Saturday, December 31, 2005
Happy New Year
Wouldn’t it have been funny if instead of a fiddle, Nero had played a tuba as Rome burned?
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Saturday, December 24, 2005
For My Brother
A cancelled flight (damn fog) and having to spend the night in an empty airport: This is a mild irritant.
Going outside the airport for a relaxing smoke (around 11:45 p.m.) only to return later to find the security area closed until 4:45 a.m. and having to spend most of the night outside the terminal: Son of a bitch!
Finding the only open “eatery” outside the terminal and getting a barely edible BLT from Subway: Salmonella sounds good right about now.
Finally boarding the plane at 6:10 a.m. (Christmas Eve morning) only to discover at least an hour delay on the runway: Hey, at least I get to breathe warm recycled air while some flipper baby cries like an apologetic politician after getting caught with three midget hookers and a transsexual bull fighter.
Still on the plane but getting delayed on the runway for another hour: If airport security wasn’t so tight, I would have already put a bullet in my brain.
Getting home at last: Almost as painless as getting your wisdom teeth pulled out of your ass while stabbing your scrotum with rusty hypodermic needles.
Spending Christmas with the family: Meh…
Merry Christmas, Bro!
Going outside the airport for a relaxing smoke (around 11:45 p.m.) only to return later to find the security area closed until 4:45 a.m. and having to spend most of the night outside the terminal: Son of a bitch!
Finding the only open “eatery” outside the terminal and getting a barely edible BLT from Subway: Salmonella sounds good right about now.
Finally boarding the plane at 6:10 a.m. (Christmas Eve morning) only to discover at least an hour delay on the runway: Hey, at least I get to breathe warm recycled air while some flipper baby cries like an apologetic politician after getting caught with three midget hookers and a transsexual bull fighter.
Still on the plane but getting delayed on the runway for another hour: If airport security wasn’t so tight, I would have already put a bullet in my brain.
Getting home at last: Almost as painless as getting your wisdom teeth pulled out of your ass while stabbing your scrotum with rusty hypodermic needles.
Spending Christmas with the family: Meh…
Merry Christmas, Bro!
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Crazy Bitch Needs Medication, Not Restraining Order
Restraining Order: an order of a specified duration issued after a hearing attended by all parties that is intended to protect one individual from violence, abuse, harassment, or stalking by another esp. by prohibiting or restricting access or proximity to the protected party.
Everyone knows what a restraining order is for. It’s what you get when your ex-husband follows you home from work every day, jerks off in your rose bushes, and threatens to slit you from cunt to cleavage if you don’t come back to him. Or, say, if a crazy stripper you’ve never seen in your life claims to be pregnant with your baby – who she also claims to be the antichrist – and leaves dead sacrificial gophers on your doorstep next to the newspaper every morning. These are two situations that call for a restraining order (or a gun and lots of ammo if you ask me).
But what if you’re just some crazy bitch from Santa Fe, New Mexico claiming that a late night talk show host in New York is sending you secret messages through the TV? Well, duh! Get a restraining order! Why the fuck not? It seems like the judicial process is shit on every day anyway (don’t get me started on Saddam Hussein’s trial).
Colleen Nestler filed a request for a restraining order against David Letterman who she claims forced her to go bankrupt and caused her “mental cruelty” and “sleep deprivation” since 1994. She claims Letterman used code words, gestures, and “eye expressions” to convey his desires for her.
Nestler says that when Letterman said “Marry me, Oprah” in a teaser for his show, he was really asking her to marry him – in code, apparently. This is only one of many secret codes etc. that Letterman used in an attempt to lure her to New York.
Yeah well, I’m sending Nestler a secret telepathic message right now. For those of you sane people out there who can’t hear imaginary telepathic messages sent from people you’ve never even met, the message I’m sending to Nestler is “Get bent, psycho.”
The worst thing about this whole situation is a state judge actually issued this crack-pot a temporary restraining order.
Temporary Restraining Order: an order of brief duration that is issued ex parte to protect the plaintiff's rights from immediate and irreparable injury by preserving a situation or preventing an act until a hearing for a preliminary injunction can be held.
What the fuck? Who the hell are these assbag judges? Any judge that would issue a kook like Nestler a temporary restraining order needs to be under psychological evaluation. For fuck’s sake! I bet that judge wears pasties and clown pants under his robes because he is certainly not right in the head.
If I were a judge – and damnit, I should be – I would have laughed her bitch ass out of my courtroom, had her smacked around for wasting my time, and then had her committed for being an obvious screwball. She needs to be heavily medicated, and possibly subjected to electro-shock therapy to zap the crazy out of her.
