E R N I E ' S H O U S E O F W H O O P A S S
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|September 30, 2008.|
A Tasteless Tuesday With Fecal George.
Prelude: During my freshman year at Purdue, some idiot living on my floor of our residence hall foolishly stated that he would allow his head to be shaved for $100 right down to the scalp. A few of the guys on the floor organized a collection process and quickly raised the money. The event became what we termed "a floor function" and guests were invited to attend. The whole thing took place one evening around 7 o'clock or so with about 30 guests in attendance. It was a real popular floor function and no real harm was done to anyones image or pride. But that's not the story. Here's the story...
About a year later, I was a sophomore living on that same floor and we starting talking about tasteless things we'd do if the money was right. Some guy mentions that the previous year we had a great floor function wherein a floor member shaved his head (allowed it to be shaved, actually) for $100. Other guys stated that there's no way in hell they'd shave their head for a scant $100; it would take hundreds or thousands of dollars for them to do it. Then some guy (me!) says, "What would it take for you to eat a spoonful of shit?" Huge sums of money were now being discussed for this tasteless feat. A million dollars was a real common figure. So my friend, George, decides to open his big, stupid mouth (opps! foreshadowing). George says something along the lines of, "I'd never let somebody shave my head but I'd probably eat a spoonful of shit for $50." Really, George? $50?? Are you serious?
Yep, George was serious. And before George had a chance to change his mind, the fund raising gears were set in motion. Word went out that another floor function was being planned for next week sometime. A "lottery" or sorts was held. The Feces Lottery was my idea. We were faced with two problems: we didn't have $50 for George and we didn't have any shit for him to eat. I solved both problems in one brilliant moment. For the low, low price of just $1, you could buy one chance at winning the Feces Lottery. (For $5, you got 6 chances.) After we had the $50 in hand, we placed the names of the contributors in a hat (actually it was a trash can). We drew out 2 names. One of the "winners" declined his prize and we drew another name. We now had our two lottery winners and, you guessed it, those two winners got to be the Feces Donors. George made us agree that the feces in question had to be of a somewhat "normal" variety. Nothing green and runny, no diarrhea, nothing with high corn-content, ... standard requests for this sort of thing, I guess. That's why we had two lottery winners; we decided to give George his choice. We told the lottery winners they couldn't do things like eat a bunch of prunes, have Taco Bell for five days straight, etc. This was, after all, a floor function and we would to keep things friendly. The day before the floor function was to take place, the two lottery winners were escorted from their rooms (one at a time) by part of the fund raising committee. Each was sent into a bathroom that had been certified "feces free" with only a medium-sized cup (we had to be sure that no illegal feces made it to the big event. After each of the winners completed his assigned task and departed the bathroom, the cup was sealed and placed into the refrigerator of the most honest guy living on the floor for overnight safe-keeping. BTW, one of the winners had a little trouble on his first trip to the bathroom and ended up having to give it a second try a couple of ours later. He came through like a real trooper the second time around.
Although attendance was strictly by invitation only, we had a huge crowd well over 100. George was escorted into the elevator lobby -- where all of our floor functions took place -- as if he was a king. The crowd shouted and cheered upon his entrance. George was placed center stage complete with homemade bib and a big glass of water. He was sober, upon insistence of the fund raising committee. After giving George about 5 minutes to sweat in front of the crowd, The Feces Fetcher made his way into the lobby - with one cup in each hand held proudly over his head. The crowd went wild. The chants of, "GEORGE!! GEORGE!! GEORGE!! GEORGE!!" reached a deafening level. The spoon (a soup spoon!) was brought forward by another member of the fund raising committee. In accordance with the rules, the two cups of feces were presented to George for his perusal and, ultimately, his decision. This is where I became somewhat concerned about George about his physical well being, not his mental well being. Mentally, I knew he was already scarred for life and nothing could change that now. I thought if he could live until morning we could get him home to his parents at the end of the semester and they could deal with the long-term mental damage.
After a hesitation of about 10 seconds [I thought he was going to pass out], George, pale-faced and covered with sweat, selected the cup on his left. The crowd roared again: GEORGE!! GEORGE!! GEORGE!! GEORGE!! Still in accordance with the rules, The Feces Fetcher spooned up a nice helping for George. The rules stated that this helping would be a "healthy spoonful" but not a "heaping spoonful." The spoon was then handed to George, who was still wearing his bib and still had his big glass of water in his other hand. The rules stated that George had to do the following in order to get his $50 reward: insert spoon w/ feces into mouth, remove spoon from mouth clean of feces, show the crowd the clean spoon, swallow feces so as to remove it from mouth, display empty mouth to crowd by sticking out tongue and saying, "awwww," like you do at the doctor's office. After that he could then eat or drink as he wished. He also had to keep it down for at least 10 minutes we figured after 10 minutes if he wanted to send it back through his mouth the other way, that was fine with us, but he didn't get any extra money for it.)
George then raised the spoon w/feces up to eye level at arms length from his body. He made a couple of wide sweeping arcs in front of his body with the spoon so that everyone in the crowd could get a good look at the winning feces. It was at this point that I could tell George *really* didn't want to go through with this thing. He was wondering about the consistency. "Will it be like pudding or more like ... what? Will I notice the smell? How much of it will get stuck between by teeth? Will I have bad breath the rest of the night. Am I going to double over and throw up saliva covered human feces in front of all these people who don't really even know me? How did I get myself into this mess? Can I possibly get out of this?" Well, George took a long, hard look at the crowd and knew that there was simply no way to back down. I almost felt sorry for the guy. Just thinking of what he was about to do actually made my stomach queasy and my knees a little bit weak and I used to deliver roadkill to my "friends" back when I was in high school.
After everyone had a good look at the feces covered spoon, George held it straight in front of his face, about a foot from the tip of his nose. He took a deep breath and brought the spoon toward his opened mouth and stopped. The spoon went back to being a foot from the tip of his nose and his eyes sort of rolled up toward the top of his head. [I thought he was gone for sure...] He then steadied himself, took another deep breath, forced the spoon into his mouth, (flash! flash! flash! from all the cameras in the lobby) closed his mouth and his eyes, and then withdrew a nice, clean soup spoon from his mouth. We all held our breath and just watched. He inhaled more air through his nose and swallowed hard. [I'm sure I imagined it, but I thought I heard the lump go down just like in the cartoons.] Then in one instant, his eyes opened, his mouth opened, his tongue stuck out of his mouth and he rolled his head back so we could see inside his mouth. It was empty. George then took another deep breath and gulped down the entire glass of water. Two people in the crowd got sick and had to go outside. George made his way down to the bathroom where he had toothbrush and toothpaste waiting.
My friends and I made our way back to our end of the floor. We couldn't really believe that he had done it and only for $50, we said. What an idiot, we said. We were then discussing whether or not he would get sick before morning. Or would he kill himself tonight while we slept? Would he ever do anything that stupid again? Would he ever eat shit again for $50? Certainly not, we decided. We could tell it had been a traumatic experience for him. And we knew he'd never be the same. Then as four or five of us are standing around talking outside our rooms, George comes out of the bathroom and starts walking toward us (his room was at the other end of the floor). He comes down and leans up against the wall next to us. Everyone is speechless. Silence. Then I finally say, "George, I can't believe ..."
But I'm cutoff in mid-sentence as George belches (BUURRP!) and says, "Oh, excuse me."
That was all I could take. I had to go in my room and sit down for a few minutes. I'm just glad I couldn't smell it. -- David H.
WARNING: If you get an e-mail with, "Nude Photos of Sarah Palin" in the subject line, do NOT open it. It might contain a virus. Also, if you get an e-mail with, "Nude Photos of Hillary Clinton" in the subject line, do not open it. It might contain nude photos of Hillary Clinton.
WARNING: There is a new toronado policy for the Oakland and nearby areas: In case of possible tornadoes sweeping through the western California and nearby areas, we ask that all residents take shelter at the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum where the Raiders play. We are certain that a touchdown will never occur there. Thank you for your cooperation, National Weather Bureau.
For lunch today I might forgo my usual Five Guys Burgers and Fries, and give the Heart Attack Grill a try. Wish me luck!
david letterman's top ten features of the rejected $700 billion bailout plan.
another guys batch of chernobyl pictures. nothing we haven't seen before, but still neat.
|September 29, 2008.|
More Mindless Forwarding.
So the dominant story on the news today is the $70 billion dollar Wall Street bailout. And just so we're clear on this, that's $700,000,000,000 dollars -- as in eleven zeros. This of course comes one week after the $85,000,000,000 bailout for AIG -- a company I will forever remember as having former First lady, Mrs. Bartlett as their spokesperson. A quick look at the 2007 census reveals that are about 196,553,096 Americans over the age of 19, presumably all of which are making a significant contribution to the nation's $1,163,472,000,000.00 personal income tax revenue in 2007. Thus this bailout equates to about $3,500 per taxpayer. Needless to say, this provokes a strong reaction from people and I don't think anyone I've talked to is neutral on the idea. Fuck I was in Sears this past weekend getting a quote on new struts for my car, and even that guy chatted me up about it.
Basically what it comes down to is this: if you've got lots of money tied up in the stock market -- say in a 401k perhaps -- then the $3,500 price tag you're paying doesn't seem too bad. Not that you don't already have better things you could be spending three and a half large on, but when the alternative is your retirement plan in ruins leaving you to cruise around to bowling alleys in search of free chicken wings, it doesn't seem so bad. Conversely, if you're a poor fuck who has been forced to cannibalize their nest egg just to get by, or even worse can't even afford to fund the fucking thing to begin with, then this bailout is an especially swift kick in the nuts. Why the hell should you be forced to pick up the slack when someone else drops the ball?
But regardless of how you feel on the subject, as I said there are strong feelings on both sides, and this of course leads to more fucking chain letters. Yes, Steve and Larry, I'm talking about you. Because it was these Masters of the Universe -- first Steve and then less than twenty four hours later Larry -- that forwarded on this genius plan...
I would love to send this to Congress and the Whitehouse.
I'm against the $85,000,000,000 bailout of AIG. Instead, I'm in favor of giving $85,000,000,000 to America in a We Deserve It Dividend. To make the math simple, let's assume there are 200,000,000 certified U.S. Citizens 18+. Our population is about 301,000,000 +/- counting every man, woman and child. So 200,000,000 might be a fair stab at adults 18 and up. So divide 200 million adults 18+ into $85 billion that equals $425,000.00. My plan is to give $425,000.00 to every person 18+ as a We Deserve It Dividend.
Of course, it would NOT be tax free. So let's assume a tax rate of 30%. Every individual 18+ has to pay $127,500.00 in taxes. That sends $25,500,000,000 right back to Uncle Sam. But it means that every adult 18+ has $297,500.00 in their pocket. A husband and wife has $595,000.00.
What would you do with $297,500.00 or $595,000.00 in your family? Pay off your mortgage - housing crisis solved. Repay college loans - what a great boost to new grads. Put away money for college - it'll be there. Save in a bank - create money to loan to entrepreneurs. Buy a new car - create jobs. Invest in the market - capital drives growth. Pay for your parent's medical insurance - health care improves. Enable Deadbeat Dads to come clean or else.
