Dallas Republican
black turtleneck
go figure

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Seduced by the dark side...

Sorry blogging is light/slow today (and probably will be tomorrow as well). I've been working on chipstah!'s evil twin (the new site), so the free moments I usually spend blogging have been spent trying to master the intricacies of MoveableType, Javascript, and CSS stylesheets. Happy, happy, joy, joy.

The site should go live early next week, and you should be happy with the results: pages that load in real time instead of geologic time (if at all), the return of comments, and permalinks that actually work.

If you have a free moment, please go visit my blogfather and my blogmother, who've done the real heavy lifting with the upcoming switch. I'm very grateful, of course, and you should be too -- they're readers like you who like my stuff, but hated the balky wait... and decided to do something about it. Their blogs are pretty darn good, too.

Infernal affairs

W over at Merde In France is quite astonished that my sources were able to pinpoint his location during this week's public-transit strikes in Paris. He's even threatening to call in "Internal Affairs" on me. W writes that the French slang for IA is boeuf-carrottes au cul, having to do with roasting bad guys slowly until they talk, sort of like a stew.

I'm glad W explained this, because my literal high-school translation of "boeuf-carrottes au cul" led me me to think of the problems French ad agencies are having with media placement:

sent in by FootballBatJim

And don't worry about my spies, Dooble-Vay. They're just doing their job. To paraphrase James Bond's "M", "Unlike the CIA, we prefer not to get our news from CNN."


In other news from the nation of fromage (cheese, but snootier), French authorities have awarded a medal to arrested a Moroccan wanted in connection with the 9/11 attacks.

Somewhat strange, as many Frenchmen believe George Bush, Jews, Norwegians, and possibly the Klingons were to blame for 9/11, not al-Qaeda. But then, I never can quite identify with the French tendency toward existentialism and deconstruction as literary motifs.

Rollin', rollin', rollin'...

DF over at Sketches of Strain is saying some very nice things about this here blog, even resorting to quoting Confucius:
The truly wise are of cheerful demeanor
DF also wonders how I can wear a black turtleneck and still survive Texas summers. That's easy. Covered parking, air conditioning, and Shiner Bock. Lots of Shiner Bock.

New York state of mind

I got bored with Andrew Sullivan's jihad against the New York Times a months ago (thought he was stating the obvious), but thankfully he stuck with it, because he was right. The victorious Mr. Sullivan also alerts us to the wider threat to our culture and our nation:
mercurial, power-crazy Southern liberals
Howell Raines isn't the only one. I can think of one or two, and I'm sure you can as well.

Insider trading, perhaps, but always tastefully done

Martha, Martha, Martha. When your brand's essence partly rests on setting a level of anal-retentive perfection that makes every other woman in America feel like a complete failure, the trip downhill can be very quick.

You da man

Geoffrey Allen, blogfather (birth expected in 5-7 days)


Startling evidence out today from multiple sources that Hillary Rodham Clinton is switching sides and joining the Republican Party. On the floor of the U.S. Senate, she is arguing, even screaming, that the President's tax cuts don't go far enough:
"We need to fix this and fix it fast... basically, it's devaluing their children and their life."
And in her new book out this week, she reveals what she really thought about her husband's two terms as President:
I could hardly breathe. Gulping for air, I started crying and yelling at him, 'What do you mean? What are you saying? Why did you lie to me?'

I was dumbfounded, heartbroken and outraged that I'd believed him at all... nothing but profound sadness, disappointment and unresolved anger. I could barely speak to Bill, and when I did, it was a tirade.
Some Hillary critics remain angry with Senator Clinton in spite of her joining the vast right-wing conspiracy, including real-world Terminatrix of the right Ann Coulter:
We can hope that she has protected at least some American women from Bill Clinton's rapine sexuality.
and the academic world's answer to Xena: Warrior Princess, Camille Paglia:
I don't care about her sado-masochistic marriage. Anyone who stays married to an infantile, drooling, serial groper deserves what she gets.
Janeane Garofalo, blissfully unaware of historical reality as ever, remains loyal to the junior Senator from New York in spite of her switch of allegiance:
That's her business. It's not our concern.... It's the type of thing that changes the subject from Hillary's achievements... she could absolutely be president if she so desires.
More on this story as it develops.

