Il Papa Benedict nee Ratzinger officially resigned today, pulled the plug, stuffed a potato in the exhaust pipe, put in his two weeks, took a curtain call, grabbed the gold Prada watch. First Pope to resign since the era where the Pope was the dude in the pocket of the most kings. Lesson there, somewhere. He pledged obedience to the next Il Papa (not hard since he appointed most of his likely successors). He will spend the rest of his days speaking to the best lawyers somewhat unlimited euro can buylunching with Donatello Versace in prayerful contemplation. B-e-n-n-n-n-y-y-y. We don't for-g-e-e-e-t. Looking forward to meeting you-u-u-u-u.
NSFAnyone, angrish, you've been warned. Gate Pause:
There are days I wish there was a hell, just for these jackals. Are you fucking kidding me? This fucking fat fucker fundamentalist backward bastard piece of fucking fuck, useless yapping goddamn racist pigfucker! (para) "The Voting Rights Act is a racial entitlement." Those poor, put-upon southern whites, overrun by hordes of urbans. Inuits terrorizing Alaskans at the polls.The illegal Mexipeople who put that dreadful Latina Jan Brewer into the AZ governatorship a second term, forcing chalupas on helpless retirees. Choke on a bag of salted burning dicks, goddam Godfather wannabe Opus Dei fuckstick rancid-egg sucking hack! I HATE THESE BASTARDS. HATE. THESE. BASTARDS. GAH!!!
In an intimate, intellectual conversation about music (before it degenerated into random personal abuse) at Zombie's place, The Pogues entered my brain (due to a video containing one Mr. Shane McGowan, who looks great, barely 4-5 days dead.) At work, and near coma on my feet because I am ambitious, therefore stupid, I was trying to do tasks not requiring open panels and so had some thoughts running about. When I was in college, I had opportunity to study in Scotland, not properly an exchange program, but an American program in a manor house near Edinburgh, and it was good, I never considered myself to be particularly close-minded, midwest small city, insular, but I really got a chance to see a bit. I had either zero, or thirteen, majors at the time, so it wasn't going to cost me time*. While Scotland was at the time not my first choice for travel, it had always fascinated me (being German, that was firstest, but while I got a few days there on spring break during my semester in Scotland, I haven't really done the Deutsche thing, not like Sweetie anyhow, or my parents. Poop.) After all, castles, The Quest For The Holy Grail, Hound of the Baskervilles (I know, not Scotland, but tell a 12 year old moors, and his mind goes to Scotch kilts), HIGHLANDER. (Please note, for the record, that no one, living, has any idea what accent Christopher Lambert actually has. I suspect Tagalog.) I went. Ten days after Lockerbie. paleo had never been on an airliner. The airliner had never had a passenger as cowardlytortureddarkly and dashingly good looking freaked as paleo, and the seat in front had to be replaced due to indelible fingerprints put there upon takeoff, turbulence, serving of chicken marwhatsit, and such, until international airspace had been reached and drinks were served to those under legal drinking age. Guaranteeing that my first experience of Heathrow would be, ummm, 'fuzzy'. The manor was very cool, large walled-in grounds. There was a royal room that had been used by previous monarchs. The royal room, the Queen's room, had an anteroom for attendants (with a 'hidden' door to the Queen's room), supposedly haunted (the estate was on the British Registry of Haunted Places, so I was thoroughly geeked out. The houseman demonstrated that his dogs would not go through the passage - and there were a few good ghost stories that came out of our semester. W00t! Of course, my friends and I, being the only people open to ghosts in the first place, and up at all hours, particularly in the library, both sober and somewhat-less-than, didn't see shit. GODDAMMIT.) I got my ear pierced for the first time. Having imbibed a three liter bottle of Strongbow strong cider, and having been convinced - "C'mon paleo, don't be a wuss. Just imagine a bowling ball being yanked through your penis. That's giving birth, you wimp!"