Remember this is for every adult U S Citizen 18+ including the folks who lost their jobs at Lehman Brothers and every other company that is cutting back. And of course, for those serving in our Armed Forces. If we're going to re-distribute wealth let's really do it. If we're going to do an $85 billion bailout, let's bail out every adult U S Citizen 18+!
As for AIG - liquidate it. Sell off its parts. Let American General go back to being American General. Sell off the real estate. Let the private sector bargain hunters cut it up and clean it up. Here's my rationale. We deserve it and AIG doesn't. Sure it's a crazy idea that can work. But can you imagine the Coast-To-Coast Block Party! How do you spell Economic Boom?
I trust my fellow adult Americans to know how to use the $85 Billion We Deserve It Dividend more than the geniuses at AIG or in Washington DC. And remember, The Family plan only really costs $59.5 Billion because $25.5 Billion is returned instantly in taxes to Uncle Sam.
Steve's copy gave original credit to a person who would like to be known as, "T. J . Birkenmeier, A Creative Guy & Citizen of the Republic." That's nice. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. But perhaps TJ might better be known as, "The Guy Who's Too Fucking Stupid To Perform Basic Math And Made Both Himself And His Second Grade Teacher Look Like Fucking Idiots On The Internet." Because that one's got a much better ring to it. At first glance, his idea sounds awesome -- fuck who wouldn't want to find a check for $297k in the mailbox? But without knowing a single thing about economics, or tax laws, or even the help of a fucking 1980's wristwatch calculator, let's see if his idea pans out. As a young Ernie, I was taught that a lot of very scary and very intimidating can be conquered by a very easy process called simplification. Simplification can be boiled to simply chopping off the zeros; thus 5,000,000,000 divided by 150,000 becomes 500,000 divided by 15 which becomes 100,000 divided by 3 which is going to be just over 33,000. No magic, no extra chromosomes, no slide rules, just basic second grade math skills you can do in your head. So let's apply the, "Are You Smarter Than A Second Grader," challenge to TJ's diabolical plan...
Chopping off the 0's from (85,000,000,000 / 200,000,000) becomes (850 / 2) which is a math problem I'd like to think we can all do in our heads. So yes, TJ's shot of economic penicillin wouldn't put a mortgage paying $425,000 in our pocket, but a whopping $425. That's. Fucking. Awesome. The cure to all our woes? Four hundred and twenty five smackers. And what fucking kills me is this. If TJ had taken a fraction of the time to double check his math as he spent this numerical abortion up, or of the fucking chuckleheads who forwarded it on had done so instead of gleefully clapping their hands like a retard with a new red balloon, then I wouldn't have just wasted the last five minutes of your life. Too late, that five minutes is gone. But don't blame me, blame the self proclaimed Creative Guy & Citizen of the Republic.
Hi, I have an article here that I think your readers would like: Top 7 Places To Have Risky Sex At The Office - Dave
If you get an e-mail with "Nude Photos of Sarah Palin" in the subject line, do not open it. It might contain a virus. If you get an e-mail with "Nude Photos of Hillary Clinton", do not open it. It might contain nude photos of Hillary Clinton. Paul
Speaking personally, I have completely lost all faith in our leaders in Washington. All faith. Gone. History. Which is why I have to admit, I'm looking forward to the movie W. when it comes out. But just so visit to EHOWA wasn't a complete waste of time, in case you ever find yourself flying on a commercial flight somewhere, and both pilots choose the fish instead of the chicken, here's how to land a Boeing 747. Looks like you picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue.
jfc. tina fey. sarah palin. part two. here. but it is funny, though.
the 22 most sensational midgets ever - who knew joe c wrote kid rock's devil without a cause?
more insane car detailing. a vxr astra, so no lambo goodness to see
|September 26, 2008.|
Don't Worry, I'm Sober This Morning. Feedback Friday.
If you haven't seen this, This is a video of what cops do to a person that shoots an officer in Alabama. Supposedly the shooter grew up here but moved away to Texas and came back to visit his mom and stepdad. The parents got into an argument, he snapped and got a rifle. Next thing you know the cops are called (of course), and he shoots the officer. The bullet went under his vest and put him in critical condition, but alive. If you listen to the retaliation of the cops, it seems a little excesive, but maybe not when someone shoots a cop and has a gun. You be the judge. The man survived and seems to be in better shape then the cop he shot. What a suprise.......... Randy
Ernie: Iím not a racist ok? Do I think itís funny? Yes. You tend to stay away from political and racist stuff, so I understand if you donít post it. I just thought it was funny as hell. Jim
Hey Ernie, Long time reader, first submission. I came across this beauty the other day and thought it would be perfect for a new Tasteless Tuesday. However, the more I though about it and the more I try to erase the images that have been burned into my mind from this story, the more I think this might even be too much. There arenít any words to describe the horror I felt while reading this story. Enjoy, Derek
For just having given birth four months ago, Jessica Alba sure does look as hot as hell in a bikini. My wife gave birth eight months ago and still looks pregnant. - Wally.
A man got hit by lightning Monday morning on a golf course in Madison, WI. The following are pics of what was left of his bag. Please pass this along to your golfing buddies. Read the what the policeman says, then take a look at the pictures. Shumpy.
Zombie Survival! Its like those old "Choose Your Own Adventure" books except it's movie style. Benny
reason number two why i won't buy a sportbike... motorcycle on motorcycle crime. stop the hate.
attention pedophiles: if you really want to wipe your hard drives clean, might i suggest thermite.
...and don't forget - the presidential debate is tonight...
|September 25, 2008.|
Its 10am and i'm drunk.
OKay so this past week I've been send two videos that i somehow found related. both of them are work related - one good and one bad. the first one reminded me of my last employee review at that shit hole i used to work aty. Although my response wasn't quite as spirited, I did manage to call my (former0 boss an asshole before exiting stage right. He's the guy who got laid off a few months lataer, hahahahaha, I hope his kids are dead. Anyway, this of course lead me to consider this video of Adam Savege from the mythbusters, who in an effort to find quick ways to sober up, was able to pound five scotches in 45 minutes. So as i'm putting togather this morning update, this of course got me to thinking, wow wouldn't it be awesome to have ajob where you could drink scotch on the job? and then it occured to me -- I do have a job where i can drink scotch on the job. And thus, I have been drinking scotch on the job for one and half hours. well, okay, not really scotch but bourbon - Makers mark. I am however, not going to get on a treadmill. Good morning.
Top sniper guy is chris and matt.
the twenty-five harshest reactions to the wall street bailout
this my friends, is precisely why i didn't buy a sportbike. you keep pushing it until...
|September 24, 2008.|
More Physics Fun. And No LHC Jokes, Please.
We all know I love trains, and by association, train crashes. I guess I get all caught up in the enormous levels of violence that get generated when one of these steel levithons
departs the normal routine and takes on a mind of its own. So I guess I have been following California's Union Pacific/Metrolink train collision with a sense of morbid curiosity. Not that I take pleasure in anyone getting killed, I just can't take my eyes away when good machine go bad. Which is why I was delighted this morning, when Tyson send in some crash scene photos, along with a preliminary report of what went wrong and how.
I'd like to share those with you now, then we'll discuss some numbers that I'd like you to consider. As you'll see, the Metrolink train received the very short end of the stick, which is something I alluded to last week. But how short was that stick? Let's take a look:
And from this I ask you to consider the following: Freight trains here in the United States weigh anywhere between 3,000 to 13,000 tons. We will presume the southbound Union Pacific train -- lead by an EMD model SD70ACe and numbered UP8485 -- weighed somewhere in the middle so we'll call it 7,500 tons. Since we'll be doing some calculations, we need to convert that to 6,803,880 kilograms. Headed northwards and trying to block the goal line was Metrolink's F59PH numbered SCAX855 and ironically enough also of EMD heritage, would weigh considerbaly less considering only one locomotive and three passenger cars. Both trains are believed to have been travelling at 40 miles an hour, or 17.88 meters per second.
KE = ½mass x velocity2
KE = (6,803,880 kg / 2) x (17.88 m/s x 17.88 m/s)
KE = 1,087,775,821.24 joules of energy
Again, since joules don't mean shit to me, just what the fuck does that mean? Over a billion joules of energy - tough to put into perspective, isn't it? You betcha. So let's approach this from another angle. What else would generate the same amount of energy? Dropping something. Who would hold something heavier than a freight train? Why Superman, of course. And dead as he may be, Christopher Reeves is always going to be Superman to me. At his peak Reeves was 6'4" tall, but since people shrink a little bit as they get older and he was 52 years old when he cashed out, we'll say he was 6'3" tall when he died. [Insert Obligatory Wheelchair Joke Here] Adding two additional feet for Superman reaching up to hold something high over his head, we get 8'3" so for the purpose of calculations, we'll be dropping our mystery object from a height of 2.51 meters. Since gravity is a constant 9.81 m/s2, we can use the following equation to determine how heavy the dropped item must weigh:
PE = mgh (mass x gravity x height)
1,087,775,821.24 = mass x (9.81 m/s2) x (2.51)
1,087,775,821.24 = mass x 24.62
1,087,775,821.24 / 24.62 = mass
44,177,046.00 kg = mass
But we're in America and don't use any pussy kilograms, except for cool Apache calculations, so how many pounds are in 44,177,046 kilograms? I'll tell you -- 97,366,209 pounds or, 48,683 tons. Hmm, that sure sounds heavy, but what weighs 48,000 tons? Oh I dunno, how about one of Russia's Typhoon Class ballistic missile submarines? So yeah, imagine you're a dockworker taking a leisurely stroll under under this gigantic motherfucker behing held up by the Man of Steel when suddenly he sneezes and -- oh ya know -- drops the entire fucking thing on your head. That my friends, is the same amount of force that UP8485 unleashed upon the Metrolink train. Needless to say the Metrolink engineer died at the scene. Creepy? Sure, but not as creepy as this topless scene between the 34 year old Penelope Cruz and 65 year old Ben Kingsley. Because that's fucking creepy.
But on the lighter side of physics, yesterday's Flash Physics game had a finite ending, so the winner was whomever completed it first. In this case it was Matt, who was kind enough to remember to include EHOWA in his scraen name when he posted to the leaderboard. Chris also completed all the levels, but alas, was second. What's next in our hat? More killing. In this challenge, we'll see how many Kraut soldiers you can shoot. And remember, headshots count extra!
i couldn't possibly come up with a thumbnail image for this word game. good luck with it..
there are eighty-six rules of drinking - i expect you to know them all by tomorrow.
|September 23, 2008.|
Oh Yes, it's Tasteless - Tasteless Tuesday.
Tonight I had one of the most truly tasteless adventures of my career. I was the resident on call for the ICU at a large teaching hospital. During an otherwise quiet night I was frittering away my time reading a.t. as usual. On my last pass thru the unit before bed, the nurse mentioned that one of our male patients had a problem with his, you know, foreskin.