Say what?

Updating the list of interesting search queries that have led some folks here. Starting with the understandable:
Villepin poetry
Matrix cursing
Porn star guru
The baffling:
Topless gymnasts bouncing
The title of either an animé DVD or Frank J's next opus:
Primal force baboon
And the intriguing:
Kiran Chetry smoking
Several hits from this one. Evidently there is a rumor going around the web that Fox News anchor Kiran Chetry is a fairly intense smoker. I couldn't find any corroboration for this, just rumors, so I don't have the answer or a link.

I do, however, know that Kiran Chetry was separated at birth from Alyssa Milano.

from left: Kiran, Alyssa, Celebrity (not Kiran or Alyssa) smoking.

Circulation: French for traffic

As always, President Bush finds a way to confound his critics. While some G8 leaders criticized him for leaving the summit early, it turns out that Dubya was simply avoiding snarled traffic.

No word yet as to whether suspected Frenchman and capitalist tool "W" of Merde In France is speeding down Paris' now-deserted bus lanes, lighting big cigars with 20-Euro notes, and laughing like hell at the strikers.

No word, either, on how this national crisis impacts the French government's post-G8 round of state-sponsored cocaine-fueled hooker-staffed S&M orgies commissioned by leading anti-pornography crusaders (and you thought Bill Bennett was having a tough time of it).

Akira Kurosawa on diplomacy

Hopefully "W" from Merde In France is reading this, because something is getting lost in the translation from Français to English with these comments. Canadian PM Jean "John" Chretien, on healing transatlantic wounds at the G8 summit:
The fact that we met to chit chat and discuss is very useful," he said. "The past is the past, is the motto. Let's look at the future."
French Président and confirmed Weasel Jacques "Strap" Chirac, on the same gathering:
"We haven't changed our view. The Security Council mostly followed us because it did not give a green light to the American action," he said, describing the war as `'illegitimate and illegal."

"I did not approve and I still don't, and I said this yesterday to President Bush"
8 participants, 8 interpretations, 8 different stories, leaving the viewer to decide who is right and wrong in a masterpiece of Japanese storytelling...

No wonder Dubya got the heck out of Dodge a day early.

When the cat's away, the mice will play

On Monday, with President Bush at the meeting, the G8 leaders called on North Korea and Iran to end their nuclear programs, with the threat of "if necessary, other means" than diplomacy and sanctions if the dastardly duo ignore the civilized world.

"Plan on track, bad guys warned, problem solved. That's the way we do things in Texas. Gotta run take care of this Palestinian thing. See ya, Jacques, wouldn't want to be ya."

But on Tuesday, with Dubya long gone, Chirac reverted to type:
This interpretation seems extraordinary daring. There was never a question of using force against anyone in any way.
Warmly familiar in a bad way, sort of like finding an old pair of running shoes in the back of the closet that still smell like an old pair of running shoes.

Which brings to mind the question: if military action is not the "if necessary, other means", then what is a suitably fearsome "big stick" in the French mind to accompany the "soft walk" of diplomacy? Some possibilities:
* Locking the mullahs and Kim Jong Elvis in a room while Dominique "Wilkins" de Villepin reads them his entire 800-page book of poetry and philosophy

* Telling them to go away, or we shall taunt them a second time

* Signing lucrative business deals with the dictators involved; that'll teach 'em a lesson they won't soon forget

* Dispatching crack squads of French city dwellers to parachute into their capital cities with their dogs, thereby effectively carpet-bombing them with doggy-doo, making no distinction between military and civilian targets... just like Paris!

* Hiring Woody Allen to go on TV and lecture them about why they're wrong

* Fetchez la vache!

