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Friday, March 2, 2007
Twice The Fun...Twice The Hypocrisy...
Armed with Gore's utility bills for the last two years, the Tennessee Center
for Policy Research charged earlier this week the gas and electric bills for the former vice president's 20-room home
and pool house devoured nearly 221,000 kilowatt-hours in 2006, more than 20 times the national average of 10,656 kilowatt-hours.
That's a lot of electricity.
"If this were any
other person with $30,000-a-year in utility bills, I wouldn't care," says the Center's 27-year-old president,
Drew Johnson. "But he tells other people how to live and he's not following his own rules."
This from a guy who just won an Oscar for telling us we're killing the planet.
I saw a piece the other day that detailed how "it all adds up" and going so far as to advise people to unplug their cell
phone chargers after it's done charging. I'm not kidding. Hey, Tesla: If the phone is done
charging, it's no longer using any more energy. I doubt the light emitting DIODE on the charger signaling this will
cause another ice cap to melt.
Scoffed a former Gore adviser
in response: "I think what you're seeing here is the last gasp of the global warming skeptics. They've completely
lost the debate on the issue so now they're just attacking their most effective opponent."
Well, no genius.
He's preaching CONSERVATION and unless he has 482 other people living in that 10,000 square foot house he's a hypocrite.
What's next, telling people they don't need to drive an SUV? Oh wait...
Typical baby-boomer polarization,
here. There's now definitive winners and losers on global warming. The people claiming to be smarter than
me act as if this were a basketball game.
And then there's
Madonna living the country-manor lifestyle in England on how her kid is dressing these days:
"My daughter is going through a phase of wearing jeans so tight she can't bend her
knees in them," Madonna told British Elle, according to Page Six. "I have a go at her and say, 'Can't you
wear something else? You have a closet full of clothes and you wear the same pants every day." "'And please wear a belt because I don't want to see your butt crack when
you bend over", she added.
This is the woman who SOLD a book on style in fashion. She first popularized
wearing underwear as outerwear and she has a problem with butt crack?
Friday, February 23, 2007
Never pays to exagerate...
and over-promise and reminds me of the inflated claims made by Jacksonville when
they got an NFL franchise back in the early 90's and promised an up-tempo offense where the ball never would get dirty.
Think 3M won the calculator concession. The mayor said crime would leave the streets, flowers would bloom again in downtown
blight and pulp mills wouldn't smell. Their season tickets were anything but face value and more popular than condoms
at a senior prom. Talk about redistribution of wealth, my ticket tout took a Caribbean cruise on me. Turned out to be nothing
more than a wet fart. Truth be told, I had my suspicions when their head coach said he didn't chew, spit, swear or cheat.
He thought man-to-man defence was immoral. Seem to remember the band played The Funeral March at halftime. Game
plan: Roll up yardage. Double time of possession. Kick two field goals and turn the bench loose to soar like a neighborhood
gang leaving a crack house. Their quarterback moved around with the grace of a rhino in a swamp. I believe the coaching staff
carried their play book in a watch pocket. The last game I suffererd through was uglier than a pit bull's daughter. They
gave up more points than lice from a stored toupe. I called 911 a half-hour before kickoff and requested body bags from
the Red Cross. Believe an engineering firm was hired to help the coach prepare his escape route from Jacksonville. His wife
had already changed the locks. I'm off to get some stewed prunes and cornflakes and wonder why girls don't like me.
Is it the big red glasses?
Fri, February 23, 2007 | link
Monday, February 19, 2007
Crashing With Britney...
First, she has two kids in less than a year. She finally wises up and dumps
her dead-weight husband only to repeatedly re-emerge with Paris and no panties. Night after night of partying for months takes
its toll. She plays around at a strip club then checks into rehab last week only to check out a day later. What to do
after only one day of treatment? Shave your head and get some tatoos! KA-BOOM!! I smell burning flesh! Where's the body?! Nothing
like really showing everyone what kind of parent you are and how badly you want to keep your kids. Can you say "goodbye
career, see ya later money?"
Mon, February 19, 2007 | link
Sunday, February 18, 2007
The Two Sides of Tony Blair...
First the somewhat good side...