As it turned out, whoever put in his foley catheter retracted his foreskin and had not replaced it. As a result, with a little swelling of the 'ole glans, the foreskin tightened, venous return was impaired, and the loose tissue beyond his retracted foreskin had blown up like a balloon. This is commonly referred to as paraphimosis, and if left untreated can lead to necrosis of the glans penis (i.e. your dick can rot and drop off). Simple, I thought, give urology a call. I did. He said to reduce it by squeezing the sucker until the swelling goes down a little and pull the foreskin back down.
Now I like playing with another guy's doodles just as much as much as the next guy, but this was fucking ridiculous!! I squeezed and pulled and yanked and lubed and twisted so much It reminded me of my days as an altar boy. The poor bastard at the other end of the thing wasn't enjoying it too much either, even when I reminded him that some men paid big cash for this sort of action. We both watched a good part of the hockey game on TV, him puffing and writhing away underneath his oxygen mask, and me yanking fruitlessly on his member. Having succeeded only in producing a mangled, bloody, swollen, slippery piece of pecker (again reminiscent of my catholic days), I ran away bravely - and called in the expert.
The urology resident is a giant of a man, standing at least six foot five. His approach to the problem was equal to that I've witnessed only by those in the surgical profession (usually orthopedics). I've never seen anything like it. Donning his huge rubber gloves, he grabbed either side of the man's foreskin, placed his foot firmly on the patient's chest, and gave a gargantuan pull, a la Paul Bunyan, while pushing the pud's pointer in the opposite direction with his mighty thumbs. There was an almost palpable rip/POP, and the ill-fated foreskin was noted to be once again "back in the saddle." The poor bastard with the penis almost died from pain, mind you. I was awed. Urology IS cool.
So remember kids - your foreskin is your friend. If you pull it back, push it forward again. And I guess if you pull it back and push it forward a whole bunch of times really fast for about an hour, remember to leave it in the, "foredeck." - Anonymous
Hey Ernie. These are pics taken at the Lakewood Yacht club in Clear Lake, TX on 11/14. My bosses boat is the Scenario. All that happened to it was the dome for the satellite tv got dented from hitting the roof of the covered slip. There is 12' clearance from the top of his boat to the roof. Some pretty unbelievable shit here, dude. This is just one yacht club. Take care, Kurt
Hey Ernie, I saw those pictures of the freight train against the propane truck... This is how it might have looked... This is a video taken from a news helicopter and happend in Mťxico, in 1997. No casualties. The truck was smaller, it must have been around this size. So i believe the explosion showed on the pictures on your website must have been quite a big BOOM! Guillermo
Oh, and I highly suggest you break out some dry erase markers to make little tick marks on your computer screen, as your timing has to be perfect when you drop the little yellow balls of Flash Physics -- you don't have to complete the levels in order, and more advanced levsla re worth more points. I've been playing for about twenty minutes and have managed to amass 28,000 points. But I'm still playing, so stay tuned...
video of foley catheter insertion into a woman's hoo-hoo-dilly. -- oh c'mon guys, don't be shy!
the best forty celebrity rumors ever. no mention of who's been catheterized.
ever wonder what those 'runaway truck ramps' are for? well wonder no more.
ever wonder what an emergency landing in an ultra-light looks like? well wonder no more.
|September 22, 2008.|
Ode To Yankee Stadium.
Yes, this is the first and only time I'm going to refer to the New York Yankees without it being preceded by, "I hate those fucking," or followed by, "fucking suck!" Why? Because yesterday was the end of an era and I think even the die-hardest of die-hard Sox fans have to tip their hat to this one. Dare I even admit, that I was pulling for the Yankee to win their final game in their old stadium.
I lived in Boston through 2005 when there were mumblings of tearing down Fenway and building the Sox to a new, more spacious stadium. And while at the time I hadn't been there long enough to earn the right to call myself a fully vested Sox fan, I still grimaced at the thought. Fenway Park, like Yankee Stadium and Wrigley Field, is one of the last surviving cornerstones of baseball history. I know it's old, I know the facilities are dated, I know parking sucks, I know more seats would mean cheaper ticket prices. I don't care. I'd gladly give all of that up to keep my beloved Fenway Park. So I was fucking delighted when additional seats were added above the Green Monster in 2003, which pretty much secured Fenway's survival for a few more years. I hope they never tear the old place down, no matter how uncomfortable the seats can be, no matter how long I have to wait to use the pisser, and no matter how expensive parking is. Let it live forever.
Because it is in this arena that the Sox did battle with their arch enemies -- those fucking New York Yankees. Bringing their pinstripes and trying to hit my ball, in my town, in my house. Bah! And it was Yankee Stadium where the Sox turned the tables and took the fight right to heart of the Bronx, casting Beantown's shadow over the legends of Mantle and Gehrig. But that's the pleasure. That's the rivalry. That's what home field advantage is all about. Defending your turf from the other guy. The Yankees-Sox rivalry is-what-it-is because of these two stadiums and their history -- shit, the Yankee's first victory in Yankee Stadium was against the Sox in 1923. And it's been tooth and nail ever since. That's heritage; that's tradition. As trivial as it sounds, for years, sons have pissed in the same urinals as their fathers have, and their have grandfathers before them. A father could take his son to his first baseball game, and sit in the very same seat that he experienced his first game thirty years before. There's a history and pride with these old stadiums that can't be replaced by new LED scoreboards and more parking. As you walk up those familiar concrete stairs to the same seat you always sit in, your shoes scuffing down corners rounded off by endless coats of grey paint, something anchors you to the days of years gone by and makes you understand why they call it America's past time.
And to cast all of that way so you can sell more seats, or don't have to wait so long for a hot dog, or can take an elevator to your parking level instead of the stairs? I think it cheapens it. It cheapens the game, it cheapens the Yankees, and it certainly cheapens the Yankees-Sox rivalry. Personally, I won't fear the Yankees anymore. I won't get a knot in the pit of my stomach when I look up the Sox schedule and read, "@NYY." My hands won't sweat anymore when I happen to walk by a television at the mall and see the big Yankee logo behind home plate. Because you never just played the Yankees, you played the Yankees and their history. So now the Yanks won't ever really have home field advantage anymore. Each time they go up to bat, they're not defending the honor of Yankee Stadium, they're just playing in some ball field. It's not their house anymore. Their house is gone. And to be honest, I'm a little sadder because of it. I guess despite how much I hate you, I'm still going to miss you.
So long Yankee Stadium, we hardly knew ye.
Hey Ernie, I've been a fan since the stick people used to screw on the top of the page, but this is the first time I've sent anything in. As a law enforcement officer in California, I have seen identity theft become a very large problem over the last few years. This has to be the most bold and heinous act of ID theft to date... -Steve Southern California
For those of you with vaginas, Steve was referring to. And as far as Orange Runner goes, you had to cross 700,000 to even make the board, which is something Brett managed to do, making me think he might win back to back competitions. That is until Chris came along and nudged him out by 1,749 points, if you can believe it. The onyl other person to cross the 700k mark was Ryan who would of course be in third place. New challenge tomorrow!
hurricane ike - before and after photos. ike did some ass whoopin.
how can anyone live like this? keep this in mind the next time you rent your place out.
so how much juice do your electronic devices use while they're in standby mode?
|September 19, 2008.|
So That's How My Morning Started.
My nephew asked me why are fire trucks always red. I explained that everyone knows that fire engines have 4 wheels and 8 men. 4 and 8 make 12. There are twelve inches in a foot. A foot is a ruler. Queen Elizabeth, a ruler, is the name of one of the largest ships on the seas. Seas have fish and fish have fins. The Finns fought the Russians and Russians are red . . . and fire trucks are always rushin' therefore, fire trucks are red. Duh.
I asked around to find some more information on human cloning, and was shocked to find a do-it-yourself kit. I opened the box and there was one page of instructions. Actually, just one instruction: "Go fuck yourself."
A kid at the grocery store asked me why don't they make white M&M's? Explained that they'd enslave the dark brown M&M's, steal all the red M&Ms' land, hunt the blue M&M's to extinction, accuse the yellow M&M's of obstructing trade, start a panic that the little green M&M's were invading the Earth, and complain that the damn light brown M&M's were taking all their jobs.
A girl at the bar asked me what I wanted most in a woman. So I showed her. I just got bailed out twenty minutes ago.
DON'T FORGET: Friday September 19th 2008 is Talk Like a Pirate Day!
and if you hated grease as much as i did, then you'l love ghetto grease - thanks bryan.
cougar hunting 101: the ultimate guide to dating older women (and have a blast doing so).
playboy playmates of the year - then and now. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO ERIKA ELENIAK? (nsfw)
|September 18, 2008.|
What The Fuck Is Hadron, And Why The Fuck Do I Care If It Collides?
Okay, I'm kidding, I know what hadron is. And after watching this awesome fucking video, I have a good understanding of that the Large Hadron Collider is and how it functions. At full power, trillions of protons will race around the LHC accelerator ring 11,245 times a second. Itís capable of achieving 600 million collisions every second. The machine is also the worldís "largest refrigerator" -- all the over 1,200 magnets will be cooled using 10,080 tons of liquid nitrogen and nearly 60 tons of liquid helium to bring the temperature to -271.3įC which is colder than space. The LHC also happens to the emptiest place in the solar system. The beams of particles travel in an ultra-high vacuum - the internal pressure of the LHC is 10-13 atmospheres, ten times less than the pressure on the moon. The goals range from from understanding the microcosm of the sub-nuclear world, to understanding what the universe was like a few moments after the Big Bang. Data from collisions of the beams are expected to change what physicists know about everything from the Big Bang, to black holes, to the most fundamental building blocks of matter. There's also something about the "Higgs boson", but to be honest, my eyes kind of glazed over when I tried to wrap my tiny head around that.
So. I guess here's my question. Scientists might get a look into the Big Bang, blah-blah-blah. Uh. Uh. Not to sound dumb or anything, but so what? And I'm not asking this question because I claim to understand all facets of the LHC and don't see a use for it, I'm asking because I clearly don't grasp the entire concept and what it can do for us. We get to see protons smash into each other! Okay. And that's the origin of the universe! Okay. Soooooooo, now what? Taking me back to the hotel room in Niagra Falls where my parents fucked sure would give me a glimpse into my origins, but what does it actually do for me? So watching proton collions give us what? I can read the Purpose section of the LHC's entry and can understand the meaning of the individual words, "Is the Higgs mechanism for generating elementary particle masses in the Standard Model indeed realised in nature? If so, how many Higgs bosons are there, and what are their masses," but obviously I don't understand the practical use of such knowledge. Just what the fuck do proton collisions get us? Flying cars? Teleported pizza delivery? The cure for cancer? What?
Yo! Just got these pics from a co-worker. This propane truck got drilled by a freight train. As the pics show the truck was a complete loss and the locomotive got pretty jacked up. Both engineers died on the scene and the truck driver died the next day. Keep up the good work. Laters..... --Zeus1tre
See, now there's some physics I can understand. As Metrolink kindly showed us last week, when a man with a 15,000,000 pound freight train meets a man with a 3,000,000 pound commuter train, the man in the 3,000,000 pound commuter train dies. It's a simple result of KE = ½mass x velocity2. So it doesn't press one's imagination that freight train vs semi-truck would be an even more pronounced mistamch. That is of course, unless the semi-truck is assisted by the explosive power of its 8,000 gallons of propane, then it's clearly the match becomes a draw. I spent a good amount of time looking over the barbequed locomotive and as best I can tell it is (was?) a General Electric Dash 8 series, numbered 9406, which means this locomotive is dead right along with its crew.