* Playing screechy Edith Piaf albums really loud (hey, it works for the 3rd ID)

* Inviting them to one of those Dominique Baudis parties, but acting like you didn't invite them when they show up at the door, so that the bouncer is forced to push them around a bit and maybe even call the cops

* Smoking lots of cigarettes, even between courses of meals, and don't really care where you blow the smoke

* Using advanced EU space technology to jam their TV broadcasts to play nothing but French TV (you know, Jerry Lewis and Madonna movie marathons)

* Acting all superior and stuff
Of course, Japan was also in on this little switcheroo, so there might have been some other "alternate means" in mind to back up the strong words:
* Air-dropping millions of "Hello Kitty" and "Winnie the Pooh" "female massagers" randomly across the country to corrupt their women

* Using advanced Sony technology to jam their televisions so that they show nothing but cartoons involving weird robots, irritatingly shrill children and big-eyed adult women clad in schoolgirl outfits for no apparent reason

* Cutting off their supply of white Toyota pickup trucks (the jihadi version of OJ's Bronco)

* Shaming them

* Blockading their borders and cooking supplies, thereby forcing them to eat nothing but seaweed and raw fish out of tiny lacquer boxes
Oh, wait, strike that last one, those are my lunch plans for Friday for Amy's birthday.

If none of that works, maybe the French should consider sending over an elite squad of mutant pirate cyborg monkey zombies. While certainly evil, they still fall into a grey area of international law. The Geneva convention expressly forbids elite mutant pirate cyborg monkeys, but remains very quiet on the subject of their undead zombie counterparts.

Cowboy up

From Australia, somewhere west of El Paso, Tim Blair warns us that London's Guardian newspaper "has dared to mess with Texas":
Mr Chirac cannot expect to be invited to the Texas ranch any time soon, as Mr Putin was. This may be seen as a blessing in disguise. Texan cuisine is robust, rather than haute. And its red wine is still in the early stages of development.
Rather ironic, being chided about cuisine from a country that refers to something called "spotted dick" as a national dish, as opposed to a very urgent reason to visit a urologist.

Don't mess with Texas, pardner. We may not have your Merlot around these here parts, but we do happen to have more armed pickup trucks than the armed forces of the entire European Union combined.

Mental note

Remember to cuddle.

New epidemic: idiocy

It's probably not a good idea to tie one on at Hooters while you've got custody of your three-month-old for the weekend.

Kate has evidence that the virus is spreading beyond the Democratic Party.

In a recession, you've gotta sell!!!

No gold prizes at this year's D&AD International Advertising Awards in London.

You mean to tell me that this didn't win a D&AD?

Some Europeans must still be bitter about the war, I guess.

Gone to (East) Carolina in my mind

While blogfather Geoffrey may enjoy my site, my #1 fan*, FootballBat Jim, wrote in today to express his disappointment that my only post about the Eric Rudolph saga was a link to Kelley's story about living in Atlanta while the bombs were going off. After all, FootballBatJim notes, there is a North Carolina connection in all this, too, and North Carolina is our homeland.

When the rest of you think of North Carolina, you probably think of two things: Mayberry and basketball. The basketball part, with great universities and office parks, and Mayberry, with Sherriff Andy, Deputy Fife, and folks who tend to keep voting Jesse Helms back into office just because it's fun to scare the hell out of the Yankees.

Jim and I grew up in Mayberry. This Eric Rudolph thing has me worried that you might think that's us. It isn't. Yes, Murphy, where Rudolph the Lizard-Eating Terrorist was nabbed, is in small-town North Carolina. And there were rednecks there who put signs in their windows, Forrest Gump-like, encouraging the evil man to "Run, Rudolph, Run" (as opposed to the Chuck Berry Christmas song, "Run, Run, Rudolph").

But that wasn't where we grew up. You see, the "basketball" part is in the middle of North Carolina, and the "Mayberry" parts are located east and west of those larger cities named after cigarette brands. So there are two Mayberrys (or is it Mayberries): the charming sun-kissed pastoral coast, and the dark, forbidding, evil mountains, where Eric Rudolph hid for years.

Jim and I are from the East.

To help the rest of you understand, here's a brief guide to telling the difference between the two rural thirds of North Carolina:
Famous fugitives from justice
Eastern NC: Blackbeard the Pirate
Western NC: Eric "Grizzly" Rudolph

Barbecue sauce
Eastern NC: Vinegar-based, with spices, as nature intended
Western NC: Some sort of heathen mixture based on Heinz 57

Local sporting legends
Eastern NC: Michael Jordan
Western NC: Richard Petty

Evil drug produced locally
Eastern NC: Tobacco
Western NC: Moonshine

Funky bohemian subculture
Eastern NC: Surfers on Hatteras and Wrightsville Beach
Western NC: Asheville artist communes