Simply astonishing to me the sad realization that most English villages are complete. The idiots are no longer missing.
They are all jumping one-after-another on the bash the Blair bandwagon with the smart quick-witted sarcastic
one-liners, one clever little meaningless remark after another. How pathetic.
What weak warriors so many have become
from their little teacup worlds, all-too-quick to criticize the PM for trying to do something, for taking a leadership role,
attempting to do what he feels is best for Britain. While you, the generation that did nothing of note, never served
your country, never supported a bloody thing worth supporing, reap the benefits of everybody else’s work and sacrifice
and expect the government to give you something for nothing.
May the weak be wrong and the right be strong
as all you spineless wonders are doing by undermining Blair is giving away your freedom and future.
Okay, lets look at what's
really going on. Mr. Blair's imperfections and those of his wife are well known and well documented, as the media
spotlight has been on them and exposed them for all to see over the past 15 years.
However, Mr. Blair has worked
his socks off to do what's best. He has tried to find new solutions to old problems and has not always succeeded, but,
give him his due, at least he has tried. It is easy to see with hindsight, what his mistakes were.
Here's
an idea, let those women who malign him don a burqa and try living in Afghanistan clan for a while. When they came back, they
would realize that life in Britain today is paradise in comparison.
An evil man? Get a grip. Sure he's certainly
no saint, but he is not in the same league as the murderous Saddam Hussein, Amadinajab, Kim Jong-Il or Mugabe. The responsibility
for the deaths of all brave soldiers killed in the Iraq War lies not with Bush or Blair, but with Saddam Hussein, whose lies
and threats forced their hands.
Think about it. Who is responsible for the death of the British soldiers who lost
their lives during World War 2? Winston Churchill or Adolf Hitler?
Should we have sat by and wrung our hands in
pious horror as Germany invaded Poland, or taken action to prevent the 'Satan- with-the-small-moustache' cross the
channel and bring us under his evil nazi rule?
No thinking person wants to fight a war, but neither
would any thinking person wish to surrender his or her liberty and freedom to an invading power.
I actually
feel that I could write to Tony Blair and tell him what I think his shortcomings are and where he went wrong, and I might
or might not receive a written reply. If I were to write such a epistle to any of the above named dictators, I might well
find myself in a prison cell or more than likely in a wooden box.
So many need to get real. There are no perfect
people or leaders but they are doing their best. Lets face it, governing a nation with a seemingly high percentage of nitwits
and idiots, is no easy job. Yes there are broken promises. There always are, because the future never pans out as we
expect. That's life.
When Blair became Prime Minister, he could not have envisaged the horrors of September
11th or foreseen the invasion of either Afghanistan or Iraq. The courses of action he has had to take have been dictated in
many instances by unforeseen circumstances.
No matter which political party had won the last election, they would
have been in the same boat and not able to pursue all of their policies in the way they anticipated, because events
would have overtaken them too.
Next time, the darker side of Blair
and why Cameron will win the next election.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Maybe I'm Putting The Cart Before The Horse...
as I'm predicting my Cubs are on a dead-end with the pedal
stuck and pre-season is still six weeks away.
Things just don't look promising. Last night on ESPN Dusty Baker
swallowed his tooth pick.
Not saying they have a cheddar cheese pitching staff with more holes than bite, but
rumour has it the scorekeeper at Wrigley Field has already put up nine zeroes in advance of their opening home game and
lit up a slow-smoking Havana.
They've just had an Olympic-size whirlpool installed. Five of their expected
starters are already disabled.
I got a Cubs' pin for Christmas inscribed, 'If it Takes Forever'. I
told this chick about the new diet craze guaranteed to work: Only eat when The Cubs win.
Next time, why Tony Blair is doing his best. Not for
the feint-hearted.
Friday, February 9, 2007
Seeing Anna Nicole Smith is The Person of The Hour...
I'm simply amazed
at the circus. However, before anything else, I'm going on the record: NO I'm not the father of her baby.
God knows, I'd be putting my astronaut diapers on, and making a mad dash to my lawyer I haven't got and making a claim
if I'd even seen her. Anywhere. Many have.
