 Perhaps my most legitimate complaint about the fairness of life is the paucity of awards and honorifics bestowed upon me, a condition which has left me loathe to ignore one, even if it's acceptance will require some small labor on my part.And so I am compelled to respond to the recognition afforded me by World of Crap - a wonderful blog which is nearly as long in the tooth as FGAQ but none the worse for wear - of the apparently prestigious Liebster Blog award. To demonstrate that I can cut and past every bit as well as WOC's Scott C, I shall quote his quote from Ivan at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear: “Liebster,” in the German and Spanish vernacular, means “beloved”…According to the Liebster Blog Award guidelines, I’m to link to the blog what gave me the award and then pass it on to five equally worthy candidates.Well, that doesn't seem too hard, so here, in no particular order, are five blogs/bloggers which I've regarded with affection for long enough that the relationship can no longer be considered platonic. Urantian Sojourn - Terry, Propogandee, and Michael are not only surprisingly literate, witty, and knowledgeable about even more than two or three things, they have some of the best graphic skills going. Every time I visit, I marvel that the experience is free, and yet, there is nary a Paypal button in sight. driftglass - The situation is reversed 180° for driftglass, who offers you the opportunity to donate with each and every offering. The truth is that his work is even worthier of your fiscal gifts than David Fucking Brooks, but it's amazing how easy those little buttons are to ignore. thestain - Loving Katy is not easy work, and I've been laboring at it for a long time. She will go for weeks without posting one of her hilariously misanthropic pieces, and just when you've given up, there it is, a delicious all you can eat buffet of cruelty. Zen Comix - Dave cruelly keeps most of his output under wraps these days, attempting to sell it for cash money (the pig), but sometimes he just can't help himself and a stray panel or two will suddenly appear like spring crocuses. Mock, Paper, Scissors - Tengrain's blog is a wonderfully designed space reminiscent of the late, great Spy Magazine, and that is high praise indeed. Playing with My Food - For years, I used to read Washington Post sportswriter (now TV personality!) Tony Kornheiser even if he was writing about something I didn't care a rat's ass for, like hockey. Which is kind of how I feel about my buddy Paul H's blog, which consists of dissertations on topics like, uh, smoked meats and artichoke hearts. Okay, that's six (one more beyond the call of duty), although you could go with pretty much anyone on my blogroll and still have a good time. Now which way do I go for the awards party? And what do you mean BYOB? |
| "Get out of my way, you pathetic runt," snarled the seemingly enormous woman as she veered sharply to avoid tripping over Edward Niño Hernández. Flipping her a tiny bird, Hernández watched as she turned the corner before daring to speak. He was, he knew, a broken little man. "That perra tonta would have been all over me a couple of days ago," Hernández observes bitterly. "Now all of a sudden I'm not good enough for her. It just goes to prove what I've always said, these putas are all the same... [continued here] Could it really have been a scant nine months ago that Edward Niño Hernández finally achieved his childhood dream of growing up to be crowned the world's shortest man? He had long harbored a secret resentment towards his skimpy superior He Pingping, which suddenly seemed meaningless when his rival departed this mortal coil after a short illness. It was a whirlwind five weeks of nonstop action where, ironically, nothing seemed beyond his reach. Then tragedy suddenly struck for the 27½" Pride of Bogotá, as the Guinness World Records Committee caustically cut him down to size by crowning 26½" Khagendra Thapa Magar to the title that Hernández had held for such an wee amount of time. "It was brutal, you no?," asked Hernández, using the abbreviated form of 'know'. He usually speaks in rapid fire short little sentences punctuated by frequent curse words, which actually seems kind of cute when you see them emanating from his meager mouth. "I was like cojeme, that hijo de puta is only eighteen years old. I had to wait until I was twenty-four to take the title. I'm telling Guinness, hey, give it a couple years, how do you know the sawed-off pendejo won't grow. And you know what? He did! A full pinche inch and a quarter! Of course I've also grown another quarter of an inch, so technically Magar and I would be tied for the title, but I guess it really doesn't pinche matter because now you've got another eighteen year old hijo de puta who's only 23½". Mierda! What the does a nanus have to do to get a little respect?" "Vete al infierno, Junrey Balawing. If that's you're real name. 23½"? I'm calling you out for doping, pendejo, because nobody could be that short without some sort of human anti-growth hormone. Yo mataria tu!" "Yeah, but Guinness doesn't care. All those conchatumadres at Guinness ever cares about is getting their names in the paper no matter who's heart they have to break, the pinche maricóns. But me, I'm doing fine. I'm still waiting for a callback from John Waters, but I've got a commercial for those Reese's Minis in the can that's going to be running on all of the Spanish stations in South America... Kinda cute. It opens up with me about to bite into one of the peanut butter cups and it looks completely normal until the camera pulls back and shows me standing beside a pit bull. Very good acting, because I'm telling you, that puta was enormous. But then, Edward Niño Hernández doesn't scare easily. I've got ice water running through my veins. Just about a pint, but I know at the end of the day, I'm a smaller man in my heart than any of these other bastardos." |