- by several wonderful female friends,
they took advantage of my reflexively protecting my junk to hold two icecubes on my ear lobe, heat a safety pin with a lighter, and poink. Of course, within 3 weeks my ear had turned black, and as punk as it looked, I had to take it out. (I got it pierced again, properly, the next semester, impressing the hell out of my dad, not in a no-son-of-mine way, but more of a what-an-idiot way.)
There were pubs aplenty. I grew up in a brewery town, La Crosse WI, and had investigated the effect of Special Export Light, in quantity and on a minor. I liked it, very much so, and as such, heavy ale and scotch were acquired tastes. It was probably a bad sign that I was to acquire it so readily. (I don't drink beer much anymore, diabetes sucks, but boy do I like Scotch. If I ever get enough readers to put up a wish list, memorize the words Glen Morangie.)
The back 40 of the estate, actually, the back several hundred (acres), was old growth, with a stream, we called it the Magic Forest. For a kid who'd spent a decade playing D&D, wanting to be Thorin Oakenshield (don't judge - I was always a huge fan of the dwarves, huge appetites for life), watching every version of Robin Hood, it was Lothlorien. Also on the grounds was a small adventure course, like a strenuous obstacle course, included a zipline. I am not now, nor have I ever been, especially skinny - converting my weight in pounds to the old english measurement, stones, became a number that may have led me to my degree in geology - but on the zipline I was able to test certain theories of physics, and was quite surprised. The immediate acceleration and the low tension on the line itself resulted in my ass hitting the ground much harder than I expected. On this trip to the UK I went to Dublin for St. Patrick's Day. It is not like the big city green beer vomitfests we've become accustomed to, but they do have their fun. This was during a flareup of the troubles, and Belfast port (the ferry from Glasgow) was crawling with very young, very heavily armed British soldiers. There was a car bombing in Newry that, in retrospect, was within a couple hours after our going past the tracks. None of this affected us (I was with a friend on this road trip) as much as the young lady we met on the ferry back to Glasgow. Very nice, a hairstyle that appeared as though a Pittsburgh Paints factory exploded, enough piercings to make a 19 year old boy v-e-e-r-r-y curious, Irish accent. We were hitting it off rather nicely until we got off the ferry, going through security, I was searched, she was skipped, my friend was searched. As we escaped earshot of the customs station, she exhaled, speaking quickly "Thank God, I've got a bunch of speed for my boyfriend..." Um. Are you frakkin' crazy, lady, gonna get us deported-arrested-beaten like a redheaded stepchild? I can laugh, in retrospect, but holy shit. I took a second trip to Scotland in my senior year, made it a two-week spring break, and those credit cards just seemed to show up in the mail as we needed them, so there we go. Drove from Edinburgh to John O'Groats, slept in the parking lot of Castle Urquart and was not digested by some ancient beastie, merely snowed on a little. One of the mighty travelers had decided to eat every cheese in the Cheese Shop sketch, only learning in the middle of a night that cheeses are often packaged in wax, when the first slice seemed to lack a little something. From John O'Groats we determined to drive to Land's End, I don't recall if we made it but we did reach the SW seaside of England. Many back roads in the UK, especially in No. Scotland, are single lane, with turnouts for two cars meeting. It was a one of these turnouts that I introduced a Royal Mail truck driver to the worldly and sophisticated ways of an American, who has not yet, for the record, learned his right from his left, by nearly killing him, turning out to the wrong side. I suspect those rapid and heavily accented words and gestures were those of gratitude? Times ago, times ago. I know, TL;DR, but thanks for letting me ramble. One other thing I acquired from there, being a music guy, is a huge appreciation of Scottish/Irish folk music, from pipes and fiddle to folk-punk. Not necessarily the new-age stuff, and Michael Flatley should be deported. Ceilidhs, babies. If you are not dancing like a bastard to this, seek the help of a qualified mortician. The Battlefield Band, Dougie Pincock on the pipes, from Home Ground - Pincock's Pleasure
Also, my first 'video', kinda proud, I'll get better.
