Filling in the ellipsis.
Exploding, over at Exploding Unicorn (I suspect that is not his given name and will assign him a name as I write this), has an implied challenge on the subtitle to his blog, namely:
...and that's where we get the saying, "It exploded like a unicorn."
As you can see, the dot dot dot (aka an ellipsis) implies that there is a story behind the conclusion, and I have decided to pick up the gauntlet that Bob the Unicorn has thrown down. But first, a little ado about unicorn theory, light wave concepts, and misconceptions about this fearsome and capable creature.
Challenger Billy the Horned Horse has a reputation for erratic Halo deaths, wantonly lacking parenting skills, and a super work avoiding ethic. While all that he does is an example for all of us to attain, he is a representation of the species, one should not confuse the sample with the whole. Jimbo here is the exception that has spawned many a unicorn misconception as well as most of the outright lies attributed to the fairy creatures.
The most egregious myth that is attributed to Greg, and his kind - pointed headed equines, is that they eat sunshine and poop rainbows. The more mundane humans actually think they eat ordinary grains, but even the casual observer can see that is demonstrably false. After 10.45 years of studying unicorns, and some of that time intensely, I have concluded that this terrifying being does not crap rainbows, but rather...it eats them.
Now, this explanation is not without its detractors, and I'm sure that Yogi over at that blog can clarify his diet, but for now, I'm going with what evidence I have before me. A quick aside, some corroborating evidence for this is the observation from Peggy (from my chiropractor's office) that the lack of rain this summer has taken a huge toll on the unicorn population. It finally clicked as to why I've been seeing unicorn corpses all over the road as of late.
So, unicorns eat light, which consists of several different wavelengths in the light spectrum. It is vitally important that one understands, embraces, and propagates this fact. I have not been able to identify unicorn droppings, but I suspect they are either Hello Kitty gear, puppies, kittens, or boy bands. One hopes the need for eliminating doesn't happen often in the case of the latter.
The next part of the theory is pure conjecture, but is readily verifiable with the use of an infrared/ultraviolet waveform generator with subtle x-ray and gamma ray overtones. Unfortunately, mine was in the shop, so you'll have to verify it on your own.
As we have proven without a doubt, unicorns eat rainbows. Now, what other person, place, or thing does one associate with rainbows? No, not Key West. No, not Rainbow Brite... NO NOT SKITTLES!! LEPRECHAUNS YOU DOLT! Ahem. Sorry. Yes, wee little leprechauns, hiding their gold at the end of...unicorn food.
Of course, everyone can see where this is going, but for the sake of a complete, scientific paper, I will state obvious: Occasionally, through no fault of their own, a very small (see what I did there?) number of leprechauns are accidentally eaten by unicorns. I mean, really, who hasn't accidentally eaten a bug or even a small bird when chowing down on their seafood fettuccine alfredo? I'm sure I'm not the only one.
While every leprechaun that dies is a tragedy in the little community of the lucky ones (one could viably argue for the unlucky ones being weeded out by errant unicorns), it is beyond the scope of this blog post to go into such matters. What is in the scope of this increasingly long and vitally important piece is the effects of such an interaction between Percy the unicorn and Sam the leprechaun, may he rest in peace.
To help visualize the catastrophic result of a unicorn eating (accidentally or on purpose) a non-light waveform spectrum food, grab the nearest solar panel and whatever passes for a leprechaun around your house. As I hate the environment and have no solar panels in a 100 mile radius of me, I substituted a cheese grater. As for what passes for a leprechaun, my dog Denali was the closest thing, but unfortunately got wind of the impending experiment and booked a flight to Maui for the duration, so I had to use a tomato plant.
Now that you have your "solar panel" and your "leprechaun", push the "leprechaun" through the "solar panel" without breaking the "solar panel." In my equal but different experiment, I was able to accomplish this with the aid of a hammer and oven mitts. The results were not pretty; in fact, the "leprechaun" (I am going to use a scientific term here) "gummed up the works."
The same scientific term can be used to describe what happens when a being whose dietary habits consist solely of the light spectrum ingests something that is part of the physical, albeit mythical, world. The unicorn's inner workings are, in the words of the late Rascal T. Pickens, "all gummed up in dere."
Unfortunately, the affected unicorn has no clue as to its fatal condition and continues to prance about eating more and more rainbows. With no way to pass the rainbows into Slayer t-shirts, puppies, kitties, or boy bands, the unicorn then begins to increase in size like a water balloon being filled with a hose. The laws of physics refuse to make exceptions and eventually, the unicorn...explodes.