The bigger mystery to me is why are so many obsessed with her? Especially now she is
dead? Is it she captures that Marilyn Monroe kind of story with a contempoary reality-tv modern-day Paris-Brittany twist?
In my mind she is clearly no Marilyn as no seven-year itch going on except in some of the numerous lovers she screwed around
with. It's not like Anna even got to sleep with Bush or Clinton. At least Marilyn nailed a president.
Is America to blame? The mainstream
media? One fact to put things is perspective, the alphabet networks devoted 330 minutes of coverage to the Martha Stewart
story-about-nothing compared to just 26 minutes to the slaughter of million of Africans in Darfur. Guess most people don't
want to think about soldiers dying and bombs and Iran and stuff like that.
Obviously we're going to roll in this wall-to-wall coverage for too long over too
little. This is getting major league play as like all cotton-candy stories, it's about ratings and revenue. Same reason
why People, Entertainment Weekly et cetera, outsell 10-to-one Time or Newsweek on the magazine stands.
What truly amazes me nonetheless,
is why anyone would obsess in someone who was famous for having done nothing really her whole life. She got where she was
by shacking up with some 89-year-old dude with more money than sense. Astounding.
I have little sympathy and even less admiration for people
who make bad choices on a consistent basis. God knows that's about all Smith was good at. And yes I am judging and there's
nothing wrong with that and doubt there's a person alive who doesn't do the same when it comes to deciding what's
best for them and their family guided by what they believe in. It's called a moral compass.
No one is perfect
and no one has lived a life either if they haven't made mistakes. The key is not making the same mistakes repeatedly.
ANS checked out from her hotel room early because she made lousy choices on a consistent basis and was anything but a
role model and, in my opinion, unfit to be a mother.
Granted, she will likely be more respected in her death, but
hearing some say she's a cultural icon and role model please. I hardly see ANS as the passing of a legend, but one thing
for sure, this soap opera wil go on and on and on.
Now, I'm off to watch another news conference and see if the husband of Zsa Zsa Gabor is the baby's
dad. He's joined the que of possible sperm donors looking for a free handout.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Things Are So Slow Here...
I watched three TV westerns back-to-back last weekend. There were so
many cattle drives I had to take a shower. Right at that time an old school pal called me and coughing, gasping, sneezing
and wheezing couldn't get him off the line. I told him I had dysentary and flattulence, but he kept talking.
Memories of my school days are
mostly good ones. I wasn't the brightest student though. Remember my old head teacher often telling me I excelled at nothing
but was consistent. I thought that was a compliment and couldn't wait to tell my parents.
I returned
recently and spoke at a school function and my former head introduced me saying..."It was with one-part pride and
three-parts disbelief" he looked at what I'd done. He asked me if I'd changed at all over the years.
I told him with age I've made one reluctant adjustment. I've given up sexual harassment.
I've actually had what I like
to think was major surgery. The lovely nurse had a medical term for it: lump on the rump. A cyst growing like summer
squash. When they gave me anesthesia and put my legs up in traction, I thought I was going to have a sex change. The surgeon
brought me pictures in the recovery room. I may send them to the Metropolitan Museum as art.
For the most part I'm in good health. That
said, I did almost throw my back out a couple of weeks ago. Four more democrat candidates announced for president while I
was rising from the toilet seat. Diners at The Rusty Pelican ignored my screams for help.
Mind you, my mental
state, of concern to many, has taken a turn for the worse. Dish satellite is considering dropping the Animal Planet from rotation. Evenings
without re-runs of The Crocodile Hunter could do permanet damage. I may have to hide my shoelaces. I'm still not
very happy with my friend who gave me the 'Pin-A-Stingray on The Crocodile Hunter' game for Christmas.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Not Saying it's Unusually Cold...
but a hooker was handing out frozen condoms by my village firehouse last night.
I was just there for the chicken dinner. Every redneck who has wheels on their home was there wearing a John Deere cap and
singing old Garth Brooks songs.
I'm no fan of country music, but you have to love the lyrics. I got a country
music calendar from Gurtrude for Christmas which as gifts go ranks just behind wheel-barrow racing at the pulp mill clambake
in August. Right up there with nude bathing on New Year's Day in Vermont.