Rendezvous with greatness
Eastern NC: Wright brothers' first flight, 1903
Western NC: Dirty Dancing filmed there, 1987

Evening fun
Eastern NC: Beach music, margaritas, maybe even an oyster roast or a pig-pickin', depending on the season
Western NC: Squealing like a pig

* And why is FootballBatJim is my number one fan? Well, he reads my blog every day. He sends me cool pictures and stories that I can write about when I don't have a clue. He tells stories better than I can. Most importantly, he's a lifelong friend and a fun drinking buddy from my wilder youth. Heck, FootballBatJim's name comes from some of those escapades: "How f***ed up do you think things will get on this trip, Jim?" "More f***ed up than a football bat, Chipstah!" And so we did. Good times, great friend.

** Two words for you ladies who may want to replace FootballBatJim as my #1 fan: topless photos. I'm sure he'd understand.

Orange alert

David at Sketches of Strain has warned me that he will be quoting me sometime soon. Remain vigilant.


Geoffrey Allen is one of the nicest people out there. We've traded e-mails and links since we started blogging a couple of months back, and now he's helping me get my own website away from this place so that he (and the rest of you) don't have to wait so long for the page to load (plus working permalinks, comments and all the other bells and whistles that I've heard folks mumbling about). The kindness of strangers has always amazed me, but today is one of the most amazing of those days.

Great guy. And a pretty great blog, too. Thanks again!

Welcome, IMAO readers! Who needs linkage from certain "Tennessee-based puppy-blending, devil-worshipping, hobo-murdering, robot-dancing Communist tools" when you've got Frank! The "link of the day" post is here, and the movie post is here. And if the permalinks don't work, just scroll down. Yeah, I'm a Mac guy; yeah, I'm STILL on Blog*Spot; we can't all work in sexy fields like electrical engineering like Frank. Some of us have to toil in the boring, mundane, humdrum spice mines of the advertising world.

To boldly go where Hans Blix says it's OK to go

The EU launched a Mars probe today. Interesting. Europe has a space program? Sure, they've got that Ariane rocket thingy we sometimes rent to loft HBO satellites into orbit when NASA's dance card is full, but a real program? To other planets and stuff?

Come on. I mean, this is the land of Blix, de Villepin, Schroeder, et al.; if they don't have the cojones to deal with evil a few hundred miles away (or even right next door in Bosnia), how in the heck are they going to explore the universe?
The countdown is on hold at T-minus-30 seconds, and will remain on hold until Monsieur Blix returns with another interim report in six weeks. And even then, we probably will still remain on hold until the final report is issued, debated and revised, the revisions are debated and approved and published, as according to the rules of international law, unlike certain English-speaking Jethro-oriented countries we could mention.

That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for TotalFinaElf.

Marseilles, we have a problem. Problem? Well, that is
your problem, Monsieur, with your legacy of hegemony and capitalism. We live in a multi-polar world now, and while you think you may need help, there is a majority of people around the world who do not agree with you. Oh, wait, attendez un moment, you're a European spacecraft, very sorry. We will refer your suggestion to Brussels, where a blue-ribbon commission will be formed to study it at a top-level summit in Cannes next summer. Quoi? You have three days of oxygen left? Well, you should have thought to have brought more, I think, and you have just missed an excellent opportunity to shut up and learn from your betters.

Mars? Who cares about that sh**ty little planet except for Americans and Jews?

Klingons off the port bow, Captain. Raise shields and arm photon torpedoes? No, let's think about this... how can we be sure they are Klingons? And if they are, wouldn't defending ourselves merely reinforce the cycle of violence and prolong the imperialist legacy others have created? Klingon ship is arming phasers, sir, preparing to fire. And what of the totally legitimate dilithium contract TotalFinaElf has signed with the Klingons? Klingon ship is firing sir. Yes, but would those contracts not give us the leverage to exert a positive, more subtle and nuanced... boom.
Europeans in space? If this is the same crowd who gave us the "Force de Frappucino" and whose aircraft carrier can't go more than 20 miles from port without the propeller falling off, I'll believe it when I see it.

According to Kelley, this thing is for real, and she even has a link to the webcast.