...and that's where we get the saying, "It exploded like a unicorn."
Todd, you're welcome.
Showing posts with label Some musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Some musings. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Please Help
Today I'd like to call attention to a devastating chronic disease that has received little to no recognition despite it afflicting literally millions of people in the world.
I'm talking about Cranial Rectum Inversion (CRI) or, in the common vernacular, having one's head up one's ass.
It is estimated that 99.9% of politicians and celebrities suffer with CRI undiagnosed. (The other .1% are reportedly looking at their anus and thinking that it might be a good place to put their head). Notable people with CRI include Michael Moore, Rush Limbaugh, Tiger Woods, Nancy Pelosi, Lebron James, and Sean Penn; sometimes whole groups of people, including the NAACP, the KKK, the Democrat and Republican parties, and the vast majority of the media, have been known to contract this nonfatal disease. Our young people, especially teen males, are a huge at risk group for contracting CRI, and unfortunately, there is almost a 100% conversion rate at some point during the years from 13 to 20.
But closer to home, I have to admit that I have suffered from CRI on and off for years, and I'm compelled to write about it to increase awareness of the suffering that not only I have endured, but also my friends and family.
What follows is a list of the symptoms and indications that lead to a diagnosis of CRI.
One of the first indications that a person has CRI is an acute loss of hearing anyone besides oneself. As the head is fully engulfed, the person's ears are flattened against their head and partially or even totally occluded by the walls of the rectum. This situation leads to tragic consequences as the CRI sufferer often either cannot hear what others say or, even worse, thinks that nobody is even trying to communicate with them. Sadly, the only voice that they can hear is their own.
Another readily observable manifestation of CRI is the victim's almost constant complaining of being kept in the dark as well as life being crappy in general. Along with these symptoms, the sufferer complains of everything tasting like crap (usually only teenage sufferers). The sheer volume of feces that one has to deal with while afflicted with CRI usually leads to statements such as "Why do I have to deal with all this crap (or other synonym)?"; "Why are you giving me so much crap?"; and "You don't give a crap about me."
The travesty is that CRI victims fail to see (whether due to the extreme darkness of their rectums or other reasons is unknown) is that they are surrounded by their own crap of their own making.
In some cases, mostly teen males again, the sense of smell is so compromised that they are unable to smell their own body odor, even when the scent becomes overpowering to the normal human and is fatal to small mammals and reptiles. Once again, the sealing of the anus around the neck occludes the nostrils from outside influences; combine that with the overwhelming stink of poop, and it's easy to see why the olfactory nerves become desensitized.
As in most syndromes of this nature, there are severe cases as well as mild cases of CRI. The more severe cases (teen males, politicians, celebrities, and professional sports people) often present themselves with not only the cranium inserted firmly into the rectum, but the subject's hands are often observed to be grabbing onto the hips and their arms are bulging with the strain of trying to shove the head up farther.
Thank God that He gave us shoulders or we might just disappear...
So, what now?
It is my belief that all of us have suffered at one time or another from CRI (especially if you are a male above the age of 20). Recognizing the symptoms in your coworkers is fairly easy, but admitting that you or a loved one might be suffering from CRI can be a difficult and taxing process that is sure to test the limits of both physical strength as well as mental fortitude.
But it is well worth the effort to disengage a cranium from the associated rectum, especially if that effort results in what I like to refer to as "the big pop" or "that popping sound" or "the great uncorking" as the head is released from the rectum and makes, for lack of a better word, a popping sound. POP!
At the great uncorking, a critical juncture is met, and it is essential that great care be taken in order to prevent an immediate relapse, which happens in most cases with the aforementioned politicians, celebrities, and the like.
It is of utmost importance to make the person aware of their surroundings. Some suggestions are:
- Comment on the light that is sure to be blinding them and assure them that it means them no harm. Explain that the normal order of things is to take advantage of the light rather than live in darkness. Some people prefer to keep their deeds in the dark and will attempt to self inflict CRI, such cases are, unfortunately, usually permanent.
- Draw their attention to the fact that they can hear you much more clearly. While there may still be some crap in their ears, there is a marked improvement in auditory reception when there is nothing actually pressing up against the ear canals. Once again, assure them that this is perfectly normal to hear other people clearly; you may want to use subdued tones in order to not frighten them.