This one perhaps describes my love
life best, "Good girls go home around 10". How about with this timeless classic from country music legend George
Jones: "Old King Kong was just a little monkey, compared to my love for you." Jones wrote some of the
best. "If I don't love you, grits ain't groceries," and perhaps my favourite, "Hurtin's when you
find your sister's name on a rest room wall." Mentioning which, nothing worse than waiting to pee outside a small
restroom filled with too many drunk bikers at The Pink Lady.
I actually saw Jones on a Caribbean cruise
once. Granted his first name was Tom and any other Dick or Harry was on a hiding for nothing as the chicks were really
into him. I remember spending at least four days waiting for my date to match up her jewelery with her underwear just in case
'Tom' was at dinner. Now I know why they call him The Beard with all the knickers.
Our ship was small but
convenient. We could sit on the commode, brush our teeth and start the shower with one motion. I spent all my time in the
sun. My date spent hers' drinking in the casino. The weather was in the 90's. Not saying it was hot, but bald-headed
men needed protective custody.
The chick I was with actually broke her right ankle the last night. She fell trying
to reach an X-rated film with a wine glass in her hand. Something like that. Her ankle was fine. But her mind was missing. I
didn't bother looking for it. She didn't even like being licked by Cobber, but did like spending all the money I
hadn't earned.
Tue, February 6, 2007 | link
Saturday, February 3, 2007
I Love to Travel...
and usually bring home more postcards of the mind than actual pictures. A trip around
Europe years ago seems like just yesterday. Sure, the jet lag is long gone, but I'm still recovering from the Italian
hemmorhoids I declared at Swiss customs. Not saying it was painful, but I had four doctors and three of them were rectum specialists
and I never want to see a latex glove again.
Leaving that all behind me, it was a wonderful experience. Here
are some impressions from that trip that historians overlooked.
Forget SUV's, the cars are so small coughing
causes realignment. I've seen bigger coffee cups in dolls houses. Weiner Schnitzel. When the lights are dimmed, the ghost
of my future gall bladder appeared. Cable cars are definitely no place for a fellow who upchucks on Ferris Wheels.
There are no bath curtains. Never shower before calling the coast guard. Don't order ice cream at a sidewalk cafe
in Paris. Buy the cow instead. A smiling girl in Marseilles will give you heat rash. Hopefully nothing else. Swiss people
never travel. They's have to leave home.
In Venice, I was on a boat so long, I started looking for the New
World. I stood in line for Michelangelo's Statue of David - in stark anatomical perfection. Never have so many stood
so long for so little! In Pompeii, I patted a naked statue on the butt, tripped and fell. I must have angered their ancient
gods.
I walked the ages in the Louvre. That all the sculptured women were portly seemed to please the chick I was
with. Venus de Milo. A broken lady. Put herself in 'arm's way. Napoleon's Crown. Truth be told, a Little
League baseball cap would hide it. And I know why Mona Lisa smiles. She wears no wedding ring!
The Italians love
their soccer even more than the English. Milan signed a player for 20 million dollars. If they pay him in lira, a warehouse
won't hold it all.
Next time, why the English do everything different.
Friday, February 2, 2007
Mentioning Curried Goat...
reminds me of my trip to Jamaica, still recovering from heat exhaustion and chicken
disguised as goat. I'll be two years older on my next birthday.
Jamaica was British until 1962. Driving on
the wrong side. No traffic lights. No stop signs. They believe if you love Jesus, honking your horn is enough.
Nothing
will douse your sex drive like cold showers, sweaty sheets, insect repellant and wild dogs barking.
People live
in mountain homes designed by Shack and built by Shanty. Often on stilts to discourage an angry mongoose. When hungry they
shake a tree. Fruit falls like lice from a beggar.
Women head-carry the wash to the river, but bathe in yard tubs.
I tried taking a picture of one chick, but almost got dropped for an eight-count by the village policeman.
The
conflict of life in another land, the love of people, and a magnificent sense of our own blessings are my favourite souvenier.
Pity the tourists. They only get straw hats!
It's a beautiful country. Lovely people. A wonderful experience.
And the Lord is clearly an equal opportunity employer.
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