Because I really need more distractions.
This is such a beautiful song. Dougie MacLean - Caledonia
Back on yer feet, ya buggers!
Kinda brings us full circle to the top o' teh post!
Ooo, one more - an American folk band from the 60's, but doing a cover of an English song...
*Someday, when I get ranty, which never happens so I don't know why I even bring it up, I'll tell y'all about my opinions and shit about American higher education. Right now, however, I am in a good mood and plan to stay there.
Listening to Mama and the Mooks this morning., and they made (I know, it happens!) a joke, that Taylor Swift already has a new boyfriend, and he should run before he becomes a song, like John Mayer. This confuzzed me - I do not pay a lot of attention to popular culture, although one can't help but pick up on a few things, and I remember the Swift/Mayer story, how cute lil' Taylor dated big bad player Mayer and he USED HER UP, leaving her with no self-esteem, and he shaved her pet hamster, and gave her earrings in the wrong shade of pink, broke her heart, crumbling it like feta cheese, and all she got out of it was a break-up song, putting her feelings to the world, which swiftly (seewhatIdidtherenevermind) condemned him as Worse Than Hitler and he dresses funny and wears too much Axe Landwonder Body Spray.
Ignoring the fact that he had nailed everyone in Hollywood, and their agents. And that if anyone else had mad gittar skilz and had written the fucking dreadful Body Wonderland Song, they'd be doing the same damn thing, cultivating new and interesting STDs. And that the same anyone else would be unlikely to stop humping his happy quadrant through the Hollywood Hills until aforesaid fucking dreadful Bodyland Wonder song was off the adult contemporary charts. Wevs. Well, it seems that young Ms. Swift is going through another horrible heartbreak, hamster, feta, etc., and has written another song. But, I hypothesize, that if the joke is now that Ms. Swift's new young man should run, run like the wind, run like a shaved hamster on a wheel, that some have noticed her habit of hooking up to get song material. Now. That is not an issue, at all. More power to her, some people like her music, I assume, I don't like pop country so I don't know, but the breakup songs, both bittersweet and savagely hostile, written by the Beatles dwarf Ms. Swift's output, so this has been going on for a while. I have a different point. Isn't it a wonderbodylandful irony that it was Taylor Swift, America's SweetHeart™, who made John Mayer, America's Male Slut®, into the hapless schmuck?
Long, long workday, working on a project, had my head under a raised floor for several hours, the desiccation was a mighty thing, forcing me to try to re-hydrate with Glenfiddich 18, the Scots are a wise people; my hands, with the long weekend outside and a day in a wind tunnel, have taken on the texture of sandpaper, really unhappy sandpaper, with daddy issues and an incompetent hypnotic regression therapist; and my discoveries have made my immediate future a touch annoying, and may drive my boss to drink...more. I'm beat, is what I'm saying, and I'll go to bed with my hands coated in lotion and covered with nitrile gloves, and not for any fun reasons. Brief political note - Minnesota is struggling to pass a statute regarding standards for dog and cat breeding facilities, targeting the "puppy/kitty mills". Again. Struggling. Ummm, I ain'tn't sure how anyone could quibble with requirements that the animals be kept clean, with enough room to relax/sleep comfortably, time with other pets and their mothers to learn to, you know, FUCKING PLAY AND SOCIALIZE? I have my friends, for who I would help hide the body, but I'm not exactly a social butterfly. I'm an animal lover, more a dog person than a cat person but I love mah kittehs. What are these jackholes concerned about?
