Friday, May 28, 2004

All That and a Douchebag of Chips
All right, I've got a whole lot of crap to get through today, so I'm just going to throw it all out there and let you people sort it out. And by "you people" I just mean you people reading this site, it's not a racial thing—so shut up, Elton, you poor-man's-Paul-Shafer.

The U.S. has selected a former member of Saddam's Baath party with close ties to the CIA to lead Iraq into the postwar age. I don't see how that could possibly go wrong.

Just what we needed: a slamming, dunking, proselytizing teenaged Christian basketball star, pounding the courts for God. “It shall and will come to pass that the NBA will be runned by the standards of God.” I can’t wait.

C-Baby discovered the following conspiracy to make San Francisco look even worse in the eyes of the nation: Snobby upperclass couple decides to market their dog as a snobby upperclass dog to sell products to other snobby upperclass people, and hopefully make themselves even more upperclass and snobby. The dog’s name is “Brie,” which I’m sure is good for a few laughs at the fire hydrant.

Citing Brie's penchant for shopping (she loves to run on the glass display counters, but sniffs disdainfully at grass), jewelry (a pearl choker always adorns her 18-inch neck), makeup (she holds out her paws during her weekly manicure and pedicure), and the company of humans (try, just try, to make her play with the canines at the park), the Glasers are pitching Brie as "a complicated woman trapped in a dog's body."
...that’s funny, because I think I dated someone in college who was a complicated dog trapped in a woman’s body.

I just heard “Sweet Child O’ Mine” on Yahoo’s “Soft Rock” station. Hurry up and die, Axl, so you can start spinning in your grave.

Fans of phenomenal trumpet playing, listen to the samples on this. Who or what do I have to blow around here to get a sound like that? (Other than my horn, I mean—I tried that, it’s not working.) Also, he’s got a pretty wicked ‘fro for a classical trumpeter.

I still love Al Gore. Is it possible he’s just gathering strength and waiting for the right moment to reclaim his place as the rightful heir to the Democratic throne, and lead us out of the wilderness into the new American Promised Land? I sure frickin’ hope so.

Speaking of lack of good news: Laughin’ to keep from cryin’, as usual.

When I’ve had enough of contemplating the eroding of our civil liberties, the decay of all we hold dear, and the long, hard road to death we all face, I always like to wrap it up with the pleasure of shooting at a giant floating devil-head during a few good old-fashioned rounds of SATAN’S HOLLOW! You know you suckers loved this game!