- Point out that the world is not full of their crap. Remember, up until now, they have only seen, tasted, heard, smelled, and felt their own crap; it's all they know. Gently guide them to the realization that the world contains more than just them; yes, it's scary, but necessary.
- Make them aware that they have been suffering from CRI (feel free to use this post as a reference and teaching tool). Be sure to comfort them with the fact that it is not fatal in most cases, but it is a serious condition that needs to be addressed.
Despite your best attempts, you or your loved one may insist upon self initiating CRI. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO RESTRAIN THEM! Feel free to implore them, berate them, yell or scream at them, but do not in any way try to lay hands on them as you may get caught up in their efforts to reinsert their head in their rectum; that only ends up badly.
In conclusion, Cranial Rectum Inversion is a serious, nonfatal, debilitating condition that affects humans (and in the case of teen males, possibly small mammals and reptiles), and it usually results in narcissistic behavior and disregard for anyone but themselves.
It can affect anyone that is a human being, but is especially prevalent in politicians, celebrities, teen males, and certain groups. It is observable in singular instances as well as mass infestations. The disease knows no racial, political, sexual, occupational, or national boundaries; anyone, anywhere can be affected.
CRI's symptoms include a lack of hearing, compromised olfactory senses, a sense of always being in the dark, and a general crappy outlook on life. Sufferers may or may not be engaged in pushing the head in further on an active basis.
At present, there is no permanent cure for CRI; usually the only time one realizes that they suffer from CRI, is just after they have pulled their head out. Repeated entreaties from outsiders to disengage the cranium from the rectum fall on (somewhat) deaf ears, although there are a few cases in which this tactic has been successful.
The biggest tool that can be used to combat CRI is awareness. Speak to your loved ones before they contract CRI, and talk to them about CRI during the time that their heads are out of their rectums. And always, while CRI is almost always self inflicted, remember that the roles between you and your loved one could easily be reversed.
My hope for you is that soon, you or your loved one suffering from Cranial Rectum Inversion will look around and wonder, "What was that popping sound?" Peace be with you.
I'm talking about Cranial Rectum Inversion (CRI) or, in the common vernacular, having one's head up one's ass.
It is estimated that 99.9% of politicians and celebrities suffer with CRI undiagnosed. (The other .1% are reportedly looking at their anus and thinking that it might be a good place to put their head). Notable people with CRI include Michael Moore, Rush Limbaugh, Tiger Woods, Nancy Pelosi, Lebron James, and Sean Penn; sometimes whole groups of people, including the NAACP, the KKK, the Democrat and Republican parties, and the vast majority of the media, have been known to contract this nonfatal disease. Our young people, especially teen males, are a huge at risk group for contracting CRI, and unfortunately, there is almost a 100% conversion rate at some point during the years from 13 to 20.
But closer to home, I have to admit that I have suffered from CRI on and off for years, and I'm compelled to write about it to increase awareness of the suffering that not only I have endured, but also my friends and family.
What follows is a list of the symptoms and indications that lead to a diagnosis of CRI.
One of the first indications that a person has CRI is an acute loss of hearing anyone besides oneself. As the head is fully engulfed, the person's ears are flattened against their head and partially or even totally occluded by the walls of the rectum. This situation leads to tragic consequences as the CRI sufferer often either cannot hear what others say or, even worse, thinks that nobody is even trying to communicate with them. Sadly, the only voice that they can hear is their own.
Another readily observable manifestation of CRI is the victim's almost constant complaining of being kept in the dark as well as life being crappy in general. Along with these symptoms, the sufferer complains of everything tasting like crap (usually only teenage sufferers). The sheer volume of feces that one has to deal with while afflicted with CRI usually leads to statements such as "Why do I have to deal with all this crap (or other synonym)?"; "Why are you giving me so much crap?"; and "You don't give a crap about me."
The travesty is that CRI victims fail to see (whether due to the extreme darkness of their rectums or other reasons is unknown) is that they are surrounded by their own crap of their own making.
In some cases, mostly teen males again, the sense of smell is so compromised that they are unable to smell their own body odor, even when the scent becomes overpowering to the normal human and is fatal to small mammals and reptiles. Once again, the sealing of the anus around the neck occludes the nostrils from outside influences; combine that with the overwhelming stink of poop, and it's easy to see why the olfactory nerves become desensitized.