Watching a new show on Comedy Central, The Jeselnik Offensive. So. Awful. Beyond words or emotion or Cosmic Horrors, hands/flippers at the window. That is my review, which is mine, by me. Avoid this like something dreadful, say, gonorrhea or Bud Light. *Post is not in any way related to the film starring Tom Cruise, by Stanley Kubrick, intent on shredding his legacy. Also, Tom Cruise is bleedin' insane. But, have you ever thought about the benefits of a good spiritual enema? Contact me, I represent paleo-ology, a new way to live your life, with quantum wellbeing our watchword, or watchwords, you will find out which when you reach level Plaid, which may or may not have to do with dinosaurs and quantum wellbeing. Just remember gluons, and dream, and for a minimal contribution I can make you magical with friendship.
Not the clubs - we have a pretty fair, eclectic scene, pick yer poison, Triple Rock, First Ave, Cabooze, Minnesota Music Club, all frequently cutting edge. Even the older acts - I had a blast at Mighty Mighty Bosstones and they were pounding it, Sweetie got tickets for my brother and I to see Metallica on the Death Magnetic show - fantastic. For the record, Lars Ulrich is a peanuthead, but Ride The Lightning holds the hell up. Barenaked Ladies, love,numerous times. The St. Paul Chamber Orchestra is world class. More damnable Top 40 acts and horrible pop country acts than I can throw up at*. But then there's Maude ummm, different bits. This is what happens when I watch local TV and see ads. The State Theatre, a Hennepin District theatre, is presenting John Denver! My ears perked up, because to my knowledge, he hasn't released anything for a while. Or paid income taxes. Odd, that. Sorry. No, but really, John Denver is a guilty pleasure of mine - a childhood AM radio dad thing, I like John Denver. Sue me, wevs. This 'tour', though, consists of longtime members of his touring band from those days backing projected footage of Denver performing. I don't even know what to say to that. Bad taste? Money grab? Tupac Lives? I don't know... The Doobie Brothers seem to be doing the casino-oldies tour, but with new material, the band composed of a few from the original (pre-McDonald/Baxter) line-up. The Doobies are one of the classic rock era bands that hold up for me, in both its original guitar lineup and Michael McDonald's blue-eyed soul stuff. The fact that they are touring with new material gives me hope that they are not pulling a Roger Daltrey, but casino tours are hospice for rock and roll bands. Imma give the new album, World Gone Crazy, a fair listen, cuz I'm curious, but I just don't know what to think. Now this, I know some of what to think. Casinos and country go together like bread and evil. One of the pioneers of country acts who ripped off the Eagles (blech) and added slide guitar to create an Enochian dialogue with demons pop country, Alabama. Having spent the last decade living on Best-Of's and covers, including Waylon Jennings?!?! (f'reals, holy FSM are these bastards out of their league), and gospel, they are hitting one of the local money-vacuums.
The parts of that I don't know what to think? Not enough internets to describe 'em. Probably gonna sell out, ugh. Tell you what, I'll narrow my questions down to WTF?!?! Over-engineered, coldly calculated nostalgia. How does a just universe not smite them, with falling anvils and spiders and woodworking tools with inadequate guarding? Fudge. *And yes, I take music very seriously - I give credit to anyone who can write, play, and sing, I can't. Eh, maybe a little, been a while though for writing and playing, and on a very good day, I can easily sing 2-3 beautifully pure tones. Actually, I'm pretty good at finding/singing the harmony on the music playing gadget...
A patriotic look at fundies, anti-fluoriders, conspiracists, right-wing-nut-job politicians; and not ignoring lefty idiots, our own conspiracists, anti-vaxxers (with a particularly sharp edge towards Huffpo and Oprah), homeopathic gurus, quantum wooists; and the unclassifiable, ie.,teh Time Cube guy. Of course, given my fondness for Biggie, ET, beasties, ghoulies, and things what go bump in the night, I'd probably be a candidate. Eh, it's all good. It's quite the rabbit hole, especially if you follow links to scienceblogs, freethoughtblogs (PZ Myers - yay!), and Rational Wiki.