Oh, and Scott is currently in the lead in Orange Runner, with a score of 573,733 points. Close on his back door is Chuck with 550,442. Heh, heh -- Chuck like Scott's back door. Heh heh. I now pronounce you Chuck and Scotty. Heh.
screencaps of sarah palin's hacked email account? true? false? i dunno.
how to land a plane in an emergency - just "get it on the ground" - yeah, that's it. just do it.
|September 17, 2008.|
Oh Yeah, Hold That Pose, You Foxy Little Bitch.
Today I'm going to do something that I rarely do, and that's set an asscheek up on the celebrity bandwagon and dedicate an entire post to one person. That person is Megan Fox. I'm not really sure why I chose now to talk about her, although perhaps her recent confession that she had a crush on a female stripper named Nikita certainly might have something to do with it. or perhaps it was the dream I had with her in it last night -- no not like that, she was actually cozying up to another woman. But either way, here we are, so let's begin.
The All-Knowing-All-Seeing IMDB lists her birth name as Megan Denise Fox and right out of the gate, I have to call Bullshit. Why? Because No chick this blazingly hot has a last name of Fox. She can't. Time would stop and the world would simultaneously explode and implode all at the same time. If her last name is really Fox, then I'd like to introduce you to my neighbors new wife, Pussy Galore. It just doesn't fucking happen. It can't happen. The world would end.
Most people know Megan Fox from her breakthrough role in Transformers, where she played the insanely hot chick (duh!) who can recognize a high-rise double-pump carburetor. And as much as we'd all love that to be true -- Christ the money I could save on repair bills alone -- we have to face the reality that it's not. She's not really a gearhead. She's not really Berta's 17 year old niece, and as much as you don't get away from your computer much as you should, you cannot compare Megan Fox to Firefox.
She was however, voted #1 sexiest woman by FHM readers for 2008, and that means that neither you or I have a shot with her. Which is unfortunate really, because despite that flawless body and those hypnotizing blue eyes, she still grits her teeth when she takes a shit, just like we do.
where is your surname most prevalent? stewart is scottish. unfortunately.
after action pictures of the two jacksonville port, florida cranes that collapsed
cornerstone websites of the internet: how they looked in 1998 vs 2008.
|September 16, 2008.|
I Hope Nobody Plans On Retiring Anytime Soon. Oh, And It's Tasteless Tuesday.
"I once chopped pieces of foreskin off my penis with a pair of cuticle scissors."
Now that I've got your attention, I'll go back and tell the whole story. Apologies if it gets a little lengthy, but this yarn deserves to be spun well.
First, some background. After I was circumcised as an infant, the wound was not taken care of with sufficient diligence, and it healed incorrectly. Portions of the raw edge of the remaining foreskin bonded to the glans, a little bit above the lower edge of the glans. This left a series of "skin bridges", basically sections of foreskin which can't be retracted, because they are fused to the glans at one end and the shaft at the other. These varied in width from about 1/16" to 1/4", and were attached off and on over about 2/3 of the circumference. This was never a major problem. It was a long time before I even realized it was abnormal. Everything functioned properly, but there were a few minor problems with it which made me wish I could fix it. Mainly, it was a cosmetic defect -- it didn't look good. Second, it was tough to keep clean under the bridges -- I had to swab it with a Q-tip now and then to knock down smegma buildup. And lastly, some of the most sensitive parts of the glans were hidden under relatively insensitive chunks of foreskin, robbing me of the proper stimulation which was mine and every man's birthright.
Over the past few years, I'd been thinking of getting it corrected, but there were problems. Doctors cost money, and I didn't have it, and student insurance sure wasn't gonna cover it. Plus, the thought of some strange doctor chopping at my peepeehead gives me chills. Now, all a doctor would do it sterilize it, numb it, cut it and bandage it. "Hell, maybe I can do that!", I thought. The problem was how to kill the pain. I experimented with cutting myself (with an x-acto knife), but seeing as it always hurt like hell before I even cut anything, I never went through with it.
Recently, I came back and studied the situation. Again, the problem with the self-surgery approach was dealing with pain. There had to be some way of numbing the area, but how? One winter day, it hit me. If cold can make fingers go numb, then cold can also make a ManTool[tm] go numb. With this in mind, I pioneered a the "home penile self- surgery procedure".
My Surgical Kit: Cuticle scissors (1 pair). Rubbing alcohol (1 bottle). Antibiotic ointment (1 tube). Anti-bacterial soap (1 bottle). Gauze pads (lots, various sizes). Ice cubes (iodine added to water for sterility). Clean Washcloth (freshly laundered with lots'o'bleach). Well-lit work area (the kitchen table)
The Procedure: Wipe down work area with alcohol. Clean penis with soap and water, then with alcohol. Wash hands thoroughly. Soak scissors in alcohol. Holding the ice cube with the washcloth (to prevent your fingers from going numb), apply the ice cube to the target area. Hold for 5 to 10 minutes, until area is numb. Using the cuticle scissors, sever the skin bridge as closely as possible to its connection with the glans. Then sever the foreskin end of the bridge in such a location as to leave an even edge on the foreskin. Use gauze pads and direct pressure to stop the bleeding, then apply antibiotic ointment and bandage.
The Operations: Though the operations are not painful if done correctly, the healing process is a real pain in the ass. It also takes a certain state of mind to be able to cut your own flesh. I would kind of put myself into robo-man zombie mode for the operations, in that I never dwelled on what I was doing, I just mechanically plodded through all the steps without thinking about how totally gross it was. Since the ice cube could only numb a small portion of the penis, and since I could only tolerate so much trauma to my dick in one session, it took 6 separate operations, spread out over a two week period, to cut/remove all of the skin bridges.
Operation #1 (Day 1) -- The test cut. I chose a small thin skin bridge, about 1/16" across. I held the ice cube on for 5 minutes. The ice caused a peculiar kind of "cold ache", but it wasn't that bad. I gingerly made the cuts, and sliced through with no pain at all. There was some minor bleeding, but because of the speed at which I worked, I had finished and had the gauze on it before the wound had any chance to bleed significantly.
After about 10 minutes the bleeding was stopped and I bandaged it up, no problem at all. Only a tiny little speck of flesh had been removed, rather unimpressive looking.
Operation #2 (Day 3) -- Operation #1 turned out so well, I decided to go for big game this time. The target was the mother of all skin bridges, about 1/4" across and very thick and meaty. Again, I made the preparations and applied ice for 5 minutes. I made the first cut along the glans, and was surprised at how much I had to bear down on the scissors. This skin was surprisingly tough. I finished that cut, and then turned my attention to the cut on the foreskin side. Wanting to get it done quickly, I decided that two large, powerful snips should do the job. I bore down and made the first cut, and realized with a shock that IT HURT LIKE HELL. Well, it turns out that due to the thickness of the skin bridge on that end, the cold hadn't penetrated deeply enough, and it hadn't gone numb. So, I was left with a problem. I had a half severed bit of foreskin hanging off me, and no anesthetic. My only recourse was to finish the cut. I thought, "Shit. This will hurt." So I lined up the scissors, closed my eyes, and as quickly and powerfully as I could, I made the snip. My prediction was correct; it did hurt (don't you hate when you're right about things like that?) I managed to avoid shouting out, instead opting for a few simple gasps and whimpers. I resolved to hold the ice on for much longer in future operations. Being that this was a bigger cut than the first, it bled much more profusely. It took about 20 minutes of direct pressure and a lot of gauze until I could staunch the main flow. Even then it kept oozing blood for a few hours. I spent the rest of the evening with nothing on below the waist, sitting in front of the TV with a few brews (this became standard procedure for all forthcoming operations). Any motion tended to make it break open and bleed again, so I moved around very little. I was functioning (that is, walking) almost normally again by the next day, but it took about 5 days before this one completely stopped oozing blood. As I gingerly hobbled back into the kitchen for another brew, I spotted IT, the severed hunk-o-foreskin that I had left on the table. It was of fairly good size, about 1/2" by 1/4" and maybe as thick as a piece of bacon. Suddenly, strange thoughts entered my skull, and a raging mental battle between good and evil ensued...
EVIL: "Eat the foreskin."
GOOD: "Don't do it!! That's gross!!"
EVIL: "Eat the foreskin."
GOOD: "Stop thinking about it!!"
EVIL: "You know what you must do. Eat it. It is your destiny."
GOOD: "But that's cannibalism!"
EVIL: "So what?"
GOOD:"Cannibalism is shunned for a reason! It spreads diseases!"
EVIL: "Look dipshit. It's your own fucking flesh. Any diseases in there, you already got."
GOOD: "But it's SELF-cannibalism!"
EVIL: "So is chewing on the piece of skin you bit off your fingertip. BFD."
GOOD: "But this is weird, deranged and perverted!"
GOOD: (Hauls its sorry whoopped ass away and shuts up)
So, I ate it. Turns out it was very tough and chewy, kind of like biting a little piece of rubber. I chewed for about 5 minutes, but didn't make any progress on breaking it down, so I swallowed it. It had a little bit of blood flavor at first, but after that it had no flavor at all; rather disappointing in that respect. Maybe I should have cooked it.
Operation #3 (Day 10) -- A medium sized cut. I held the ice cube on much longer (10 minutes instead of 5), so there was no problem with pain. Not nearly as much bleeding, but still a respectable amount. A word about erections: they werea bad thing. Any hard-on would tear the wounds open and start them bleeding again. This would be a problem for about 3 or 4 days until the wounds had healed sufficiently. Basically, I had to spend a long, long time without even thinking a nasty thought. Of course, when I was asleep I had no control over the process, which would always result in me waking up with a dick that hurt and bloody bandages. I was really lovin' life at moments like these.
Operation #4 (Day 12) -- Another medium sized cut, but with the added bonus of having a small vein (about 1 mm in diameter) running through the skin bridge. Now, the blood supply for the penis mainly runs through blood vessels buried deep inside. When you get down the the small vessels, the circulatory system becomes more of a spiderweb, with redundant paths going to every point. So I knew it wasn't actually dangerous to cut it, but it was still a kind of psychological obstacle. I expected this one to be a heavy bleeder, and I wasn't disappointed. It took about a full hour of direct pressure to get the severed ends of the vein to close up. Otherwise, not too much of a problem.
Operation #5 (Day 14) -- I was planning on more time to let the others heal, but due to changes in the way skin tension was being applied to the remaining bridges (because I'd cut some others away), one small bridge was getting a lot of stress and starting to hurt. So I chopped it quick and easy, no real problems.