 Aside from it's purpose as a useful prop which allows politicians to happily chow down with the common people while still retaining a pointing device, corn has always proved quite useful over the years as a communication device.A true leader understands the importance of an ear of corn on all of it's symbolic levels. Observe, for example, President Obama standing in a cornfield, telling the people of Wichita that despite the fact that the economy has gone to hell and that many of them will likely never work again, they still can share in the rich bounty of corn, one of the true bargains of the vegetable kingdom. Corn is our heritage, he can tell them, immediately after which the Republicans will respond that their heritage is not corn but cauliflower and this whole obsession with corn seems suspiciously European.  One of the classic recent examples of the communicative value of corn took place in the early days of the George W Bush administration. Vladimir Putin was making a state visit, and being distrustful of Russia Bush chose to host him at a barbeque on his ranch rather than a more formal location. In a moment of bravado, Bush challenged Putin to a two mile bike race before eating, a challenge which the Russian handily won. Outraged by the loss, Bush grabbed one of the large roasting ears, and holding it threateningly, told Putin "I'm going to cut you, you son of a bitch". Unfazed, Putin grabbed an even larger ear of corn, stuck it between his legs, and shouted "Blow me, asshole". The two men laughed and laughed, and that day a lasting friendship was born. Another common communicative value of corn is to convey a sense of menace. One cannot see the picture above without asking oneself 'Just what the hell is Kim Jong il doing with an ear of corn in what appears to be the North Korean stock exchange? What fiend gave it to him and what sort of unholy alliance does the gift represent? Is it really an ear of corn or is it a solid gold bauble with which he can amuse himself while his nation starves? Another possibility arises: whereas Bush handled an ear of corn as a primitive but effective weapon, Jong might look at the same ear and ludicrously ask himself 'Could this be the key to unfathomable nuclear destruction?' And then he would lock fifty scientists into a room until they made it so. While this look at this highly versatile foodstuff has been far from exhaustive, before we leave for happy hour it is important to note one last vital message it may send - it's undisputable power to convey empathy.  Observe Mitt Romney tenderly holding an ear of Iowa's finest. He appears not only bemused by the corn but deeply in touch with it, as though to say "This vegetable and I are much alike. I am one with this vegetable, and if you feel the same, I hope that you can open up your heart to me as well." |
 I was just in the midst of writing what may have been the funniest piece ever penned, when it suddenly occurred to me that I was wasting my precious time. It seems that I had totally forgotten about the pending end of the world. That's crazy, I know, it's not like forgetting a dental appointment. I'm sure all of you have been thinking about it quite a bit, but in my defense, it's not like I'm somehow going to miss it.The way Harold Camping explains it, beginning at 6 PM tomorrow, around 3% of the world's population will be raptured, and I've got to admit that this is one time I'm really sorry to be in the majority. I say beginning at 6 PM because the way I understand it rolling time zones are involved, so the whole process will take around 24 hours. Get ready for some must see TV followed by five months of earthquakes, volcanoes and copious death. I'm pretty sure Camping's info is right, since he's only been wrong about the end of the world once before, which is a much better track record than I've got. I'm off to he neighborhood pub after I post this. I'd like to think that I could spend as much of my filthy lucre as possible tonight buying rounds, but I suppose that will be difficult since everyone else will probably be doing the same thing. At any rate, I won't be drinking the cheap whiskey tonight. |
 "Innocent Ogbuta, just what the hell is this supposed to be?" "It's your wedding cake, Chidi, the one you said would make your dreams come true." "It's making my nightmares come true, you incompetent son of a bitch. I told you clearly that I wanted a life-size cake made in my resemblance as I would look on my wedding day." "I know. Isn't it marvelous?" "It most assuredly is not. That cake doesn't look a thing like me." "It, uh... I think it comes pretty close. For a cake." "That cake makes me look fat." "Maybe a little. But in my defense, it took five weeks to make, and, you know, you have been on that crash diet, and uh, I guess it is a little thick around the middle..." "Fat! Is that what you think about me? And take a look at my dress. No, not the cake, my dress. Uh huh, uh huh, you see the problem? No? You tell me, genius, does my dress have friggin layers?" "No, it doesn't, but... I guess they do that so that the cake doesn't topple over." "The gloves go right up to the armpits! Oh, you idiot! Nobody's going to want to eat me now." "Well, uh, all the more for me." "You think that's funny? You think that's funny?" "No. I guess not... I'm sorry, Chidi. I'm sorry I screwed up your dream cake, but..." "Everybody is staring at it!" "Sorry. I'm sorry, but can't we just get on with the ceremony?" "I suppose so, but you better make this up to me on our honeymoon or there's going to be hell to pay." |