Shit, she’s a borderline stalker. One day she could decide to emerge from her apartment, which is probably full of old newspapers and cat piss, drive her pinto from New Mexico to New York, and attack David Letterman with knitting needles or an ice pick. That’s certainly a more likely scenario than Letterman actually sending her secret messages through the TV.
Plus, she’s been putting up with these secret messages and shit since the early 1990’s. What did Letterman do recently to make her so upset she just now filed for a restraining order? No one knows because she didn’t mention that in the paperwork. And what good would a restraining order do anyway? Letterman is supposedly destroying her life through the TV, not sneaking into her house at night, moving furniture around, and leaving scary messages in backwards Latin on her mirrors.
The whole thing is a joke. My advice to Colleen Nestler is, if you really believe David Letterman is fucking with you through your television; quit watching his fucking show, dipshit. If that’s too much for you to wrap your inflatable head around, why don’t you save some time and money and just jump out of a window?
Everyone knows what a restraining order is for. It’s what you get when your ex-husband follows you home from work every day, jerks off in your rose bushes, and threatens to slit you from cunt to cleavage if you don’t come back to him. Or, say, if a crazy stripper you’ve never seen in your life claims to be pregnant with your baby – who she also claims to be the antichrist – and leaves dead sacrificial gophers on your doorstep next to the newspaper every morning. These are two situations that call for a restraining order (or a gun and lots of ammo if you ask me).
But what if you’re just some crazy bitch from Santa Fe, New Mexico claiming that a late night talk show host in New York is sending you secret messages through the TV? Well, duh! Get a restraining order! Why the fuck not? It seems like the judicial process is shit on every day anyway (don’t get me started on Saddam Hussein’s trial).
Colleen Nestler filed a request for a restraining order against David Letterman who she claims forced her to go bankrupt and caused her “mental cruelty” and “sleep deprivation” since 1994. She claims Letterman used code words, gestures, and “eye expressions” to convey his desires for her.
Nestler says that when Letterman said “Marry me, Oprah” in a teaser for his show, he was really asking her to marry him – in code, apparently. This is only one of many secret codes etc. that Letterman used in an attempt to lure her to New York.
Yeah well, I’m sending Nestler a secret telepathic message right now. For those of you sane people out there who can’t hear imaginary telepathic messages sent from people you’ve never even met, the message I’m sending to Nestler is “Get bent, psycho.”
The worst thing about this whole situation is a state judge actually issued this crack-pot a temporary restraining order.
Temporary Restraining Order: an order of brief duration that is issued ex parte to protect the plaintiff's rights from immediate and irreparable injury by preserving a situation or preventing an act until a hearing for a preliminary injunction can be held.
What the fuck? Who the hell are these assbag judges? Any judge that would issue a kook like Nestler a temporary restraining order needs to be under psychological evaluation. For fuck’s sake! I bet that judge wears pasties and clown pants under his robes because he is certainly not right in the head.
If I were a judge – and damnit, I should be – I would have laughed her bitch ass out of my courtroom, had her smacked around for wasting my time, and then had her committed for being an obvious screwball. She needs to be heavily medicated, and possibly subjected to electro-shock therapy to zap the crazy out of her.
Shit, she’s a borderline stalker. One day she could decide to emerge from her apartment, which is probably full of old newspapers and cat piss, drive her pinto from New Mexico to New York, and attack David Letterman with knitting needles or an ice pick. That’s certainly a more likely scenario than Letterman actually sending her secret messages through the TV.
Plus, she’s been putting up with these secret messages and shit since the early 1990’s. What did Letterman do recently to make her so upset she just now filed for a restraining order? No one knows because she didn’t mention that in the paperwork. And what good would a restraining order do anyway? Letterman is supposedly destroying her life through the TV, not sneaking into her house at night, moving furniture around, and leaving scary messages in backwards Latin on her mirrors.
The whole thing is a joke. My advice to Colleen Nestler is, if you really believe David Letterman is fucking with you through your television; quit watching his fucking show, dipshit. If that’s too much for you to wrap your inflatable head around, why don’t you save some time and money and just jump out of a window?
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Olaf and his Magical Spear, Ansgar!
Blabbermouth.net recently reported that a woman in Norway was attacked by an enraged neighbor wielding a spear.
In May, a female student was having a hard time studying for an upcoming exam due to a neighbor’s blaring metal music. I’m not sure what band the guy was blasting, but because they rule, I’m just going to say he was listening to In Aeternum.