Operation #6 (Day 15) -- The problem with operation #5 was that it just transferred the stress to the next bridge down the line. So even though I had about 3/4" of flesh left to cut, I resolved to do it all at once in one last cutting frenzy. Due to the size of the operation, it took a while to complete (maybe 1 minute total), which gave the blood a chance to flow. I had to stop a few times and wipe away blood so I could see what I was doing. Strangely, this didn't bother me at all. It seemed perfectly normal that I should be wiping up copious amounts of blood flowing from my bleeding pecker which I had sliced open myself. Actually, it seemed kind of cool at the time, which led me to speculate at the time that I had gone insane, which I also thought was pretty cool. Anyway, except for the excess blood which had dripped on to the chair, it went quite well. The only thing that really grossed me out was when I noticed I had blood all over my hands. If any psychoanalysts want to analyze that tidbit for me, feel free, though I really don't care. The wounds are now completely healed, and the results are good. Mainly:
1. There are no scars to speak of, just a few bumps on the glans. This is because I didn't trim the flesh quite close enough in a few spots. They kind of resembling little warts. I thought about going back and trimming them off, but I kind of like 'em now. After all, it's not everyone who has the privilege of appearing to have warts, without actually being diseased?
2. Without the skin tension holding things back, total dick length has increased by 1/4". (Of course I've measured the length of my dick. Like you haven't?)
3. It's a great topic for dinnertime conversation. Women generally seem to find it quite interesting. Men generally turn kind of pale.
With my newfound surgical skills, I've been contemplating a few more self-surgical procedures. You know, mole removal, wart removal, nose jobs, the whole vista of cosmetic surgery. I'll need some help for that mole on my back, which means training an assistant. Ah, the future looks interesting indeed ... Anonymous.
Hey Ernie, Beat my previous score with a new one of 630.41 yds. Good game that reminds me of my old Spider Man cartoons as a kid. Wish the game had the Spidey music. Also tried to get the lowest score possible. Brett
Well, since Brett obviously rules Double Wires, we're moving on to something else. In this game, you are orange, and you must run. You are the Orange Runner. Pick up the batteries. Dodge the sawblades. Run like the wind and see if you can beat 371,118 -- and note I made it all the way up to 223 miles an hour!
if there really is a god and reincarnation, then i want to come back as eliza dushku's bicycle seat.
union pacific 6483 - the little engine that could... cream a metrolink commuter train.
let's all raise our beer glass to andre the giant - the greatest drunk on earth
how to insult, swear, cuss, and curse in over 182 languages.
|September 15, 2008.|
John's Egg Business.
John was in the fertilized egg business. He had several hundred young hens, called pullets, and ten roosters to fertilize the eggs. He kept records, and any rooster not performing went into the soup pot and was replaced.
This took a lot of time, so he bought some tiny bells and attached them to his roosters. Each bell had a different tone, so he could tell from a distance, which rooster was performing. Now, he could sit on the porch And fill out an efficiency report by just listening to the bells.
John's favorite rooster, old Butch, was a very fine specimen, but this morning he noticed old Butch's bell hadn't rung at all! When he went to investigate, he saw the other roosters were busy chasing pullets, bells-a-ringing, but the pullets, hearing the roosters coming, could run for cover. To John's amazement, old Butch had his bell in his beak, so it couldn't ring. He'd sneak up on a pullet, do his job and walk on to the next one.
John was so proud of old Butch, he entered him in the Renfrew County Fair and he became an overnight sensation among the judges. The result was the judges not only awarded old Butch the No Bell Piece Prize but they also awarded him the Pulletsurprise as well.
Clearly old Butch was a politician in the making. Who else but a politician could figure out how to win two of the most highly coveted awards on our planet by being the best at sneaking up on the populace and screwing them when they weren't paying attention.
Vote carefully this year, the bells are not always audible.
I was looking through old picture with an ex the other day and she said that I should put this picture on the internet. Your site was the first that I thought of. I have been reading your site for years and have sent in a picture or two in the past. Use it if you would like but at any rate keep up the good work. Maybe she will let me send in more who knows. On another note, give it a few more years and you will get numb to all of this hurricane business. I have lived in South Florida (Homestead area) my whole life and my house got destroyed in Andrew. Now when I see storms coming I figure it can't get any worse. Take care, Jake
Hiya Ernie - happy Friday and I hope you're having a blast on vacation... Fun story to share... For a while I had a racoon terrorizing my pond, which I stock with goldfish to keep the 'skeeters down. I finally caught the racoon in action and threw rocks at it and my dog cornered it - it hasn't been back since (I know as my dog barks his butt off in the middle of the night when he hears it)... But since then every so often I'd find the carcass of a 3/4 eaten goldfish next to my pond...I couldn't figure out what was getting them. And oddly the pump was moved from time to time - and that thing is heavy and in the middle of the pond. Surely not a racoon. At first I thought it was Old Man Foley from the haunted amusement park, but before I could call in Scooby Doo and those meddling kids, I managed to solve the mystery of the disappearing fish..... Attached is a pic of my new house-guest. I will be buying more feeder fish - it's a welcome addition. I imagine in the dry weather, my pond is its new oasis. Pretty cool - I was within 6' of it. Stood about 16" tall, then when it took off it has about a 6' wingspan. I've never seen one in the daytime or this close before. When it flew off it buzzed two kids on bikes by about 2' and scared one so badly he crashed into the neighbor's lawn. Cheers, Scott
Wow. You know how I know Hollywood is really getting behind this "Stand Up To Cancer" program? Homer Simpson's colonoscopy will be televised on September 5. Ouch. And unless someone beats Brett's 556 yards by tomorrow, I'm going to declare him the winner and we'll push on to something else.
the top ten trailer remixes - hey "the school of rock" doesn't suck anymore.
celebrity interviews mixed into porn scenes - definitely NSFW unless you work for hustler.
suckling at the teats of life -
to hell with batman, i'm superman -
soaking up some rays, or soaking up all the rays
|September 12, 2008.|
Deh-Neh Ler Ner-Ner.
I think two of the better shows on television right now are Two and a Half Men and House M.D. The first because -- let's be honest -- who doesn't want to be Charlie Harper. He lives the perfect bachelor life: great house, great car, lots of money, and he's constantly banging hot chicks. Watching the show, it amazes me how much Charlie Sheen looks like his father. But I think one of the undiscovered jewels in that show, a diamond in the rough if you will, is Charlie's stalker Rose who lives one floor below him. My Spidey senses tell me that the cleavage she's a sportin' leads down to one hell of a pair of tits. (Duh!)
House on the other hand, kicks ass for two reasons. First, nobody ever gets over on House. Everyone tries, most think they succeed, but in the end it's always House coming out on top. And secondly, the show offers a level of care to the patients that we can only dream about. The next time you're in the hospital for something serious, wouldn't it be comforting to know that you don't have a doctor but a whole team of really smart doctors all sitting in a room, huddled around a whiteboard, discussing you and only you? Wouldn't that be awesome? Instead the reality is command maybe twenty minutes of their attention per day.
Anyway, I raise these two shows for a particular reason. Both have what I consider to be, underrated hotties; Rose from Two and a Half Men who has some amazing cleavage and Cut Throat Bitch from House with her amazingly long legs. Each left me wondering what their tits looked like. So I decided to try and find out and low and behold -- a two'fer!
Hey man! Just had to thank you for that merciful fuck-awful set of pics I've got a co-worker who claimed that nothing could offend him. I mean, this guy yawned at 2girls1cup, and even watched it while eating chocolate ice cream to prove a point. But not even his manly constitution could take that pic set. He cringed and yelled, "For the love of all things holy, what the fuck?!" He then proceeded to just walk off nodding his head in disgust, shivering. It was soooooooooooo worth the dry heaves it gave me, twice. -Alex
Ya know, when someone says "Don't Look" 4 FUCKING TIMES, invoking God's name in an effort to keep your dumb fucking ass from looking, ya shouldn't look. I shouldn't have looked. Great site Ernie! Thanx!! ~Gravdigr
Ernie, Holy crap man that was disgusting. You should have your ass removed. I sent the link to a couple of friends in my office. Soon thereafter I heard retching from the office next to mine. It kind of hit home too since I worked at a mental retardation facility when I was in high school. One of the requirements for a resident was that they had to be sterile. All those people did was eat, sleep, and fuck. Almost made me wish I was one of them. Love your site. Especially love the way you support our Troops. Dirk
Fact: New Orleans, a "chocolate city," is 67% black. Fact: Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans. Fact: Many New Orleans residents were then transplanted to Houston. Fact: Hurricane Ike is now bearing down on Houston. Conclusion: God hates black people. But continuing on the topic of hurricanes, at least we have some good news. Forecasters have an exact fix on where the next storm is headed. Nice job, guys. Way to put those supercomputers to work.
lindsay lohan looks a little down lately. and by down, i mean saggy.
gina gershon spoofs sarah palin. and WOW does gina gershon have a rockin hard body.
than vs then. their vs there vs they're. its vs it's. test your old school grammar skillz.
ah, just another day in paradise. c'mon in, the water is fine.
|September 11, 2008.|
Horror Revisited Seven Times Over.
I actually took this Tuesday morning off work, so that I could take my car in to get it's 5000 mile service. Traffic was a exceptionally bad, so I was flipping through the radio stations trying to find something to listen to. It seemed every station was talking and talking and talking about mundane crap as many morning radio stations often do. I finally settled on one and began to settle into the fact that I'd be creeping through traffic for the next hour. Then the morning show host mentioned how a co worker was running into the station... it seemd a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.
Ha, I thought. Another bonehead tourist plane probably. The old building can take it, I thought. I remember reading that back in 19'some'odd when an Army Air Corp bomber crashed into the Empire State building in dense fog. Darwinism, I thought.
They finally got around to playing a few songs, which was a welcome break from the talking I had previous mentioned. Then the host breaks into music, right in the middle of a song, and states that a second plane, a big commercial motherfucker, had crashed into the World Trade Center also. At this point, I got angry. How dare they publicize such a stupid prank? How dare they? This isn't funny. This is horrible. I was actually contemplating picking up my cell phone and calling in to bitch someone out. And the thought occured to me... check another station. So I did. And they were talking about it too. And so was another. And another. This was for real.
I arrived at the dealership and there, in the customer lounge, were salesman, customers, managers, mechanics and receptionists all gathered around the television. There was an image of the peak of the World Trade Center Towers. There was a lot of smoke. People in the room were talking about terror and tragedy. After a few seconds later, the news media replayed footage of the second plane impact. I remember thinking that since he impacted the corner of the second tower, it looks like the guy missed his mark. I was somehow almost grateful. Imagine the loss of life if the whole fucking tower had come down in the impact.
We, a group of stunned and horrified people with only our American blood as a common thread, watched for a while longer. The coffee machine remained untouched. People were glued to the TV. Footage of victims and the rescue qorkers assisting them began to make their way around to the news media. Then the news broadcaster said they the windows in the building he was in shook. He heard a bang. He looked out of his window and saw people running away from the Pentagon. Hmmm. A car bombing maybe? Christ there's going to be a few hundred people killed in this attack, I thought.
Then the unthinkable happened. Right in the middle of Peter Jenning's sentence, right before my very eyes, the burning hulk that was once one of the two World Trade Center Towers, collapsed. Right before my very fucking eyes. There was dust, a mushroom cloud of it and the top of the tower just disappeared into it. It almost looked like it had been imploded, like you see on the Learning Channel late at night sometimes. It was gone, just like that. I can't imagine how many people died, right before my very fucking eyes. I turned to the gentleman sitting next to me, "is this really happening?" I asked. We were all stunned to find that one of the pilots of the hijacked planes lives in Dracut, Massachusetts. That's two towns over from where I live.
