan to be celibate and eventually, hopefully, get married. Some friend.
This guy is a friggin' animal. He's a mooch. His goal in life is to be a life of the party guy. The only problem? He's unattractive, a pain in the ass and a real cheap piece of goods.
Examples? Oh, well, if you insist!
In the first episode they run into the brother of Ron Howard. The friend has no interest in him at all until he figures out who he's related to. Then he's all over him! Schmuck. PS? You have to love Ron Howard's brother because he's on to him from the word go. Poor bastard probably gets it all the time. However, that doesn't make it right. To Mr. Baio's credit he recognizes that his friend is a putz in this instance and gets him out of there.
In a later episode he brings a stripper/hooker to his friends house after he is specifically told not to do so. You remember that friend? The one who is trying to be celibate for the first time in twenty-nine years? The one who wants to make a commitment to his girlfriend or, at least, figure out why he can't? Why does he do this? Because he wants his friend to fail. Because if his friend fails he wins. Nice. Very nice. Again, some friend!
Now, to be fair, I don't blame the friend for Mr. Baio's failure in turning down the nice lady's offer, which is implied by the clip I saw, in this instance. He's a grown man. He can say no to a hooker if he wants to. He clearly doesn't want to. However, I blame the friend for putting the stumbling block in his way. It seems whenever they're around each other they just pull one another further down into the pit of yuck. I don't get it.
Task two? Dump the mooch. No more. He's out. Yes, it would be hard but not impossible. Besides, why would you hang out with someone who only brings out the worst in you? Who constantly embarrasses you? Who uses you? Why would you allow yourself to be turned into this kind of an animal? It's ridiculous. He's forty-five. Time to grow up. Be a man.
That's it. The second and final step taken care of. Eight weeks? Fuck that! I got the problem knocked.
Where's my check?!
What do all the Playboy playmates since 1976 have in common besides the obvious? Scott Baio.
In case any of you missed this most intriguing of "celebreality" shows from VH1 let me recap it for you. Scott Baio (Happy Days, Joanie Loves Chachi, Charles In Charge, etc.) is forty-five and not married. He has, apparently, decided that this means that there is something wrong with him. So, what did he do? He hired himself a life coach to figure out his issue and conquer it. Way to be Mr. Baio. The first step is admitting you have a problem.
Now, to his credit, he did hire the only qualified applicant to be his life coach. He passed up the psychic, the "body feng shui" expert, and the hooker….no, seriously. She was a hooker. He picked the clinical psychologist. So far so good.
His first assignment from the life coach is to stop seeing his current girlfriend and to be celibate for the entire eight weeks of the "process". Hmmm….what can one say about that? Well, he didn't seem to have much of a problem with the no girlfriend part of the task but celibacy will be a problem.
Hu?
Oh! Right! He's a pathological philanderer! I forgot! Sorry. Did I not mention he's cheated on every girlfriend he's ever had (except the current one...sure. Right. You bet.)?
Let's do some math! It'll be fun! If he started dating when he was sixteen and he's now forty-five let's assume he's dated, conservatively, one woman a year then that's twenty-nine girlfriends. Now, let's, again being conservative, say he cheated on each one with three different women that's eighty-seven women. The scary part? I'm not including strippers/hookers that have probably come along. Is it any wonder that one of his ex's tells him she got her first AIDs test because of him? The only question on that episode is why is he shocked by that?
Now, it gets complicated after the first assignment so, I'm going to stop explaining the show to you. I think you've gotten the point.
What I really want to know is how much is he paying this life coach because I can solve his problem in ten minutes. Two problems and two steps. That's it. Done!
All he has to do to figure out the first part of his problem is look at a picture of each girlfriend then think about what he tells somebody when they ask him what he's looking for in a woman. The answer? Blonde hair! Blonde hair! (his exclamations not mine) Big tits, no taller than 5'6 and a nice ass. He wants a blonde hottie. That's all. Period. Full stop. Wow. Those are the only qualifications that matter? It doesn't take a psychologist to figure this out! He's been dating the same person since he was sixteen!
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I know that it's not right to assume that these women are all alike. I'm sure they have vast differences. One likes butterfly tattoos and another probably likes unicorns. One wants a tiny puppy to carry around in an expensive carrier and the other wants a kitty. One can count to ten with her shoes on and the others can't. Big woop. Basically they're still the same person.
Jesus! It's like those couples that get married then they get divorced and then they get married again…divorced….married again…divorced…married again…divorced…You get the point. It doesn't work out. Why? Because it's the same person! They haven't changed! You're the same person! You haven't changed! It's not rocket science.
Actually, when you think about it, a lot of people do this. They have a certain type in their head and they can't get around it. For the sake of argument let's say that I have a type. Let's say the type is, oh, I don't know. . . .Blonde! Blonde! No taller than 5'6, a nice ass and a big dick. That's all. I'll only go out with people who meet this criteria. I don't care about anything else. They can believe that Hitler had some good ideas as long as they fit this criteria. As long as they are super fine they can speak of themselves exclusively in the third person.