As in most syndromes of this nature, there are severe cases as well as mild cases of CRI. The more severe cases (teen males, politicians, celebrities, and professional sports people) often present themselves with not only the cranium inserted firmly into the rectum, but the subject's hands are often observed to be grabbing onto the hips and their arms are bulging with the strain of trying to shove the head up farther.
Thank God that He gave us shoulders or we might just disappear...
So, what now?
It is my belief that all of us have suffered at one time or another from CRI (especially if you are a male above the age of 20). Recognizing the symptoms in your coworkers is fairly easy, but admitting that you or a loved one might be suffering from CRI can be a difficult and taxing process that is sure to test the limits of both physical strength as well as mental fortitude.
But it is well worth the effort to disengage a cranium from the associated rectum, especially if that effort results in what I like to refer to as "the big pop" or "that popping sound" or "the great uncorking" as the head is released from the rectum and makes, for lack of a better word, a popping sound. POP!
At the great uncorking, a critical juncture is met, and it is essential that great care be taken in order to prevent an immediate relapse, which happens in most cases with the aforementioned politicians, celebrities, and the like.
It is of utmost importance to make the person aware of their surroundings. Some suggestions are:
- Comment on the light that is sure to be blinding them and assure them that it means them no harm. Explain that the normal order of things is to take advantage of the light rather than live in darkness. Some people prefer to keep their deeds in the dark and will attempt to self inflict CRI, such cases are, unfortunately, usually permanent.
- Draw their attention to the fact that they can hear you much more clearly. While there may still be some crap in their ears, there is a marked improvement in auditory reception when there is nothing actually pressing up against the ear canals. Once again, assure them that this is perfectly normal to hear other people clearly; you may want to use subdued tones in order to not frighten them.
- Point out that the world is not full of their crap. Remember, up until now, they have only seen, tasted, heard, smelled, and felt their own crap; it's all they know. Gently guide them to the realization that the world contains more than just them; yes, it's scary, but necessary.
- Make them aware that they have been suffering from CRI (feel free to use this post as a reference and teaching tool). Be sure to comfort them with the fact that it is not fatal in most cases, but it is a serious condition that needs to be addressed.
Despite your best attempts, you or your loved one may insist upon self initiating CRI. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO RESTRAIN THEM! Feel free to implore them, berate them, yell or scream at them, but do not in any way try to lay hands on them as you may get caught up in their efforts to reinsert their head in their rectum; that only ends up badly.
In conclusion, Cranial Rectum Inversion is a serious, nonfatal, debilitating condition that affects humans (and in the case of teen males, possibly small mammals and reptiles), and it usually results in narcissistic behavior and disregard for anyone but themselves.
It can affect anyone that is a human being, but is especially prevalent in politicians, celebrities, teen males, and certain groups. It is observable in singular instances as well as mass infestations. The disease knows no racial, political, sexual, occupational, or national boundaries; anyone, anywhere can be affected.
CRI's symptoms include a lack of hearing, compromised olfactory senses, a sense of always being in the dark, and a general crappy outlook on life. Sufferers may or may not be engaged in pushing the head in further on an active basis.
At present, there is no permanent cure for CRI; usually the only time one realizes that they suffer from CRI, is just after they have pulled their head out. Repeated entreaties from outsiders to disengage the cranium from the rectum fall on (somewhat) deaf ears, although there are a few cases in which this tactic has been successful.
The biggest tool that can be used to combat CRI is awareness. Speak to your loved ones before they contract CRI, and talk to them about CRI during the time that their heads are out of their rectums. And always, while CRI is almost always self inflicted, remember that the roles between you and your loved one could easily be reversed.
My hope for you is that soon, you or your loved one suffering from Cranial Rectum Inversion will look around and wonder, "What was that popping sound?" Peace be with you.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
The Shadow Hunter
I have just received some top secret inside information from my mole that works at Blizzard. This is all hush hush, can't tell you unless I kill you information, and you heard it here first!
The expansion scheduled after Cataclysm is already in development, and the next hero class is going to be the Shadow Hunter! Like the DK is to the Pally, the Shadow Hunter is to the Priest and Hunter classes.
The new class will have a tanking tree, a healing tree, and an omgpewpewtreeofawesomeness tree. Yes, you read that right, there will be no QQ tree! Yes!!