Rep. Ann Lenczewski, MN-DFL, is proposing a bill to allow Minnesota teachers to deduct classroom expenses, part of an issue known as tax conformity, where state tax laws hew closer to federal tax structure. This MN bill is to match the federal deduction for classroom expenses of up to $250 per teacher. This is such a win, thank you mighty lefties, why I - Hmmm. Idea. ponderponderpondernotchristianponderworsethandammittebowponder
LET'S HAVE TEACHERS PAY THEMSELVES AND THEN DEDUCT THE EXPENSES!!!1! EDUCATION IS SAVED!
woot
Pay back the schools what the state, to be polite, 'borrowed' from them during the administration of Lil' Timmy "I Can Haz Veep Mitt, Please, Please, Please" Pawlenty?
Then maybe fully fund them ongoing?
Crazy talk, commies.
I know this is a not a huge thing, on the scale of drones, the Total War On Women, mopping up John McCain's (from being 1300 years old but looking only a day over 856) and Lindsey Graham's (from undressing John McCain with his eyes - "Grey Matter Blend" Bleach buy one pallet second pallet free at Cub Foods, you're welcome) drool on the senate hearing room floor, and the Mitt Romney sex tape (now with fully exposed ankles - see Cub sale above), but for the love of the Flying Spaghetti Monster could we please act like democrats and quit this walking-on-eggshells-not-even-eye-wash-grade bullshit legislating? Could we please be the damned adults in the room?
I haz a grumpishness. For a while now, couple weeks. Eh, forgive me, I feel like cleaning out some psychic garnage. Yes, garnage. Portmanteau of garbage and carnage. Or, paleo kant tipe or spel. Lot of factors. Work, I'm trying to get ahead, the old fashioned way, p'raps, performance, asking for responsibility, as opposed to shining up a pair of kneepads to the point that I could blind the Upper Midwest. The windmill, it is being tilted at. The competing schedules between Sweetie and me. The actual date of Valentine's Day involves supper (friggin incredible, BTW, sun-dried tomato, onion and garlic in Alfredo with chicken and green beans) at 9:00pm before bed as she works in the morning. I say this often, but mean it every time - I adore my wife, and my favorite activity is spending time doing anything or nothing at all with Sweetie. The basement remodel. I have long ago come to the conclusion that man was not meant to live underground. Hobbits, sure. CHUDs? Hell, it's right in the name. Germans, not so much. Politics too. I am aware I focus too much on the political scene, but it gets old, being driven to distraction every morning as I drive to work. The level of stupidity, bloodlust, misogyny, hell, misanthropy, is incredible, nearly unbearable, and I believe that no-one can truly take the Pubs seriously - it has got to be performance art, or a two-bit grift - they can't be for real, can they?
Good things too, though, gotta focus. I got to spend a couple days with some of my best friends, Sweetie finally was able to meet them and be sociable sans time constraints. Ate, drank, and was merry (awesome recipe after the jump). Camping plans were tentatively made - to be more accurate,
"Well, the boys can work on the fence and we'll sit by the campfire and drink wine..."
We have a full weekend (almost, probably), to goof off, to try to get near to finishing the bloody stupid basement, at which point it is likely my searing atmospheric pressure headaches from going that far below the earth may ebb. We are doing Valentines surf-n-turf on teh grill tomorrow night - W00t!!1! Admittedly, to me, lobster is a butter delivery system, but I'm from Wisconsin - sue me! I had a pleasant music break this afternoon - Pharcyde, Jurassic 5, Ugly Duckling, changed station and got My Chemical Romance. I've told before of the occasionally tenuous grip Pandora holds me in, but since I went into every playlist and banished Drops Of Jupiter to teh hell whence it came, we are on better terms. I need music, constantly if possible, and I abhor repetition. I don't collect much anymore, (have to have my Barenaked Ladies, Beatles, and Iron Maiden - those are my defaults when I dither), but webstations... My visiting college friend suggested Rodriguez
I've been GrooTubing it, great stuff.