How long could such a relationship last? Not very long. Why? Because it's only about the physical. Don't get me wrong. Physical attraction is important. It's what gets you in the door. However, after that you better have something in common.
And there you have the real problem. His type is very Midwest/California girl. In fact, all his girlfriends are from the Midwest or California (OK, Pam Anderson is from Canada but small town Canada so same diff). Mr. Baio is a first generation Italian-American (who does research for their readers? I do!) from Brooklyn. He's forty-five and he's never dated anyone even close to his age since Erin Moran from Happy Days. Gee. What could the problem be? They have no common frame of reference. It's like me dating a sixty-five year old evangelical Baptist from North Dakota. Can you picture it? Me neither.
Now, I'm not saying that you have to be the scary couple that is exactly alike but you have to have something in common. And, from the show I saw and the clips from the other shows, he hasn't got a damn thing to talk about with these women, so, when the flush of lust has run it's course what's left? Nothin'. Therefore, he's out the door. The upside? At least he didn't pull a Nick Lachey (sp?) and marry a bimbo just because he wanted to bang her like a drum. No need to pay alimony so far! Good job!
If I was his life coach his first task would be to go to a bookstore. Stand in a section that he likes (literature, sci-fi, mystery, history, religion, etc.) when a girl comes along that he's attracted to and, ideally, picks up a book that he himself has enjoyed strike up a conversation. Picking up broads is not difficult for this man. Why? Who knows? Maybe he has great personal magnetism when you're in his presence. Whatever. Hell, I'm not even nixing fake tits! Just make sure you have something in common. That's all I'm sayin'. Task one down!
Now, for all that I've said, I must admit that Mr. Baio doesn't strike me as a bad person. I actually believe that he wants to figure out what his problem is. Good for him. His friends all seem to be behind him as well. Actually, all his friends but one are behind him and there you have the second problem. That guy, who's name I've forgotten, has been getting laid for years just by hanging out with Scott Baio.
How sad is that? He essentially takes the leftovers and that's ok with him. In fact that's great with him! He flips out when Mr. Baio announces his plan to be celibate and eventually, hopefully, get married. Some friend.
This guy is a friggin' animal. He's a mooch. His goal in life is to be a life of the party guy. The only problem? He's unattractive, a pain in the ass and a real cheap piece of goods.
Examples? Oh, well, if you insist!
In the first episode they run into the brother of Ron Howard. The friend has no interest in him at all until he figures out who he's related to. Then he's all over him! Schmuck. PS? You have to love Ron Howard's brother because he's on to him from the word go. Poor bastard probably gets it all the time. However, that doesn't make it right. To Mr. Baio's credit he recognizes that his friend is a putz in this instance and gets him out of there.
In a later episode he brings a stripper/hooker to his friends house after he is specifically told not to do so. You remember that friend? The one who is trying to be celibate for the first time in twenty-nine years? The one who wants to make a commitment to his girlfriend or, at least, figure out why he can't? Why does he do this? Because he wants his friend to fail. Because if his friend fails he wins. Nice. Very nice. Again, some friend!
Now, to be fair, I don't blame the friend for Mr. Baio's failure in turning down the nice lady's offer, which is implied by the clip I saw, in this instance. He's a grown man. He can say no to a hooker if he wants to. He clearly doesn't want to. However, I blame the friend for putting the stumbling block in his way. It seems whenever they're around each other they just pull one another further down into the pit of yuck. I don't get it.
Task two? Dump the mooch. No more. He's out. Yes, it would be hard but not impossible. Besides, why would you hang out with someone who only brings out the worst in you? Who constantly embarrasses you? Who uses you? Why would you allow yourself to be turned into this kind of an animal? It's ridiculous. He's forty-five. Time to grow up. Be a man.
That's it. The second and final step taken care of. Eight weeks? Fuck that! I got the problem knocked.
Where's my check?!
Jesus Wept!
Originally Posted: Thursday, January 18, 2007
Bless : tr.v. blessed or blest, bless-ing, bless-es
1. To make holy by religious rite; sanctify.
2. To make the sign of the cross over so as to sanctify.
3. To invoke a divine favor upon.
4. To honor as holy; glorify
"It's a blessing!"
Is there any more annoying phrase in the English language? Any idiom more likely to send a sane person screaming dementedly from the room? Any more pompous, inane or, in fact, egocentric expression ever spawned? I think not.
Let us be clear, I am not an atheist. I believe in G-d. In fact, I believe that there is no G-d but G-d and His ways are wondrous and mythic. This does not, however, mean that I believe that every single thing that goes my way is a miracle. Just as I don't believe that everything that goes wrong is His fault. If I stub my toe it's not G-ds fault. I'm just a klutz.
On the flip side, I know a man who believes that every little thing that happens to him is a "blessing". Every. Little. Thing. How do I know this? Because he says it all day long. Repeatedly. It drives me around the fucking twist.
Examples:
"I hate Pepsi. They have Coke products? That's a blessing!"
"I found a parking space, what a blessing."
"I was able to find a sandwich place I enjoy. It's a blessing."