Political branding

Quick! Right now, without looking anywhere else, try to name the Democratic presidential candidates in 30 seconds. Hint: Dominique "Wilkins" de Villepin and Janeane Garofalo are not candidates. Neither are Susan Sarandon or Barbara Streisand. Bonus hint: there are nine of them. Extra bonus hint: Hillary Clinton isn't, at least not yet. No, really. Yes, it's a fact, you can look it up.

OK, go!

No cheating!

Here's how I did, in the order they came to mind: Al Sharpton, John Kerry, Dick Gephardt, Joe Lieberman, Howard Dean, Dennis Kucinich, John Edwards, Carol Mosely-Braun, and, um, um, that Florida guy. OK, the ex-Senator Graham, who was kind of for the war. I keep wanting to say Lindsey, but he's the Senator from South Carolina who took Strom's place in the Senate. Let's just call him "Biff". Pretty good, but not perfect.

It's June, 2003, you say? Too early to know, you say? Poppycock. They've been out there raising money and nattering away on the talk shows, so we should have a clue about them by now. Only took four months from Clinton's announcement to us learning way more about him than we wanted to know, so we're even cutting them some slack.

Since I'm into branding, here's my take on the brands created so far for the nine candidates to date. And just to make it as true to the way most Democrats think, I'm going to do this by falling back on solely what I think about them already without any research, based on the random bits and pieces that have registered in my mind via the media:
Al Sharpton: Two words: Tawana Brawley. At least he's no longer wearing the track suits and Mr. T bling-bling, You get the feeling that if he ever won the presidency, he'd turn to someone and ask, "Holy s***! What do we do now?" If this country were really serious about boycotting France, we'd just co-opt Al to head it up. All we'd have to do is tell him what the French are actually doing in Africa.

John Kerry: Ketchup money, Boston, Vietnam, regime change, asshat, the nominee, looks like a very well-preserved mummy just before they wrap it. At least he's almost lifelike, which is a big improvement from Al "Night of the Living Dead (In Cinemascope, with EARTH TONES!)" Gore.

Dick Gephardt: "The beings on my home planet are very similar to you Earthlings, but we evolved beyond the need for eyebrows thousands of years ago." Rust Belt. Union flack. Trade war. Depression of '06.

Joe Lieberman: Wake up, WAKE UP!!!!!!!! Sleepy the dwarf. Droopy dog. Nyquil. Sominex. Only candidate who appears to live his faith.

Howard Dean: Ben and Jerry's. Granola. Make that whole wheat toast, since he said we needed to be nicer to creepy foreigners because we might not have the strongest military in the world one day. Not while Bush is president. Or living. Or in my lifetime, for that matter.

Dennis Kucinich: Wanna-be Dean. Wanna-be Paul Wellstone. Ohio. What the hell is a "Buckeye", anyway? The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland was pretty cool. Springer was a mayor there somewhere. Drew Carey. Oh, Kucinich? Why is it that I can spell this man's name correctly without checking?

John Edwards: From North Carolina, so he can't be all bad. But he is. Biggest fund-raiser. Trial lawyer. Can't watch him without that picture of a 16-year-old Clinton shaking JFK's hand popping into my head. The 16-year-old boy, not the President.

Carol Mosely-Braun: African-American. Woman. Not Sharpton. African-American. Woman. Not Sharpton. African-American. Woman. Not Sharpton. Senator. Jesse Helms used to hum the song "Dixie" whenever the two shared an elevator.

"Biff" Graham: For the war, and not in a wuss-like way like the rest of the candidates, either. Senator. Florida. Vice Presidential candidate, just to make sure Florida doesn't repeat itself this time around. STILL can't remember his first name. Howard? Bill? Jeff? Skippy? Orlando? Ramón? Yoshihiro? Heinrich? Giuseppe? Scooter? Boutros-Boutros? Jean-Luc? Obi-Wan?
Not good at all. And just to make it clear how desperate the Dems' prospects really are, at this point in 1999, we already knew about Dubya's record, policy positions, and even the alleged running around in his youth.

Analysis: in 2004, the DNC won't be clamoring for a recount, they'll be yelling for a do-over.

Daily deadline

Silly me. I've been writing about and linking to the Pamela Anderson "Pillow Fight" sequel to the "Catfight" ad for two months now, and it is only hitting the actual airwaves now. No, not on Fox News, silly; try ESPN SportsCenter. Remember, one third of "Democracy! Whiskey! Sexy!" is SEXY!