And, as far as tilting at windmills, I am making slow, steady progress at the job. Emphasize slow, but I'll get there.
The Violence Against Women Act passed the Senate today 78-22.
All 22 votes against were Republican men.
I don't give a shit about their excuses, that they don't believe LGBTs deserve to have a life, that they don't believe a white man should be prosecuted by a Native American court for offenses within the reservation. (The second is the reasoning Eric Cantor will use to kill it in the House. His statement is not nearly as opaque as he thinks it is.
"We want to protect the women who are subject to abuse on tribal lands, and unfortunately there are issues that don't directly bear on that that have come up, that have complicated it, as the gentleman knows," Cantor said. "But in working with his office as well as the vice president's, I hope to be able to deal with this and bring it up in a expeditious manner."
So, boss, you're in the leadership. Ummm, lead?) No matter what excuse they use, it's the same result. Blood, death, rape. Marco Rubio, proclaimed Savior Of Teh Inbred, the new hip face of the GOP, women want to be him, men want to be with him, voted against it. Outreach for the win. The GOP had as it's honored guest at the State Of The Union one Mr. Ted Nugent. Adored by the teabagging masses who watch him in his camouflage suit with patriotic guitar on the way to a canned hunt, a famous story about him is his dodging the draft by pooping his pants. Snopes determined that his story on that draft notice has taken a few twisted turns, but the available record shows both that he got a student deferment and failed the physical to the point that he could only be called up in case of emergency. So, he's definitely a liar, and either a coward for dodging the draft by pooping his pants, or so desperate to inflate his own legend that he lied about pooping his pants because it carried greater street cred? (don't ask me to psychoanalyze this jackass) than getting a student deferment. All of the previous paragraph has nothing to do with the VAWA, I just like to remind Bo and Luke and Giblet and Cletus. What does have to do with the VAWA is another little Nug-get, lesser known. The flag carrier for the radical right, Mr. Teabag himself, is at best a complete cobag, at worst a sexual predator.
In 1978, Nugent began a relationship with seventeen-year-old Hawaii native Pele Massa. Due to the age difference they could not marry so Nugent joined Massa's parents in signing documents to make himself her legal guardian, an arrangement that Spin magazine ranked in October 2000 as #63 on their list of the "100 Sleaziest Moments in Rock".[28][29]
Nugey was 30. Stay classy, boss. Forgive me if I don't find the phrase "War On Women" to be especially over-the-top.
Please read the deep analysis by Rebecca Solnit at Tomdispatch. Long read, and infuriating, but thorough, and unbelievably infuriating.
Just a few things that went through my ears today.
Guadalcanal Diary, 2x4 is a great album - Litany, Little Birds, Where Angels Fear To Tread...
This was part of a great scene in WKRP in Cincinati, scene now unavailable as it was taped due to music rights issues so I can't show Johnny Fever groovin' out... Caravan.
From Living With The Law, Chris Whitley. Conveniently about the time I was school for geology and Montana was (still is, Montana is close to heaven, I spent the next summer in Boulder MT for geology field camp, amazing).