The tanking tree will focus on pet survivability and tanking abilities. Major talents in this tree include Spittle Laced Growl, Putrid Dog Breath, and, my personal favorite, Annoying Howl. The SH humanoid half will concentrate on keeping all of the pulls' attention on their pet with Misdirects, Stickers, and Peanut Butter. The humanoid will also incorporate traps, snares, and camouflage into the tanking role.
The healing tree will highlight the pet's special abilities to comfort, inspire, and soothe. Lick Wounds receives a major buff in this Xpac and will rival the Holy Priest's Greater Heal in power. Once again, the hunter will augment the pet's healing with bandages, special herb mixtures, and cheerleading chants. (We've got spirit, yes we do...)
The omgpewpewtreeofawesomeness tree will take all of the existing talents from the current trees, make them 1/3rd of the cost in points, and basically be a 168 talent tree for the bargain basement price of 56 talent points. Yeah, it's that awesome!
In short, the Shadow Hunter will become what every Hunter dreams of and every other class QQ's about them. That's all the info I have for now. Stay tuned for further developments!
The expansion scheduled after Cataclysm is already in development, and the next hero class is going to be the Shadow Hunter! Like the DK is to the Pally, the Shadow Hunter is to the Priest and Hunter classes.
The new class will have a tanking tree, a healing tree, and an omgpewpewtreeofawesomeness tree. Yes, you read that right, there will be no QQ tree! Yes!!
The tanking tree will focus on pet survivability and tanking abilities. Major talents in this tree include Spittle Laced Growl, Putrid Dog Breath, and, my personal favorite, Annoying Howl. The SH humanoid half will concentrate on keeping all of the pulls' attention on their pet with Misdirects, Stickers, and Peanut Butter. The humanoid will also incorporate traps, snares, and camouflage into the tanking role.
The healing tree will highlight the pet's special abilities to comfort, inspire, and soothe. Lick Wounds receives a major buff in this Xpac and will rival the Holy Priest's Greater Heal in power. Once again, the hunter will augment the pet's healing with bandages, special herb mixtures, and cheerleading chants. (We've got spirit, yes we do...)
The omgpewpewtreeofawesomeness tree will take all of the existing talents from the current trees, make them 1/3rd of the cost in points, and basically be a 168 talent tree for the bargain basement price of 56 talent points. Yeah, it's that awesome!
In short, the Shadow Hunter will become what every Hunter dreams of and every other class QQ's about them. That's all the info I have for now. Stay tuned for further developments!
Friday, November 6, 2009
Some Musings
Of all the subjects that I've covered under this title, my military applications of marine and domesticated lifeforms has drawn the most attention and feedback, so I wanted to update everyone on some of the more interesting developments.
As everyone knows by now, I have a puppy that's rapidly becoming a dog which is evidenced by her larger size, her recent surgery for da snip snip, and her wearing shorter skirts and makeup.
Now, I'm pretty sure that I mentioned somewhere that I was outfitting Denali with rocket launchers, but because she's still growing, I had suspended the project until she could handle the weight of the weapons.
Well, it's been a good two weeks since then and....she's still not noticeably larger. And that despite all of the growth hormones, steroids, and dog food that I've been feeding her.
It was then that I suspected that I might have bought a lemon (Indiana has laws protecting against Lemon Dogs - Apple Cats are still legal...for now), so I looked at the paperwork provided by the Continental Kennel Club....and was shocked!
Turns out that Denali is an American Eskimo Miniature (emphasis mine)! You could have knocked me over with a backhoe! I had to sit down in order to take in the sheer magnitude of this revelation.
I mean....I had been looking at my puppy as a mere beast of burden when in reality, she is a super tactical genius as applied to Miniature war games!!! That's like having an Albert Einstein and asking him to carry your books. It's like having a J.R.R. Tolkien and trying to get him to carry your books. I might as well try to make a Peyton Manning, Jimmie Johnson, or Tiger Woods carry my books. I mean, sure they're all capable of carrying my books, but is that the best thing that I can use them for? Ok, in Albert's case, maybe, but only because he's dead. Oh, Tolkien too. And they wouldn't be useful for carrying them, more like...holding them.
Anyways, once I realized that I had a being that was bred for (BRED!!! AS IN BREEDING!!! AS IN NON-ASEXUAL REPRODUCTION!!!!) tactical pwnage, I started changing my approach with my new found genius.