Surely the other one can't fall too. The media said that plane was much smaller, and it hit so much higher up. It can take the hit I thought. It'll be okay.
But I was wrong. Before too long, that tower collapsed too, killing with it not only the few thousand unfortunate souls still trapped inside but probably hundreds of rescue workers trying to aid the victims of the first crash. It's radio attenna on top dipped a bit, wavered left, and then too cascaded in a monster cloud of dust. And the news confirmed another plane had crashed into the Pentagon. I guess it wasn't a carbomb after all. Now all the airports are closed. And the railways. And they say another plane just crashed near Pittsburg. There is speculation that it didn't crash at all, but was rather shot down by Air Force fighters after the plane refused to respond to communication attempts and was headed directly towards Camp David. It's circulating now that perhaps that was just a rumor. God bless their souls either way. I fear the final body count in this whole ordeal, which in my uneducated estimates will climb into the tens of thousands.
Speculation is abound as to who is the root of all evil. The usual suspects turn up, as one might imagine. The news media is going through extraordinary steps of political correctness to not suggest any one of them is more or less likely to be the mastermind behind it, so as not to offend anyone.
Fuck that. We all know who is behind it. That tall, skinny, limping fuckhead Osama bin Laden. I know it, you know it, we all know it so let's cut to the fucking chase.
Some people say this is a time for restraint. I again reiterate my words of wisdom of, Fuck that. This is NOT a time for restraint. Restraint was yesterday. Today is a time for action. A time for downright coldhearted asskicking revenge. A time for retaliation justified ten thousand times. A time for stealth bombers and tomahawk missiles. A time for napalm. This is not a time for politicians to use words like 'dispicable' or 'cowardly'. I want them to use words like, "Yeah we found out who it was, and we kicked their fucking ass. We bombed them, we watched their families burn to death, watched their houses burn to the ground, and then I went and pissed on their ashes." I do not want my government to give a measured calculated response. Fuck that. I want them to react in a furious rage blinded by the visions of burned bodies on the streets of an American city and bomb any fucking person or persons or foreign government that ever did, does, or we suspect ever will coordinate a terrorist atack.
And to you Osama bin Laden, I tell you this. I may be stunned, I may be angry, I may be shocked, but I am NOT terrified. No, I drove home from my job today, which will be open tomorrow, and I drove through McDonalds and got a super sized Big Mac extra value meal. Business as usual. I continued on home, parked my car, and turned on my big fucking 65" television with which to watch the news. I am proud to say I am from Massachusetts and my Governor had the courage and wisdom to keep our voting polls open. Americans may grieve today, but we will excercise our right to vote and continue on our lives. Those were not just innocent people that you killed today, they were Americans. And one day, one day very soon, either I or another of my countrymen will slip a knife into your belly and twist it. We will watch as the energies of life slowly drain from your body. And then just before you die, I will place my mouth over yours, I will suck out your last breath and I will eat it.
Gotta go, have to give blood. God bless America. Glad you're safe SantaSam.
remembering the victims of 9/11 -- photos of the world trade center under construction
|September 10, 2008.|
Oh C'mon, You Know You'd Do Her.
She's all conservative with those librarian glasses and that pent up hair, yet you know she could kill you, gut you and eat you without a minute's hesitation. Everyone wondering what kind of chest cushions she's got hidden under those goose down jackets she wraps herself up in. I can't wait to see her go someplace warm so she relax her dress code a little. Seriously, she's the Uber-MILF. And you know she is. I would do her. You would do her. Everyone would do her. Young guys. Old guys. Blind guys. Rich guys. Poor guys. Some chicks want to do her. Gay guys would do her simply for the power. Even Yoda would do her. And anyone who says they don't want to do her is lying. She's the most sttractive thing to happen to politics since Gennifer Flowers, and let's be honest; she wasn't that hot anyway. I don't care about the conspiracy rumors, I don't care about how close she is to God. Palin is 100% pure do-able. I don't know if I'd want her in the hot seat if John McCain's ticker goes south, and I certainly wouldn't want to knock her up and have her following me around for the next nine months, but I'd still do her.
Ah yes, Double Wires. Your very own opportunity to swing from vines like Tarzan, or in the case of horribly shitty movies, Shia LeFag. Anyway, kicking ass and chewing bubblegum is Avi, who rocked out with 521 yards. And I thought, "Holy shit, there's no way anyone can beat that." And then along came Brett with his 556 yards, and I thought, "Even holier shit, there's no way anyone can beat that," and so far I'm right. But don't worry Avi, because no matter how sad you feel, no matter how down you are... it's nothing compared to what Billy Zane is going through today.
Hey dude. Sorry to hear about your back. I know first hand how that is. Been there, done that got the T-shirt, donít want another. Hope you get better soon. Attached are some pics of Grand Isle, LA after Hurricane Gustav. Unreal how the roads are now sand dunes. Oh, and thanks for sicking Ike on us. Bad dog!!!! Kurt - Galveston, TX.
It's easy to see the wastefulness and disrespect in this, but what I really like is the guy who found them and saved them (let alone what they are going to do with them now). It seems to be a missed opportunity. These could have been sold as part of a fundraiser, i.e. Send $100 Get a piece of History, etc. Paul
Hey Ernie, Long time reader/admirer of your site. Have never posted anything, but when I saw the quality of work that this guy does I immediately thought it would be appreciated by you and your readers. He does custom models that look like you can jump in, drive and blow-up stuff. From the mud on the treads to the weathered armor the details are incredible. Ripley.
Recently I was asked to play in a golf tournament. At first I said, "Naaahhh! I already play two or three times a week." Then they said to me, "Come on, itís for handicapped and blind kids." Ands I thought, "Shit, I could win this..."
for sale: winnebago/legand cat pro fishing boat. will not separate
don't look. no seriously, don't look. DON'T FUCKING LOOK MAN, FOR THE LOVE OF FUCKING GOD, DON'T LOOK.
|September 9, 2008.|
I Don't Really Want A Doctor, I Want a Drug Dealer.
Okay, back from the doc with the typical good news/bad news scenario. Good news: I feel better. Bad news: I didn't get any good drugs. For former is more important than the latter, sure, but let's be honest... not by much.
Given that I've been in Florida for two years, I figured it was about time that I finally pick out a primary care physician. Up until now, I've just been going to the local Urgent Care Clinic that seem pretty popular down here. They're for when something can't wait until a regularly scheduled appoint with your regular doctor, but not catastrophic urgent enough for you to drag your ass into an Emergency Room. They're basically a Doc-In-A-Box. You show up, tell him where it hurts, he makes sure you're not gonna die and writes you a prescription for antibiotics/pain meds/whatever. Quite convenient actually, as the wait time is usually five minutes or less.
The only downside, aside from trusting your health to a guy who never got around to starting his own practice, is the cost. At least to us self employed schmucks, because our insurance works a little differently than it does for you corporate whores. Instead of paying a small co-pay no matter where you go, with me the co-pay only applies to your Primary Care Physician (PCP) on record with the insurance company. Everything else (including Urgent Care Clinics) are subject to a, "you pay the full fee until you meet your annual deductible, sucker." So last month when I had the World's Most Awesome Bronchitis and needed some antibiotics to get over the hump, I had to go to the Urgent Care Clinic because I was a lazy fuck and hadn't yet picked a PCP. So I had to fork out a $175 fee to get a $5 prescription of ciprofloxacin. Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitching, it's totally my fault. So if you want to know the price of laziness, it's $175.
Anyway, normally this fee wouldn't bother me so much because I so rarely ever need a doc's attention. But lo'and behold less than a month later I'm doing the Quasimodo Shuffle and in need of some pain pills. Since there is no fucking way in hell I'm going to shell out another $175 for another ten minutes with the same doctor I saw last month, I finally decided it was time to bite the bullet and pick a PCP. And so I did. And because this particular event was involving my lower back, I picked a Doctor of Osteopathy -- those are the guys with "D.O." after their name, instead of "M.D." What the fuck is a Doctor of Osteopathy? Good question. Boiled down, they're hippie doctors. As opposed to the, "Take two aspirin and call me in the morning," approach, D.O.'s like to get hands on with their patients. No, not that kind of hands on, more like when Mr. Miyagi slaps his hands together and gets Daniel back on his feet so he can kick some Cobra Kai ass.
So this afternoon, I shuffled my ass down and after filling out the usual 358,287,284 forms that come with new patient sign ups, get some face time with my new doc. We go over my medical history, exercise habits, who I like in the fifth race at Suffolk Downs and finally, how I wrenched my back. I expect him to laugh at my lame jokes, and write me a prescription for Vicodin and some muscle relaxers, and send me on my way. So when he pulled the patient table out from the wall and said, "Hop up here and lay on your side facing me," I got a little worried. But I'm a sheep so I do what I'm told, and before I know it I'm in the embrace of a middle aged witch doctor with hairy arms and before I can close my eyes and escape to a happy place, he squeezes and pulls and twists and pushes and I head this cool >POP< in my lower back. Oddly enough, it was almost the same >POP< I heard when this whole mess began.
Now I'm not going to sit here and tell you that I felt instantaneous relief, like when Dana's dislocated shoulder popped back into place after slamming into a tree on my ATV, but I will admit after paying my $25 co-pay, I walked out of his office standing a little straighter than when I walked in. The downside? No Vicodin. No Skelaxin. Just a prescription for thirty 800mg Motrin pills. I might as well be in the fuckin Air Force again. Dammit.
ten reasons you donít want to go to angola prison in louisiana.
|September 8, 2008.|
Hmmm, Looks Like My Dog is Better Behaved Than I Thought.
A man in the pub orders a beer. He gets it and begins to drink it and notices the beer is kind of warm. so he mentions something to the bartender, who tells him to chut up and just drink his beer. Then it is time to pay and instead of giving three $1 dollar bills to the bartender the guy throws 30 dimes behind the counter. The bartender is pissed and is on his hands and knees collecting change as the guy leaves. The next day the man is back and he comes in waiving a $5 dollar bill. The bartender thinks: "okay, business is business" and lets him in. Again, the beer is kind of warm, but the guy doesn't say anything. Comes time to pay, the man gives him the $5 note. The bartender goes to the register to get the change, but instead of taking out two $1 dollar bills, he takes out 20 dimes, turns and and throws them all around the entire pub. The bartender says: "there is your fucking change!" The man looks around and remains quite calm. He takes out 10 dimes, throws them behind the counter and says: "I'll have another beer!"
An elderly gentleman went to the local drug store and asked the pharmacist for Viagra. The pharmacist said "That's no problem. How many do you want?" The man answered, "Just a few, maybe four, but cut each one in four pieces." The pharmacist said, "That won't do you any good." The elderly gentleman said, "That's alright. I don't need them for sex anymore. I am over 80 years old. I just want it to stick out far enough so I don't piss on my shoes."