Cleveland nerve pinch

Separated at birth: Dennis Kucinich and Mr. Spock! Sad that only one of them got the logic gene, though.

Cinema verité

Remember my post last week about Woody Allen as the spokesperson for French tourism in America? (Well, then, click here or just scroll down to the post titled "Publicité", featuring a picture of a carrot and a woman on two adjacent billboards, you'll know it when you see it)

It's for real. Details and a wickedly funny fisking of it over at Misha's place.

Big angry dogs, deadly slithering serpents. Makes me wonder -- if we on the right tend to name our blogs after vicious beasts, then do leftie bloggers name theirs after cuddly teddy bears, unicorns, and other sickeningly sweet animals by way of contrast? Just musing.

Blogrolling really works!

I had heard about this Carnival of the Vanities thing, but never looked at it for some reason (no, I don't know why, momentary brain freeze, perhaps) until the crew over at Common Sense and Wonder blogrolled me. The Carnival... what a great idea for highlighting interesting blogs! Pretty good blog producing it, too. Have to love any site that features a P.J. O'Rourke quote up on the masthead:
"Whatever it is that government does, sensible Americans would prefer that the government do it to someone else. This is the idea behind foreign policy."
And a timely one as well.

Longtime (in 'net time) correspondent D.F. now has a new blog out as well. Smart guy, and he's in Athens, Georgia, so you know he's got to be up on the music thing. Athens is Chapel Hill, but with better football and worse basketball. Can't have it all.

WWF Smackdown in Watertown postgame

Lots of stories about the summit, here, here, here and here.

Unfortunately, none of them has any news about the President putting Jacques "Le Mad Weasel" Chirac in a full Nelson or doing the piledriver off the ropes with him. Pity.

Even more of a pity that Dubya was too cool to make frowny faces at our "allies" in public. Frowning duty fell to Tony Blair:

There's a reason why he's the only Socialist most of us will ever admire.

The French did not neglect their duties as gracious hosts, though, and did provide us with a little red meat. Not a lot, and certainly not enough to fill a bowl (just checking to see if any of the Dallas crew from Saturday night were reading this), unfortunately, but an FDA-approved portion of red meat nonetheless:
"I have no doubt whatsoever that the multipolar vision of the world that I've discussed many times is supported by a large majority of countries in the world."
Jackie, we know the dictators like you. You don't have to keep bringing it up. It isn't helping.
Chirac hugged or embraced many other participants, including U.N. chief Kofi Annan and leaders of a dozen developing nations he had invited to give the "rich men's club" an alternative view of the planet's economic development needs.
Only an embrace? Rather chaste, considering what your buddy Dominique "Wilkins" de Villepin was doing under the table four months ago.

With the U.S. fighting for free trade and actually doing something about AIDS in Africa, what, pray tell, is the "alternative view"? Even more kickbacks to Third World despots from TotalFinaElf? What IS their slogan, again? TotalFinaElf: Chaque Fois, Un Reach-Around?
Chirac said that he nevertheless "met with President Bush in a very positive manner, looking at possible solutions to the problems we've encountered."
As long as those solutions don't involve anything actually being done or anything that might conceivably benefit the United States, of course, because, hey, it's a multipolar vision of le monde.

Bench-warmer stuff, really, though. I expected more from the French. Something like not giving Bush a chair to sit in until he demonstrates where the WMD are right now, letting Michael Moore sit in Bush's chair after Bush left early, or not serving Dubya in the buffet line until he refers to les frites as FRENCH fries, but no dice on any of it. Freakin' diplomats. No fun.

At least it wasn't on pay-per-view; then I would have really felt ripped off.

To protect and serve

Now that the Slutpublican party has faded away, the venomous (but strangely warm-blooded) Kate has tapped me to serve as Presidential Image Guru/Strategist of the rival Slutertarian Party. I asked her to change my title to Secretary of Public Exposure, but I haven't heard back yet. Something about vodka and #$%&! RSS feeds and OPML files, whatever the heck they are.

A world of laughter, a world of tears

Turns out that Kelley and I lived about a mile apart in Atlanta a few years ago.

