I ... I just don't know what to say. Is David Hasselhoff the reason black folks think white folks can’t dance? I mean, I’ve seen meth-addicted Parkinson's disease patients pogo-sticking down steep cobblestone hills with more rhythm than Hasselhoff. There’s so much to make fun of in this video—from the come-hither looks Hasselhoff shoots the camera, to the “special effects” and editing that look like they were done by a guy with cerebral palsy having a seizure—my sense of humor has literally just been overloaded. I can’t get the song or images out of my head, either. I’d be worried if I weren’t going to be numbing my senses with cheap booze in a few hours. Have a great weekend, all. Cheers. |
Friday, July 21, 2006
Don't Hassel the Hoff
Friday, July 14, 2006
Great Obituary, Great Fellow I Never Met
Frederic Arthur (Fred) Clark, who had tired of reading obituaries noting other's courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle as a result of an automobile accident on June 18, 2006. True to Fred's personal style, his final hours were spent joking with medical personnel while he whimpered, cussed, begged for narcotics and bargained with God to look over his wife and kids. He loved his family. His heart beat faster when his wife of 37 years Alice Rennie Clark entered the room and saddened a little when she left. His legacy was the good works performed by his sons, Frederic Arthur Clark III and Andrew Douglas Clark MD, PhD., along with Andy's wife, Sara Morgan Clark. Fred's back straightened and chest puffed out when he heard the Star Spangled Banner and his eyes teared when he heard Amazing Grace. He wouldn't abide self important tight *censored*. Always an interested observer of politics, particularly what the process does to its participants, he was amused by politician's outrage when we lie to them and amazed at what the voters would tolerate. His final wishes were "throw the bums out and don't elect lawyers" (though it seems to make little difference). During his life he excelled at mediocrity. He loved to hear and tell jokes, especially short ones due to his limited attention span. He had a life long love affair with bacon, butter, cigars and bourbon. You always knew what Fred was thinking much to the dismay of his friend and family. His sons said of Fred, "he was often wrong, but never in doubt". When his family was asked what they remembered about Fred, they fondly recalled how Fred never peed in the shower - on purpose. He died at MCV Hospital and sadly was deprived of his final wish which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a double date to include his wife, Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter to crash an ACLU cocktail party. In lieu of flowers, Fred asks that you make a sizable purchase at your local ABC store or Virginia winery (please, nothing French - the *censored*) and get rip roaring drunk at home with someone you love or hope to make love to. Word of caution though, don't go out in public to drink because of the alcohol related laws our elected officials have passed due to their inexplicable terror at the sight of a MADD lobbyist and overwhelming compulsion to meddle in our lives. No funeral or service is planned. However, a party will be held to celebrate Fred's life. It will be held in Midlothian, Va. Email fredsmemory@yahoo.com for more information. Fred's ashes will be fired from his favorite cannon at a private party on the Great Wicomico River where he had a home for 25 years. Additionally, all of Fred's friend (sic) will be asked to gather in a phone booth, to be designated in the future, to have a drink and wonder, "Fred who?"
Needless to say, I'll be drinking more than a few glasses of whiskey for Mr. Clark tonight.
His personality reminds me of a poem by Moriya Sen'an:
Bury me when I die
beneath a wine barrel
in a tavern.
With luck
the cask will leak.
Of course, we all know it's better to drink at home.
Richmond Times-Dispatch obituary.
Needless to say, I'll be drinking more than a few glasses of whiskey for Mr. Clark tonight.
His personality reminds me of a poem by Moriya Sen'an:
Bury me when I die
beneath a wine barrel
in a tavern.
With luck
the cask will leak.
Of course, we all know it's better to drink at home.
Richmond Times-Dispatch obituary.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Religion of Peace?
Q: How many Imams does it take to beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of a six-year-old girl?
A: One … provided she accidentally steps on his prayer rug.
Those crazy Muslims! Always doing funny stuff like this. Now I feel silly for questioning the whole religion of peace claim. My bad!
Brief story here.
New angry post about something stupid on the way.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
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