Once upon a time, a mature woman in her late forties decided that she wanted to have a baby. She read all about the modern fertility procedures for older women. She decided that she would get pregnant, and have a baby. And she did, and she did. One of her old friends dropped by her house, and wanted to see the baby. She said, "The baby is napping, and you'll have to wait until he wakes up." So they talked and visited for a while. After a while the friend said she had to go soon, but she really did want to see the baby. The mother was quite adamant: "You'll have to wait until he wakes up." The visitor said, "Can't I just peek in and look at him sleeping?" The mother shook her head and admitted, "Well, in all honesty I can't remember where the hell I put him, so when he wakes up and cries, then I can find him."
When the store manager returned from lunch, he noticed his clerk's hand was bandaged, but before he could ask about the bandage, the clerk said he had some very good news for him. "Guess what, sir?" the clerk said. "I finally sold that terrible, ugly suit we've had so long!" "Do you mean that repulsive pink-and-blue double-breasted thing?" the manager asked. "That's the one!" That's great!" the manager cried, "I thought we'd never get rid of that monstrosity! That had to be the ugliest suit we've ever had! But tell me. Why is your hand bandaged?" "Oh," the clerk replied, "after I sold the guy that suit, his fucking guide dog bit me."
And a quick and dirty game challenge - Double Wires. Get your stickman to travel vast distances by slinging his wires onto surrounding objects. The wires only stick on the objects for so long before they fall of, so be careful and be on a constant move. You have to travel further than 44.18 yards.
before i die i want to... ... ... scroll right for the english ones.
so how good are you at guessing peoples ages?
|September 5, 2008.|
Some Terms To Know.
Huh. Looks like I'll be spending my weekend hobbling around and putting up hurricane shutters. Stupid dog.
Cape Verde Storm: A tropical system with origins coming from the coast of Africa. These are the long tracking systems, which move off Africa, form and trek across the Atlantic eventually threatening the Eastern Caribbean Islands and the US East Coast. The Cape Verde Islands themselves are just west off the coast of Africa.
Eye: The low pressure center of a tropical cyclone. Surrounded by the most intense area of the storm and at a huge contrast inside the eye winds are normally calm and sometimes the sky clears.
Eyewall: The ring of thunderstorms that surrounds a storm's eye. The heaviest rain, strongest winds and worst turbulence are normally in the eyewall.
Hurricane: A tropical cyclone in which maximum sustained surface wind is 74 mph (64 knots) or greater.
Hurricane Watch: An announcement that hurricane conditions pose a possible threat to a specified coastal area within 36 hours.
Hurricane Warning: A warning that sustained winds of 74 mph (64 knots) or higher are expected in a specified coastal area within 24 hours or less.
Millibar: A metric measurement of air pressure.
Storm Surge: An abnormal rise of the sea along a shore as the result, primarily, of the winds of a storm.
Tropical Depression: A tropical cyclone in which the maximum sustained surface wind is 38 mph (33 knots) or less.
Tropical Storm: A tropical cyclone in which the maximum sustained surface wind ranges from 39-73 mph (34-63 knots) inclusive.
Tropical Storm Watch: Is issued for a coastal area when there is a threat of tropical storm conditions within 36 hours.
Tropical Storm Warning: A warning for tropical storm conditions including sustained winds within the range of 39 to 73 mph (34 to 63 knots) which are expected in a specified coastal area within 24 hours or less.
Typhoon: A hurricane in the north Pacific west of the International Date Line.
five things you didn't know about 'entourage' -- let's hug it out, bitch.
michelle hunziker sure does know how to fill out a bikini. too bad she's with some douchebag yankees fan.
some behind the scenes clips from transformers 2 -- nice shots of audi r8 chase, but no word on shia le'fags injured hand
|September 4, 2008.|
This Tasteless [Thursday] Brought To You By Jeannie.
Let me put it straight out. I can only shit at home. That's right. Not at the boyfriend's house, not at work, not on vacation. Just can't do it - unless it's related to food poisoning or taking 4 or 5 Ex-laxes. But on a normal day, every time I try, I get all nervous and veto the idea and wait the four more hours until I can go home. It's a dreadful way to live, but I've gotten used to it over the years. BUT, then I realize, only tonight, how foolish that psychosis is. I'm sitting here in my clean, dry pajamas with full-seat, cotton, white, OLD LADY underwear wondering if E-coli has just decided to make my cunt its home. Yeah. You heard me, so lemme tell you my story.
I was at my work holiday party this evening. Feeling fine, not drinking too much and not eating too much (for once). So, after the buffet dinner, I'm sitting, chatting, etc, etc... and feel a little bit of a twinge in my stomach. I figure that I'm getting gas from something I ate, so I ignore it. Half hour later, I'm almost doubled over in pain, so I put a fake smile on my face and try to say quick good-byes. I have to get out of there because something is rumbling in my stomach that is determined to let loose. I head for the door and two co-workers ask for a ride to their car. Oh my GOD, I have to get out of there, but I say "sure." One of the co-workers makes a pit stop. I'd like to too, as I'm sure I could have gone in THIS type of emergency, but realize that it would be a very bad scene so I veto the idea of getting a little "tension release" in the hotel restroom. I drive them to their car, wondering if I should run into the office and let loose, but I convince myself that I can make it home - only about 7 miles.
I start to drive, just as I entered the Ted Williams tunnel or as I call it "the point of no return", I almost crash my fucking car because of the painful twisting of my intestines. So then I convince myself that maybe if I let myself let out a little bit of that gas that's building up, that will take care of the pressure inside so that I can make it home. Nope. It was not a fart that wanted to escape. It was a hot, liquid blast of shit that escaped my ass and I couldn't even stop it. The pain subsides for a moment, and I kind of like the warm feeling as it was about 12 degrees outside, but soon realize what actually made that warm feeling. I JUST SHIT MY PANTS!!!!
So I try to scootch myself up off the seat so that I don't squish it. The problem here is that I'm wearing a short velvet dress with a thong and sheer nylons. I was wishing that I were one of those girls who wore that old-lady underwear because it would have a place to collect. NOPE! And worse off, I drive a stick and every fucking time I had to change gears, my left leg would squeeze the shit between the threads in my nylons, my thong, my legs. I was in a panic. Half way home, I shit again and again. Painful, putrid
smelling explosions from my ass. I couldn't stop the shitting!. And the smell! OOOOHHHHHGH! I began to get nauseous so I opened the windows. Dry heaves escaped me as I tried to balance myself above the seat and trying to stay on the road. I finally get home - by the way, my co-workers live in the same direction and actually pass me on the road as I shat my ass off.
I got home and was happy that I drive with a pillow on my seat. I hobble out of the car, crouched over, exhausted and in pain. I climb the three, NEVERENDING flights of stairs as shit drains down my legs. No one home - thank GOD! I hobbled to the kitchen, while drops of shit marked my trail. I grab some trash bags and spread them out on the bathroom floor. I take off my jacket - NO, my SISTER's suede coat that she let me borrow because it was so much nicer than mine. The entire bottom had fallen victim to my shitting frenzy. My driving pillow? That's a goner. I pull off my shoes. At least there was no shit there. I pull off my nylons and thong in one shot and am amazed at the amount of shit that came along with them. Liquid, mustard yellow and smelling so grotesque. Then I panic. I'm still wearing my dress, because I'm afraid to take it off. I wonder if I should just hop in the shower with it on, but realize the mess that is all over and between my legs. I think..."maybe I can just cut it off and throw it away", but it was, again, my SISTER's. I was dripping shit all over the trash bags at this point and would never have made it to the kitchen to get scissors.
So I do it. Yes, I pulled the dress up, over my head - the ONLY WAY IT COMES OFF!!!! As my dress slid up my body (I tried my best to do it without contact), I smeared shit up my back and into my hair. I plop the dress on the floor and hit the shower. It smells so fucking nasty in my bathroom, but I MUST wash this shit off me. I have a dreadful shower, trying to clean myself and clear the shit away from my urethra and vagina....all the while wondering if E-coli or fecal coliform are somehow being splashed into my most private of parts. I get out of the shower and throw my dress and bra in the tub. I trash my nylons and thong. I consider my sister's beautiful suede coat. I know she doesn't wear it in the snow or rain. What the fuck do I do? I'm not taking it to a dry cleaners so that I can explain that I SHIT on it. I think, "maybe it'll dry and no one will notice," but then I smell it. EWHHHHH!! So...what else can I do? I tossed it in the tub. Well, she can wear it in the rain NOW, I tell you.
So my little velvet dress, bra, and sister's coat are taking a bath right now. And the first thing I did after that was put on the biggest pair of white, cotton, full-seat, old fucking lady underpants because you never know when your ass is going to explode....you might need a place to hold it until you get home. And if ever again I need to shit in public, well, just get the fuck out of the bathroom if you don't like it, because I'm not wearing this shit home. Merry Christmas! Jeannie.
Came across this gem while browsing YouTube looking at videos of girls grinding their ass to music. Yep, Michael Crook is still an ass. Donít bother checking any of the links to a website he owns that he displays/talks about in the video, they donít work. -Mike H.
The black eye makes it funny. But anyway, all this sitting around with back pain gave me some extra time to contemplate this 2008 Presidential race. Deciding that I like neither candidate, I went into a few chat rooms and tossed my name out as a nominee, and what do you know -- things kind of took on a life of its own. So that's it. That's my offer. I'll run for President myself. Well, after the meeting anyway. It's an offer pending a meeting.
ten women who would have made better veep picks for mccain.
iconic los angeles film locations. from boogie nights all the way to less than zero
|September 3, 2008.|
Irony, Definition of.
[dramatic] irony Ė noun - irony that is inherent in speeches or a situation of a drama and is understood by the audience but not grasped by the characters in the play.
This past weekend, Jack Daniels goaded Andy into jumping into my pool ass first. Normally, this would be very entertaining, except Andy chose the shallow end of the pool for his little splashdown. In the war of human tailbone versus concrete pool, concrete always wins. This was most evident the next morning after he'd had a chance to sleep on it and the booze had time to wear off. And as I watched him get up from a chair, his wife lending an arm for support, I watched these firecrackers of pain dance across his face. Anyone that has ever injured their back knows exactly what I'm talking about. Slow, gentle movements punctuated by someone stabbing a dagger into your back for just a split second. face is normal, face is normal, face is normal, face is normal, FACE IS WINCING, face is normal, face is normal... Simply put, tweaking your back sucks.
I now find this ironic because I recall looking up at him and seeing the pain on his face, remember thinking to myself, "You poor son of a bitch, I remember what that's like and I sure don't miss it." Little did I know that about 48 hours later, it would be me with the grimaces of pain on my face.
You see, despite being eight years old, Ike is a playful little fucker. So in the morning when I'm working on the website update, he's constantly trying to jam his tennis ball in my lap, and I'm constantly telling him no. This continues until I post the initial update, and begin to go through it looking for errors, bad links, etc. When I do that, I call Ike up and sit him on my lap, thus signaling that playtime is almost here. When I'm done, he jumps down and its game on. But when he jumps down, I always try to hold onto him a little bit and slow his hump a little bit, a controlled fall if you will. Why? Hard tile floors, little doggie joints, I'm just trying to take it easy on the little guy.