Unfortunately, I've had mixed results. I first tried a fairly simple game called Kingmaker. I'm sure that it was mere child's play for my brilliant pup, and I attribute that to her distinct lack of interest.
I figured I'd try a more advanced game: Axis and Allies: Pacific. At least with this game, Denali show some interest in eating the Yamato and the Missouri. I'm sure she was expressing her displeasure at the simple scenarios that don't even touch a portion of her huge intellect. /sigh.
I've tried computer sim games, XBox and Wii games (her lack of opposable thumbs hindered her complete domination in Left for Dead - I still lost, but it was only by 2.3 million). So, anyways, I'm at a bit of an impasse as I'm not really sure how to best use Denali's inherent gifts in the realm of strategy.
I will persevere, however. I mean, why would someone make a special breed of miniatures dogs if they aren't meant to be used? I'm hoping that it isn't just a leftover, obsolete breed like the Dodo Blood Hounds....
As everyone knows by now, I have a puppy that's rapidly becoming a dog which is evidenced by her larger size, her recent surgery for da snip snip, and her wearing shorter skirts and makeup.
Now, I'm pretty sure that I mentioned somewhere that I was outfitting Denali with rocket launchers, but because she's still growing, I had suspended the project until she could handle the weight of the weapons.
Well, it's been a good two weeks since then and....she's still not noticeably larger. And that despite all of the growth hormones, steroids, and dog food that I've been feeding her.
It was then that I suspected that I might have bought a lemon (Indiana has laws protecting against Lemon Dogs - Apple Cats are still legal...for now), so I looked at the paperwork provided by the Continental Kennel Club....and was shocked!
Turns out that Denali is an American Eskimo Miniature (emphasis mine)! You could have knocked me over with a backhoe! I had to sit down in order to take in the sheer magnitude of this revelation.
I mean....I had been looking at my puppy as a mere beast of burden when in reality, she is a super tactical genius as applied to Miniature war games!!! That's like having an Albert Einstein and asking him to carry your books. It's like having a J.R.R. Tolkien and trying to get him to carry your books. I might as well try to make a Peyton Manning, Jimmie Johnson, or Tiger Woods carry my books. I mean, sure they're all capable of carrying my books, but is that the best thing that I can use them for? Ok, in Albert's case, maybe, but only because he's dead. Oh, Tolkien too. And they wouldn't be useful for carrying them, more like...holding them.
Anyways, once I realized that I had a being that was bred for (BRED!!! AS IN BREEDING!!! AS IN NON-ASEXUAL REPRODUCTION!!!!) tactical pwnage, I started changing my approach with my new found genius.
Unfortunately, I've had mixed results. I first tried a fairly simple game called Kingmaker. I'm sure that it was mere child's play for my brilliant pup, and I attribute that to her distinct lack of interest.
I figured I'd try a more advanced game: Axis and Allies: Pacific. At least with this game, Denali show some interest in eating the Yamato and the Missouri. I'm sure she was expressing her displeasure at the simple scenarios that don't even touch a portion of her huge intellect. /sigh.
I've tried computer sim games, XBox and Wii games (her lack of opposable thumbs hindered her complete domination in Left for Dead - I still lost, but it was only by 2.3 million). So, anyways, I'm at a bit of an impasse as I'm not really sure how to best use Denali's inherent gifts in the realm of strategy.
I will persevere, however. I mean, why would someone make a special breed of miniatures dogs if they aren't meant to be used? I'm hoping that it isn't just a leftover, obsolete breed like the Dodo Blood Hounds....
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
An Open Letter to Amava
(yeah, I sent this to him too! haha)
Hey Amava,
It has come to our attention here at Musings of a Nutjob, that yesterday was the two month anniversary of your last post. This situation has produced, among other things, some anxiety on our part as to your well being.
No, not that kind of anxiety, we're just worried that we will no longer be able to live vicariously through your exploits in Conquest (aka, the Dream Team). You already know our unique demands for entertainment need to be addressed in witty, multiple format, Amava written material and the absence of the aforementioned sustenance has had some serious affects on not only this person, but also the country as a whole.
Consider: How was the economy when you were posting? And how is it now? That's right, when you slowed down your posting, the economy tanked. Coincidence? I think not!
Consider: How close was Iran to having nuclear weapons when you were still posting? And how much closer are they now that you have stopped posting? I'm going to assign this blame to Obama, Congress, and...you.