I've come to the conclusion that either he doesn't know what the word means or he believes that G-d is there just to act as his personal assistant. Is that a particularly pious attitude? Well, who knows? A lot of people share it so maybe it is. After all, twenty million Frenchmen can't be wrong. . . . Oh. Wait. Sure they can.
Bless : tr.v. blessed or blest, bless-ing, bless-es
1. To make holy by religious rite; sanctify.
2. To make the sign of the cross over so as to sanctify.
3. To invoke a divine favor upon.
4. To honor as holy; glorify
"It's a blessing!"
Is there any more annoying phrase in the English language? Any idiom more likely to send a sane person screaming dementedly from the room? Any more pompous, inane or, in fact, egocentric expression ever spawned? I think not.
Let us be clear, I am not an atheist. I believe in G-d. In fact, I believe that there is no G-d but G-d and His ways are wondrous and mythic. This does not, however, mean that I believe that every single thing that goes my way is a miracle. Just as I don't believe that everything that goes wrong is His fault. If I stub my toe it's not G-ds fault. I'm just a klutz.
On the flip side, I know a man who believes that every little thing that happens to him is a "blessing". Every. Little. Thing. How do I know this? Because he says it all day long. Repeatedly. It drives me around the fucking twist.
Examples:
"I hate Pepsi. They have Coke products? That's a blessing!"
"I found a parking space, what a blessing."
"I was able to find a sandwich place I enjoy. It's a blessing."
I've come to the conclusion that either he doesn't know what the word means or he believes that G-d is there just to act as his personal assistant. Is that a particularly pious attitude? Well, who knows? A lot of people share it so maybe it is. After all, twenty million Frenchmen can't be wrong. . . . Oh. Wait. Sure they can.
You Say Do What Now?
Originally Posted: Wednesday, October 04, 2006
According to something I read in the paper today the host of Survivor had "no idea that Asian meant people from different countries like Japan, China and Korea" before the new Survivor: Race Wars started. He was also shocked to find out that Asians don't have a strong loyalty to other Asians. Beg pardon?
Wait. Hold on. I have to clarify. Is this man mentally retarded? Seriously. I need to know because it's not nice to make fun of the handicapp - - uh, handiCAPABLE. Can I get a judges ruling?
No? Not retarded? Not officially? Fine. Let's move on.
What the fuck is wrong with this man? He, apparently, was under the impression that Asia was one large country. This almost makes my brain melt out of my ear. Are all Caucasians from the Caucasus? Are all Chicanos from Chile?
Has he never heard of the Sino-Japanese wars? China vs. Japan? There were two of them? Missed those? How about the annexation of Korea by Japan in 1910? No? They made all the papers! I swear. I wouldn't make that up. It's called history and there are many reference materials available. We call them "books".
The thing that really kills me is that he must believe that other people don't know this. If not he would know that saying such a thing in public would make him look like a . . . are we sure he's not retarded?
According to something I read in the paper today the host of Survivor had "no idea that Asian meant people from different countries like Japan, China and Korea" before the new Survivor: Race Wars started. He was also shocked to find out that Asians don't have a strong loyalty to other Asians. Beg pardon?
Wait. Hold on. I have to clarify. Is this man mentally retarded? Seriously. I need to know because it's not nice to make fun of the handicapp - - uh, handiCAPABLE. Can I get a judges ruling?
No? Not retarded? Not officially? Fine. Let's move on.
What the fuck is wrong with this man? He, apparently, was under the impression that Asia was one large country. This almost makes my brain melt out of my ear. Are all Caucasians from the Caucasus? Are all Chicanos from Chile?
Has he never heard of the Sino-Japanese wars? China vs. Japan? There were two of them? Missed those? How about the annexation of Korea by Japan in 1910? No? They made all the papers! I swear. I wouldn't make that up. It's called history and there are many reference materials available. We call them "books".
The thing that really kills me is that he must believe that other people don't know this. If not he would know that saying such a thing in public would make him look like a . . . are we sure he's not retarded?
Cervantes Who?
Originally Posted:Friday, September 08, 2006
I was taking information from a customer the other day. It went a little something like this . . . .
Customer: My last name is Cervantes. Do you need me to spell that?
Me: No. It's like the author, right?
Customer: Who?
Me: The author. Cervantes.
Customer: Um . . . I guess?
Then I cried.
Later that night I dreamed that I was at work. Andy Garcia was sitting at the desk next to me. He was reading Federico Garcia Lorca aloud. My supervisor asked him to translate. He recited hickory dickory dock. I pointed out to Mr. Garcia that this was wrong. He pointed out that nobody would notice.
Well spotted, imaginary actor. Well spotted
I was taking information from a customer the other day. It went a little something like this . . . .
Customer: My last name is Cervantes. Do you need me to spell that?
Me: No. It's like the author, right?
Customer: Who?
Me: The author. Cervantes.
Customer: Um . . . I guess?
Then I cried.
Later that night I dreamed that I was at work. Andy Garcia was sitting at the desk next to me. He was reading Federico Garcia Lorca aloud. My supervisor asked him to translate. He recited hickory dickory dock. I pointed out to Mr. Garcia that this was wrong. He pointed out that nobody would notice.
Well spotted, imaginary actor. Well spotted
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)