Yesterday, Ike began his decent and like a hundred times in the past, I had a loose grip on his midsection following him down. But today held something a little different in store for me. Why, I dunno. I twisted a tiny bit to the right and the pain was both instantaneous and excruciating. It felt as if the devil himself had stuck his cock where my right kidney and right asscheek meet. It was the very same place the devil had stuck his cock two years prior when I reached for my bowling ball, and where he had stuck his cock three years prior to that, right after I rode my fucking ATV off the Grand Canyon. I yelped like a puppy who just bit his own tail. The sharp stabs of pain settled in as quickly as the realization that my next two weeks are completely fucked.
As I sit here typing to you I am sweating from the heating pad, nauseated from the vicodin, miserable from the pain, and dreading the next time I have to move anything below my shoulders. Somebody kill me.
sometimes red, sometiumes blue.
photos that changed the world. the world, man.
|September 2, 2008.|
Use Your Fucking Head, People.
If there's one thing I can't stand in this world, it's when celebrities get political. It's as if they they're saying because they make more money than I do, their opinion counts more than mine and that I should stop thinking for myself and adopt their ideals as my own. Tim Robbins, Sean Penn, Susan Sarandon, Martin Sheen, Janeane Garofalo, Bruce Springsteen, Chuck Norris, Bruce Willis, Curt Schilling, and of course Bono just to name a few. It drives me insane. Want to let your political views shape the world? Then run for office. Until then, shut the fuck up. I don't enjoy your movies or listen to your music or watch you throw a baseball to learn who you're voting for. I don't care who you're voting for. You vote for your guy, and I'll vote for mine. That's the way it's supposed to work. And it's the reason that I rarely if ever discuss politics here on EHOWA.
But if there's one thing I can't stand more than celebrities showboating their political views, it's the common man like you or me propogating out political misinformation. Chain letters. We all get em. And not to get sidetracked on why you shouldn't forward them out for spam control reasons, but there's a more important reason why you shouldn't send on that email about whether or not Obama puts his hand over his heart during the national anthem, or if McCain has a hundred houses. Because a they're filled with complete and utter bullshit. Flat out fabrications or intentional misrepresentations of the truth. Falsehoods. Snowjobs. Lies. Bullshit. And the ones that aren't complete bullshit, are so twisted and warped that they might as well be complete bullshit.
I had one chucklehead send me this link about how Obama repainted his plane, and the subject of the email was, "Patriot?" Are you kidding me? Do you actually extect me to believe that some people would challenge a person's patriotism because they painted over the tail of a leased jet? That's just asinine. Of course he had to paint over the American flag on the tail, it was a registered fucking trademark. Use your fucking head.
Then I had someone send me in this, detailing how Obama blew off a bunch of soldiers in a visit to Afghanistan. Stop for a second and think. Does it sound reasonable that a politician who is running for president, already accused of being light on military experience, would knowingly ignore a bunch of soldier (and potential voters) right in front of the press? Does that sound reasonable? of course it doesn't. I immediately wrote back to the sender and called bullshit. Sure enough, I was right. Not because I'm a genius -- which I am -- and not because I was there in Bagram and saw what really happened. But because much like the saying, "If it's too good to be true it probably is; If it sounds too sensational to be true, it probably is." Getting email like this makes me want to scream. I don't give a fuck who you're voting for -- just don't be a fucking sheep. So how do we protect ourselves from this? Easy. Use your fucking head.
But the Obama campaign isn't the only one to fall victim to the misinformation war, although to a much lesser degree. The latest gem to hit my inbox was something about proposed taxes. I'm sure many emails about Vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin are right around the corner, and I'm sure the small percentage of them that aren't flat out bullshit will be warped skews on the truth. Now, am I suggesting that snopes is the end-all-be-all of political information? Of course not. But those emails you people forward out surely are the end-all-be-all of political misinformation. Contrary to what some believe, just because you read it on the internet, doesn't make it true. Use your fucking head.
Ernie, I am a long time fan and supporter of LBEH for many reasons, but mostly for your take on current events and politics in general. To that end, I received a very disturbing e-mail from a lady I met a year ago in an airport and to whom I mistakenly gave my e-mail address. This is obviously a form letter that she tried to personalize before sending it out. The parts that scare me are the references to great education (check her spelling) and the need for taxes before Obama is even elected. My brothers and I are all curious to hear your thoughts. See below for the original text with no changes, and should you feel the need to publish this, please feel free to do so. Thanks for everything, Shane R. [nauseating email not posted because it contributed nothing]
Turn on the television. Read some newspapers. Listen to your candidates. Make an informed decision on your own, based upon the facts and not on some fictional email hyped up by some asshole with a vivid imagination and an empty coffee cup. If you're an Obama supporter, do your candidate this favor: don't forward out any anti-McCain bullshit. If you're for McCain, just delete those "Here's why Obama is a terrorist," emails. Because when the statements therein are are proved to be untrue, you only make your own team look stupid. So don't contribute to the stupidity. Don't perpetuate the bullshit and the lies. Try something new and use your fucking head.
The Space Shuttle Atlantis is scheduled to launch next month (October 8th), carrying new instruments, batteries and gyroscopes to the Hubble Space Telescope. This will be the final servicing mission to Hubble, the 30th flight of the 23-year old Atlantis, and one of the final 10 flights of the Space Shuttle program, which will be retired in 2010. Even though Shuttle launches may seem to have become commonplace, their preparation and execution is still a months-long process, requiring the work and diligence of thousands to make sure the aging, complex systems are all in perfect condition for launch. Here are some photos of the ongoing preparations for the launch of this mission, STS-125, some of the people involved in making it work, and the crew, who will assume the risks to help keep Hubble alive.
I know how much you love dogs and thought you might want to read this story. Steven
Love dogs as I may, I'll admit I snickered of the photo of Chai with his enormous tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth and the dumbfounded look on his face. So while yes, the design of the toy could be better, it's nothing that can't be fixed by some responsible pet ownership and a cordless drill. Speaking of dogs, first my house gets thumped on by a tropical storm named after my mom. Okay, no real harm done, that's cool. But now there's another storm brewing in the Atlantic, soon to be turning into a hurricane, and it's named after my dog, Ike. I can't sait to see the newspaper headlines on this one, "IKE TEARS INTO SOUTHWEST FLORIDA," or, "NOTHING BUT DESTRUCTION LEFT IN IKE'S WAKE." And hot on Ike's tail, is my sister-in-law, Josephine. Great. I knew I should have named my dog Elvis. There could never be a Hurricane Elvis.
And the winner in Box Dodge Fury is Tufrabza with a whopping 745.
east bound and down, snowman is 10-10 on the side -- so long jerry reed, we hardly knew ye.
anna gosline's recent article in new scientist, entitled "how does it feel to die?" got our hearts pumping...
four reasons why the yankees are done. or four reasons why i am estatic. a-rod sucks.
|September 1, 2008.|
Highlights Of Hollywood's Fall And Holiday Schedule.
Unfortunately, I saw Tropic Thunder yesterday. It's pretty sad when the highlights of the movie are the two minute snippets of Tom Cruise. I kid you not, he was the very smart high in an otherwise very stupid movie. I did like RDJr's line, "I'm a lead farmer, motherfucker!" Happy Labor Day, bitches!
APPALOOSA: Hired lawman (Viggo Mortensen and Ed Harris) take on a tough rancher (Jeremy Irons) in a Western directed by Harris. Renee Zellweger co-stars. -- I'm all over it like ants on ice cream.
BATTLE IN SEATTLE: Stuart Townsend directs girlfriend Charlize Theron in a drama about the 1999 World Trade Organization protests. -- Wow, this one sounds like it's going to be exciting. What a fucking sleeper.
THE LUCKY ONES: Iraq War vets adjust to changes on the homefront during an impromptu road trip. With Tim Robbins, Rachel McAdams and Michael Pena. -- I'm tempted, but I hate it when Tim Robbins gets all political.
PING PONG PLAYA: An Asian-American youth who has shunned his family's pingpong livelihood must step up and compete in a national tournament. -- This got the go ahead, and ynd yet we don't have Evil Dead IV yet. Are you fucking kidding me?
RIGHTEOUS KILL: Robert De Niro and Al Pacino are police detectives pursuing a vigilante serial killer. Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson co-stars. -- I dunno, the last time these two heavy hitters shared the same screen we had Heat.
SUKIYAKI WESTERN DJANGO: A gunman is caught up in a deadly battle between two clans in this Japanese take on spaghetti Westerns. With Quentin Tarantino. -- You had me at Quentin Tarantino.
SURFER, DUDE: A surfer (Matthew McConaughey) rides a wave of chaos in his life. With Woody Harrelson and Willie Nelson. -- Uh, huh.
TOWELHEAD: An Arab-American girl (Summer Bishil) copes with love, sex and acceptance amid the Gulf War. With Toni Collette, Aaron Eckhart and Maria Bello. -- I await CAIR's protests with tingling anticipation.
BODY OF LIES: A CIA man (Leonardo DiCaprio) goes after a terrorist kingpin while a crafty colleague (Russell Crowe) runs interference. Ridley Scott directs. -- I like it.
FLASH OF GENIUS: The engineer (Greg Kinnear) who invented intermittent windshield wipers obsesses on lawsuits after automakers swipe his idea. -- Seriously, they're going to make a movie about windshield wipers. Yay.
QUARANTINE: A news crew's video holds the key to the truth about a mysterious infection that strikes an apartment building in this horror tale. -- It's the closest thing we have to a zombie flick this year.
SAW V: If it's Halloween season, it must be time for another torture tale about diabolical killer Jigsaw. With Tobin Bell and Costas Mandylor. -- Anyone paying to see this should be drug out into the streets and shot. Let the fucking franchise die already.
SAW V: If it's Halloween season, it must be time for another torture tale about diabolical killer Jigsaw. With Tobin Bell and Costas Mandylor. -- Normally I shy away from politicasl flicks, but I like it.
AUSTRALIA: Nicole Kidman reunites with "Moulin Rouge" director Baz Luhrmann for the story of a noblewoman on a cattle drive in Australia during World War II. With Hugh Jackman. -- Hopefully this cattlewoman will have a 30-06 to blow my brains out before the opening credits.
REPO! THE GENETIC OPERA: Organ-donor recipients who can't make their payments face repossession in this horror-musical that features Paris Hilton. -- ????????????
TRANSPORTER 3: Jason Statham is back on the job as the ex-Special Ops guy who's now the world's most-dangerous delivery man. -- The original kicked ass, the sequel sucked ass. So let's see.
HURRICANE SEASON: In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, a coach (Forest Whitaker) leads a ragtag basketball team to the Louisiana state championships. -- Hey look, a built in sequel is in the works!
PUNISHER: WAR ZONE: The Marvel Comics vigilante (Ray Stevenson) is himself a target for vengeance by a crime boss. -- I loved Ray Stevenson in Rome, so I'm all over it like ants on a popsicle stick.
YES MAN: A guy (Jim Carrey) whose life has stagnated turns it around with a just-say-yes policy about everything. -- Hmmm, Liar-Liar II. [see the entire list]
bored on your day off? sit around and watch new orleans get beat to hell, live on webcam.
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