Consider: Dale Earnhardt, Jr. was 18th in the points as of your last post; he now resides in 22nd and is falling farther behind. I'm no Jr. fan, but even I can see his lack of performance bound to the dearth of posting at Amava Knows Aggro.
I don't have time to go into other events that have precipitated from the emptiness that has been your blog, but I will just mention a few: Racial profiling, Adam losing American Idol, the death of Michael Jackson, and my dog crappin' on my carpet.
I'm planning on making this an open letter on my blog because I think it's just too dang funny to waste on only one person. I'm hoping that you feel the same and stop being so dang stingy with your thoughts!
Rusty out!
Hey Amava,
It has come to our attention here at Musings of a Nutjob, that yesterday was the two month anniversary of your last post. This situation has produced, among other things, some anxiety on our part as to your well being.
No, not that kind of anxiety, we're just worried that we will no longer be able to live vicariously through your exploits in Conquest (aka, the Dream Team). You already know our unique demands for entertainment need to be addressed in witty, multiple format, Amava written material and the absence of the aforementioned sustenance has had some serious affects on not only this person, but also the country as a whole.
Consider: How was the economy when you were posting? And how is it now? That's right, when you slowed down your posting, the economy tanked. Coincidence? I think not!
Consider: How close was Iran to having nuclear weapons when you were still posting? And how much closer are they now that you have stopped posting? I'm going to assign this blame to Obama, Congress, and...you.
Consider: Dale Earnhardt, Jr. was 18th in the points as of your last post; he now resides in 22nd and is falling farther behind. I'm no Jr. fan, but even I can see his lack of performance bound to the dearth of posting at Amava Knows Aggro.
I don't have time to go into other events that have precipitated from the emptiness that has been your blog, but I will just mention a few: Racial profiling, Adam losing American Idol, the death of Michael Jackson, and my dog crappin' on my carpet.
I'm planning on making this an open letter on my blog because I think it's just too dang funny to waste on only one person. I'm hoping that you feel the same and stop being so dang stingy with your thoughts!
Rusty out!
Friday, May 15, 2009
Super Secret Siemen's Photos, part II
One of my classmates got a little bit too close to some vital information while mucking around in the console. Ole Nessie here zapped him. I think I remember signing some sort of waiver exonerating Siemens from any liability in the event of "death by laser shooting out of a mutant dinosaur's eyes". Or something to that effect...
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Super secret Siemen's Photos
As promised, here is one of the pics that I took last week while at the Siemen's Medical training facility.
Now, this is a picture that I took while inside the MultiModality work station, so I'm thinking it's some sort of virus or bug protection program. I didn't hang around to find out....
Friday, April 17, 2009
Honoring IMAO
IMAO has allowed the right wing blogging community to honor them with various awards, so in the spirit of the last couple of posts, I present IMAO with the following award.
I'll also include the presentation email:
I'll also include the presentation email:
Dear Harvey et al at IMAO,
It is my extreme pleasure to notify you that you have been selected by the Mutagenics Society of America for an Honorary Tentacle award for your groundbreaking and innovative work in the area of dinosaur research.
Here at the MSA, we are committed to using our innate capitalist nature to exploit and develop homemade bio/chemical/and nuclear weapons out of the resources that surround us, including waterfowl, wild rice, and old Missus Johnson's cat.
To date, our efforts have resulted in significant algae blooms in the test pond with the hopes that mutations will soon occur in the resident wildlife and can be exploited for various right wing purposes - home defense being at the top of the list.
MSA recognizes a kindred soul in IMAO and wishes to encourage and promote the kind of research that our great grandchildren can see with their own three eyes.
Sincerely,
Dax (AKA Rusty)
www.musingsofanutjob.blogspot.com
Thursday, April 16, 2009
My Pond
I live in a nice suburbian suburb. And because it's a nice suburbian suburb development, it has retention ponds for retaining water that falls out of the sky. I happen to live on the edge of one such pond....it marks the back of my territory...erm...yard.
Anyways, we've always had ducks, frogs, fish, Canadian (I HATE THOSE STUPID) Geese, and the occasional blue heron in the pond and, recently, we've had a pair of muskrats move in.
....which has got me thinking.
I mean, being a huge polluter, I want to take advantage of every opportunity at my disposal to ruin our earth for future generations. But, I also want to bitterly cling to my religion and guns through resisting the totalitarian authority of the Big Obama administration.
And, that's when it hit me! The juxtaposition of both of my life goals in one single... uh... action.... packed.... uh... THING!