Anyway, she decided to go over to the guy’s place and bitch at him until he turned the music down. Well, I bet she just about shit her knickers when the guy responded by grabbing a nearby spear. There were no direct quotes from anyone involved included in the Blabbermouth.net article, so any direct quotes refer to what I heard in my head when I pictured this incident.
The spear-brandishing metalhead then growled, “By Odin’s nut-sack! You have no right to address the mighty Olaf and his magical spear, Ansgar!” At this point, the shocked and terrified female student screamed “Fuck me with a frozen turnip,” and took off running like a naked lesbian at an erection parade.
Of course, Olaf chased after her, cutting her finger with the spear in the process. Fortunately for the mildly wounded lady, she was able to get into her room and lock the door before Olaf could do any more damage.
The police arrived on the scene and found Olaf sitting on the steps still holding his spear. For fuck’s sake Olaf, haven’t you ever heard of getting rid of evidence? I guess, however, it would be somewhat difficult to effectively get rid of a spear by chucking it into some bushes. At this point things get interesting (or continue being interesting, really). Good ol’ Olaf can’t go quietly. According to the Blabbermouth.net article the police were forced to use a police dog, clubs, and pepper spray to disarm and subdue the maniacal metalhead.
Since then, our friend Olaf has been sentenced to forty-two days in prison. He has also attributed, at least in part, the eighteen beers he drank to his violent behavior. I wonder if he was drinking the beer out of the hollow skulls of his vanquished foes.
Frankly, I’m surprised Olaf’s weapon of choice was a spear. I kind of figured he would have had a spiked club or a battleaxe. Also, I kind of picture him wearing a Viking helmet and a large Mjolner necklace.
In May, a female student was having a hard time studying for an upcoming exam due to a neighbor’s blaring metal music. I’m not sure what band the guy was blasting, but because they rule, I’m just going to say he was listening to In Aeternum.
Anyway, she decided to go over to the guy’s place and bitch at him until he turned the music down. Well, I bet she just about shit her knickers when the guy responded by grabbing a nearby spear. There were no direct quotes from anyone involved included in the Blabbermouth.net article, so any direct quotes refer to what I heard in my head when I pictured this incident.
The spear-brandishing metalhead then growled, “By Odin’s nut-sack! You have no right to address the mighty Olaf and his magical spear, Ansgar!” At this point, the shocked and terrified female student screamed “Fuck me with a frozen turnip,” and took off running like a naked lesbian at an erection parade.
Of course, Olaf chased after her, cutting her finger with the spear in the process. Fortunately for the mildly wounded lady, she was able to get into her room and lock the door before Olaf could do any more damage.
The police arrived on the scene and found Olaf sitting on the steps still holding his spear. For fuck’s sake Olaf, haven’t you ever heard of getting rid of evidence? I guess, however, it would be somewhat difficult to effectively get rid of a spear by chucking it into some bushes. At this point things get interesting (or continue being interesting, really). Good ol’ Olaf can’t go quietly. According to the Blabbermouth.net article the police were forced to use a police dog, clubs, and pepper spray to disarm and subdue the maniacal metalhead.
Since then, our friend Olaf has been sentenced to forty-two days in prison. He has also attributed, at least in part, the eighteen beers he drank to his violent behavior. I wonder if he was drinking the beer out of the hollow skulls of his vanquished foes.
Frankly, I’m surprised Olaf’s weapon of choice was a spear. I kind of figured he would have had a spiked club or a battleaxe. Also, I kind of picture him wearing a Viking helmet and a large Mjolner necklace.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Friday, December 09, 2005
Don’t Fuck with People Trying to Drink
The other night around 10:30 p.m., some thugs thought they’d make some easy money robbing a pub. Mostly, these three assholes were no strangers to law-breaking. In fact, two of them – aged 21 and 27 – were parolees. The other culprit, a shit-bag in training, was only 14. By the way, he was the one carrying the gun.
These three genital warts on society’s collective nutsack marched into the pub whereupon the gun-toting 14-year-old – we’ll call him Pud – pointed his gun at the patrons, and made his way behind the bar where he demanded money.
Thankfully, and much to the surprise of Pud, an off-duty employee snuck up, put Pud in a headlock, and took the gun away from him. I’m sure the other two crooks – Fucknut and Dickbrain – were pretty shocked too; especially when some of the pub customers got up and attacked them. They don’t call alcohol “liquid courage” for nothing. Also, I’m sure the pub-goers were pissed that some stupid fuckwits were on the verge of screwing with the sanctity of their local watering hole.