Which means we were both there for all the bombings. She has a great post on what it felt like to be in an American city touched by terror years before 9/11. So great, in fact, that I can't think of much that I would add.

I also agree that Eric Rudolph should fry. Terrorists are terrorists. Muslim, Christian, fundamentalist, whatever, evil is evil, and should be dispatched quickly and publicly. Pour encourager les autres.

Two-fisted PETA action

One man's stand for grocery store free-range lobsters.

The logic flaw in this argument is quite obvious, since the lobsters' next destination is a pot of boiling water. But the prospect of suburban shoppers being forced to battle giant clawed crustaceans in the meat section of Tom Thumb is rather amusing.

The Condi Strikes Back

Episode II of IMAO's epic saga In My World: Black Project Insano is out. Lintuvia is no more (there goes my trip to Hawai'i), Empress Condi reveals her plans, Buck the Marine finds himself on another world, Laura Bush does the laundry, Michael Moore gets eaten (a definite change of pace for him), and the Fox Reporter puts her clothes back on, sadly. Choice quotes:
"I hear ya, Buck. This is the president of the United States, George Dubya, but, as long as we're using the radio, refer to me by my CB handle: Porn Star."

"Empress Condoleezza! All shall love me and despair!" She then paused for a second. "I mean, all worlds will be united under the protection of the U.S.A.," she said meekly, sitting back down.

"That... that is the craziest thing I've ever heard. Who, by the way, told you such a crazy thing, because I would like to meet that person and say, 'Hey, you're one silly person.'"

"Has France the technology to appease evil dictators in alternate dimensions?"

"Greetings, alien creatures," Buck responded, "I am Buck the Marine from the planet America. I come in peace, but, as you see, I am well armed in case non-peace breaks out."
Great stuff. Read the whole thing.

If we're turning the column into a movie, then we've gotta have a video game (I'm partial to PS2, but Frank loves his Gamecube, so we'll go there first). And I think we've found the right guys to write it.

Alert readers have suggested that Frank over at IMAO may have lifted the term "cyborg ninja monkey zombies" from a post I did last week about Al-Qaeda threats to the US involving squads of "elite mutant ninja cyborg pirate commando monkeys" that even linked to IMAO.

Well, I know Frank has read this blog at least once, but in these days of real screwiness in the major media (click here for extreme detail), I prefer to think of this as coincidence at best, "inspiration" at worst.

As Frank would probably tell you himself if he ever answered his e-mail, there is also a tremendous difference between his "cyborg ninja monkey zombies" and my "elite mutant ninja cyborg pirate commando monkeys".

Sure, both are cyborg monkeys, and mistaking one for the other is a common mistake. But Frank's creatures are zombies, the very definition of the walking dead, while mine are alive. Mine are elite mutants, while Frank's are just your run of the mill average everyday cyborg ninja monkey zombies, not special forces types.

The "ninja" descriptor is a bit misleading. As readers of The Official Ninja Webpage are already aware, ninjas are the ultimate paradox. On the one hand, they don't give a crap, but on the other, ninjas are very careful and precise. But I digress.

Ninja cognoscenti are also aware that ninjas and pirates are also sworn enemies, even if (perhaps especially if) the pirate has lasers and everything. So two of the descriptors of my evil monkeys, ninja and pirate, cancel each other out.

Which begs the deeper philosophical issue: in a fight, who would win? Frank's cyborg ninja monkey zombies or my my elite mutant cyborg commando monkeys? Look for the answer on an upcoming very special episode of PBS' "Nova", brought to you by a grant from the Mobil Corporation, the Chubb Group, and the financial support of viewers like you who respond to free totebag offers like Pavlov's dog.

The meds are kicking in nicely; thanks for asking!

Embrace the suck

Sounds like Monica Lewinsky has another job lined up after "Mr. Personality" ends.

Acid reflux

If you don't blog, you probably don't care about this, but I felt the need to comment. "Acidman" is quitting blogging. Bitterness serves no one and corrodes everything it touches, so good riddance to "Acidman"'s mean-spirited, unthinking, foul-mouthed rubbish (details here and here). This is supposed to be fun, and life is just too darn short to be as consumed by hate and envy as Acidman seems to be. Kate has proven herself to be a good person and a friend, and she rocks. The end.