 Elmo, the beloved furry red creature who loved to be tickled, is dead at the age of 38. The mainstay of children's television, originally known only as 'baby monster', was apparently a victim of Muppetcide."Although he was nearly forty, he pretty much had the mind of a precocious young child," said Kevin Clash, Elmo's long-time manager. "That's part of what makes this so tragic. He didn't know how to avoid dangerous situations, and... I unwittingly sent him to his death." Clash does indeed bear at least partial responsibility for Elmo's tragic demise. He had been asked by First Lady Michelle Obama to lend a hand in her promotion of the Healthy Hunger-Free Kids Act, and had suggested filming a meeting between Elmo and White House chef Sam Kass. Unfortunately, Kass was not told about the meeting in advance, and the rest, much like Elmo himself, is history. "I never should have gone for the element of surprise," Clash says sadly. "And I should have taken into account how very busy and stressed out the kitchen staff is during the holidays. I haven't been able to make myself watch the entire film, just up to the part where the chef lurches... Apparently, the little guy never knew what hit him. There were no signs of a struggle, and... this is a heartrending day for us all." Metro police indicate that no charges will be brought against Kass. Washington D.C. currently has no ordinances against strangling a Muppet. |
 If the Democrats have their way, this man will not be allowed to vote in Connecticut. "We don’t have to worry about a voter with a Vietnam Vet t-shirt being turned away because Dick Blumenthal lied about serving in that conflict. But we hope Secretary Bysiewicz considers banning individuals who wear clothing promoting law firms, Yale University or Harvard College." - Connecticut Republican State Chairman Chris Healy |
 People tell me that he's not real, but I don't believe them. Oh sure, sometimes I feign agreement, either to shunt off the conversation or perhaps to get closer insight into the mind of the skeptic. There's a sudden sadness to these people that makes you to shake them, an action which at times may prove unwise. There he was this morning, bright and early. I never doubted. I've never heard him speak, though he does so through his smile. Just sets down the cake and goes, off in his black sedan, much like the Lone Ranger, but without the mask. He showed up again this afternoon... The old gent is obviously getting a little addled from the years. I don't think he even remembered being here earlier. I would have tried to stop him, offer him a drink, but that seems to somehow breach the code. |
| The Wall Street Journal has a profile on the return of Ted Haggard, the mega-church minister laid low by crystal meth and gay hookers. You'll be happy to know that he's got himself back together and is now a regular guy, and he has a new church. He's also become very pithy. A couple of quick quotes for you On accepting much more guilt than was absolutely necessary for his naughty adventures:
On changes experienced since becoming a regular guy:
On how people trust him more now that he's a regular guy:
As Tonto would say, "What do you mean we, kemosabe?" |
 Yes. Yes it is. And frankly I'm just sick about it. I mean, how many indignities does a boy king have to suffer? I was hoping that the afterlife would be a little bit more of a pleasant change than it has been thus far, but I guess that hopey-changey thing isn't working out that well for me so far. Life sucks and then you die. And then someone absconds with your tallywacker. |
| "Next to the eagle, the pelican is my favorite bird. I have this dream that one day a pelican will land beside me and I'll be able to pet it. I know it'll never happen, but I still have the dream." - Rush Limbaugh, 6/16/10 |
 From the best press release ever, wherein Stormy Daniels, porn star and potential opponent of Senator David Vitter announces her move to the Republican Party:"While this decision has not been an easy one, recent events regarding Republican National Committee fundraising at Voyeur, an LA based lesbian bondage themed nightclub finally tipped the scales... As is the case with so many of my fellow Louisianans, I have been a registered Democrat throughout my life. But now I cannot help but recognize that over time my libertarian values regarding both money and sex and the legal use of one for the other is now best espoused by the Republican Party." |
 Just a thought for Hutaree, and right wing militia groups in general... If you are, in fact, "preparing for the end time battles to keep the testimony of Jesus Christ alive," and planning on waging war to the death with law enforcement officers, you might want to go with a slightly more innocuous image on your web site. |
| Congratulations, America, on finally making the transition to the Third World. Three is better than one, no? Soon your universal health care will be as fine as what we have here in Cuba. Now how about collectivizing those farms? |
| "See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me." - God, circa 700 BC "If what was good enough for God, scribbling on the palm of his hand, it's good enough for me, for us. In that passage he says, I wrote your name on the palm of my hand to remember you. And I'm like okay, I'm in good company." - Sarah Palin, 3/6/10 |
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