The feisty pub patrons managed to subdue the would-be robbers until the police showed up a few minutes later. So riled up were the sauced bar warriors, that the first officers on the scene requested backup because “the patrons are out of control.” Eventually, when more officers arrived, the patrons calmed down and the three criminals – Pud, Fucknut, and Dickbrain – were taken into custody.
This, I believe, is justice at its finest. A few beer-swilling locals saw that their pub was in danger and saved the day. While many crooks are able to get away with their illegal activities, these fine citizens put their foot down and kicked some ass. Recently, a bank was robbed in close proximity to the Blarney Stone Pub. As far as I know, the culprit was never apprehended. In the parking lot, a few hundred feet away from the pub, and old woman’s wallet was stolen. To my knowledge, the scumbag that ripped her off was never apprehended. If not for the brave actions of the patrons of the little Irish pub that could, some other jerk asses would have gotten away with breaking the law again.
It’s like Edmund Burke said, “evil prevails when good men do nothing.” In this case, the good men happened to be pub patrons not willing to take shit from criminal assbags.
These three genital warts on society’s collective nutsack marched into the pub whereupon the gun-toting 14-year-old – we’ll call him Pud – pointed his gun at the patrons, and made his way behind the bar where he demanded money.
Thankfully, and much to the surprise of Pud, an off-duty employee snuck up, put Pud in a headlock, and took the gun away from him. I’m sure the other two crooks – Fucknut and Dickbrain – were pretty shocked too; especially when some of the pub customers got up and attacked them. They don’t call alcohol “liquid courage” for nothing. Also, I’m sure the pub-goers were pissed that some stupid fuckwits were on the verge of screwing with the sanctity of their local watering hole.
The feisty pub patrons managed to subdue the would-be robbers until the police showed up a few minutes later. So riled up were the sauced bar warriors, that the first officers on the scene requested backup because “the patrons are out of control.” Eventually, when more officers arrived, the patrons calmed down and the three criminals – Pud, Fucknut, and Dickbrain – were taken into custody.
This, I believe, is justice at its finest. A few beer-swilling locals saw that their pub was in danger and saved the day. While many crooks are able to get away with their illegal activities, these fine citizens put their foot down and kicked some ass. Recently, a bank was robbed in close proximity to the Blarney Stone Pub. As far as I know, the culprit was never apprehended. In the parking lot, a few hundred feet away from the pub, and old woman’s wallet was stolen. To my knowledge, the scumbag that ripped her off was never apprehended. If not for the brave actions of the patrons of the little Irish pub that could, some other jerk asses would have gotten away with breaking the law again.
It’s like Edmund Burke said, “evil prevails when good men do nothing.” In this case, the good men happened to be pub patrons not willing to take shit from criminal assbags.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Friday, December 02, 2005
An Interesting E-Mail
Someone sent me this e-mail the other day, and I thought it was pretty interesting. Also, I don’t have the time to post much else right now.
Interesting thought for the day:
If you consider that there have been an average of 160,000 troops in the Iraq theater of operations during the last 22 months and a total of 2112 deaths, that gives a firearm death rate of 60 per 100,000. The rate in Washington D. C. (among others) is 80.6 per 100,000.
That means that you are about 25 percent more likely to be shot and killed in our Nation’s Capitol, which has some of the strictest gun control laws in the nation, than you are in Iraq.
Conclusion: We should immediately pull out of Washington D. C.
This would probably be a good time to mention a very informative book called Shooting Straight: Telling the Truth About Guns in America. At the very least it contains some interesting statistics and case studies, and dispels some gun and gun control myths the media is fond of bandying about as fact. It’s definitely worth reading.
Interesting thought for the day:
If you consider that there have been an average of 160,000 troops in the Iraq theater of operations during the last 22 months and a total of 2112 deaths, that gives a firearm death rate of 60 per 100,000. The rate in Washington D. C. (among others) is 80.6 per 100,000.
That means that you are about 25 percent more likely to be shot and killed in our Nation’s Capitol, which has some of the strictest gun control laws in the nation, than you are in Iraq.
Conclusion: We should immediately pull out of Washington D. C.
This would probably be a good time to mention a very informative book called Shooting Straight: Telling the Truth About Guns in America. At the very least it contains some interesting statistics and case studies, and dispels some gun and gun control myths the media is fond of bandying about as fact. It’s definitely worth reading.
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