Just waking up, had two preventative maintenance events this weekend, uggghhh. We take vast swatches of our power harness either offline, or in the case of this weekend, to generator power, so we can open and inspect/repair distribution equipment without threatening our utility switchgear and the rest of the power harness. Frequent events, but as I finally moved to day shift a year ago, overnights are tough on my broken ass. Insert mental photo here. Brain Bleacho $1.99/qt at Bob's Produce Ranch* today only. To continue, I have a few things to do before the game, so I want to get some thoughts down, timestamped, before the start, so y'all may marvel at my sabremetretical ingenuity. As has been played up h-u-u-u-g-g-e in the pre-game runup, this is the first Super Bowl in which two douchebags have faced off head to head as coaches. (Bills Belichick and Parcells having never played each other, or Jimmy Johnson.) Although each is douchey in their own way, you have to give the edge to 49ers douchebag Jim "Ol' Douchenozzle" Harbaugh, who has an incredibly talented rookie QB who he would rather use to win a Super Bowl than teach how to slide, thus guaranteeing early knee replacement. It's that sort of piss-n-vinegar that lofts Jim into the douchesphere. This being Ray Lewis' last game, and the Super Bowl at that, no one will ever mention again that he pled guilty to the cover-up of a murder in Atlanta in 2000, testifying against his posse, thus avoiding murder charges himself and necessitating the disposal of the no doubt expensive white suit he had been wearing at the time, which has never been found. Cris Carter, of the Minnesota Vikings and ESPN, has made the Hall Of Fame. "Ol' Crybaby", as he was known, never led the Vikings to a win of any significance, and was instrumental in taking a somewhat naive rookie, with the most potential of anyone in that draft class, Randy Moss, from a possibly groundbreaking wide receiver to a player who somehow managed to still be all-pro... While taking any off play that his number was not called, sobbing on the sidelines to the coach, quarterback, and any sideline media about his not getting enough thrown in his direction, and assaulting a traffic control officer. Randy Moss, now on the 49ers, will sob on the sidelines today and not be a factor. Carter, "Ol' Offensive Interference", will be fellated by Chris Berman at halftime. Bleacho, Bob's, see above. The Pornhub commercial will be aired, third quarter, after the Kraft Macaroni and Cheese ad starring a beagle, a Honey BooBoo impersonator with polydactyly, and a chess game with Death. Directed by Michael Bay. Bookmark, it, you heard it here first. Tim Tebow will be discussed at least once if he is found in the stands, twice if not. Pppbbllfftttt! San Francisco 38, Baltimore 21. Meh. Some liveblogging later during the game, after halftime, not necessarily about football per se, I think the read option offense is a recipe for dead QBs but not much more than that, if anyone wants to fight... *We srsly love this place... UPDATE: 6:28 Central Came into the room for good just as Baltimore scored, went to commercial. STAR TREK: INTO DARKNESS Geekrection. UPDATE: 7:05 Central Half time. Talking heads, total IQ of 65. Apparently Beyonce is the halftime show - not my style of music at all, I understand she has a fairly amazing voice, but whatever. No drugs, Satan, groupies? Meh. Gonna make a drinkie. Do I dare?
Gordon's canned gin and tonic, courtesy of Netherlands via Sweetie. Here's beating your children!
...
Not bad, a bit weak, my version of a gin and tonic is 8 parts gin to 1ml tonic, with a 'part' being a variable, let's call it x , representing anything from an finger to a quart. In the distance, I can hear a Zombie howling as he throws up everyone he's eaten in the last month.
BTW, how did the Packers, in Super Bowl 31, earn the worst halftime show in history as ZZ Top didn't even phone it in, they used tin cans and string? UPDATE, 10 seconds into the 3rd Quarter: We have explored before that my prognostimacating skills are suxxors. UPDATE: 7:42 Central Half the stadium lights just went out. Been there, done that. Poofsparksparkspark. SHORTER CBS SPORTS WHILE LIGHTS ARE OUT:
UPDATE: 8:27 Central Advertisement with Gangnam style pistachios. That is one motherfucking jumped shark. Stop now. UPDATE: 8:34 Wil Wheaton on a Lincoln commercial? Nice - love Wheaton. Baltimore falling apart quickly. I really don't have a dog in this race, Jim Harbaugh is the bigger douchebag, you have three 49ers go off on homophobial rants this week, I'd prefer they lose. UNBELIEVABLE UPDATE: 9:05 The announcers talked about Ray Lewis' brief career as a blade man, Colin Kaepernick Tebows. Prognostimication. It's what's for dinner. END OF GAME: I'm not unhappy, but still, meh. Commercials, ok. TA!