Let me preface this with saying that I regularly pollute my pond...I mean, I'm a good capitalist! Every two months or so, I lay down the appropriate fertilizer for my grass, depending on the time of year, and watch the resulting greening of my lawn AND the subsequent algae bloom on the pond. So, I'm no stranger to messing around with Nature's workings!
Ok, my idea: You know how all these governments are trying to store their old used up nuclear waste? Well, I can have them pay me to take it off their hands, and I can dump it in my pond! Not only will I make a buck, but also, eventually, I'll have a whole army of mutant ducks and muskrats to do my bidding!!
You can have my mutant blue heron when you pry it from my cold dead glowing green...uh...POND! That is, if you make it past the writhing mass of tentacles that will pluck your eyes out and rip off your arms, Mr. Government Official Sir!!
Anyways, we've always had ducks, frogs, fish, Canadian (I HATE THOSE STUPID) Geese, and the occasional blue heron in the pond and, recently, we've had a pair of muskrats move in.
....which has got me thinking.
I mean, being a huge polluter, I want to take advantage of every opportunity at my disposal to ruin our earth for future generations. But, I also want to bitterly cling to my religion and guns through resisting the totalitarian authority of the Big Obama administration.
And, that's when it hit me! The juxtaposition of both of my life goals in one single... uh... action.... packed.... uh... THING!
Let me preface this with saying that I regularly pollute my pond...I mean, I'm a good capitalist! Every two months or so, I lay down the appropriate fertilizer for my grass, depending on the time of year, and watch the resulting greening of my lawn AND the subsequent algae bloom on the pond. So, I'm no stranger to messing around with Nature's workings!
Ok, my idea: You know how all these governments are trying to store their old used up nuclear waste? Well, I can have them pay me to take it off their hands, and I can dump it in my pond! Not only will I make a buck, but also, eventually, I'll have a whole army of mutant ducks and muskrats to do my bidding!!
You can have my mutant blue heron when you pry it from my cold dead glowing green...uh...POND! That is, if you make it past the writhing mass of tentacles that will pluck your eyes out and rip off your arms, Mr. Government Official Sir!!
Letting the Cat out of the Bag
So, with Tuesday's post, I let slip the real focus of this blog. I have to confess.
The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) has me on their watch list for being a right-winger. Those weren't really World of Warcraft posts....they were marching orders!
Take the post on Healbot....if you substitute "firing pin" for "Greater Heal", you can easily see that it is a virtual manual on assembling/disassembling and modifying an AR-15 to be fully automatic.
My loot lists? Oh, yeah, they're lists of gun suppliers in major metropolitan areas that are sympathetic to our cause. While I won't give out the key to them to just anybody, I will give a hint that Azjol Nerub is just an alternate spelling of Albuquerque. Oops, I've said too much!
The two Pox groups that I've been a part of were actually secret "Black Ops" stuff that I and my fellow militia members have engaged in. Mostly it centered around figuring out how to take down old missus Johnson's DANG cat that keeps walking on my vehicle. I'LL GET YOU MY PRETTY!!!!!!
Yep, and then, as previously mentioned, I'm big into the global warming thing. Why just last night I fixed Chili for dinner, and today....the sweet, sweet smell of the temperature and oceans rising. I love the smell of methene in the morning....it smells like victory! (well, and death....).
So, there you have it. A full DHS confession right here and now! G2G, the black helicopters are on their way!!
The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) has me on their watch list for being a right-winger. Those weren't really World of Warcraft posts....they were marching orders!
Take the post on Healbot....if you substitute "firing pin" for "Greater Heal", you can easily see that it is a virtual manual on assembling/disassembling and modifying an AR-15 to be fully automatic.
My loot lists? Oh, yeah, they're lists of gun suppliers in major metropolitan areas that are sympathetic to our cause. While I won't give out the key to them to just anybody, I will give a hint that Azjol Nerub is just an alternate spelling of Albuquerque. Oops, I've said too much!
The two Pox groups that I've been a part of were actually secret "Black Ops" stuff that I and my fellow militia members have engaged in. Mostly it centered around figuring out how to take down old missus Johnson's DANG cat that keeps walking on my vehicle. I'LL GET YOU MY PRETTY!!!!!!
Yep, and then, as previously mentioned, I'm big into the global warming thing. Why just last night I fixed Chili for dinner, and today....the sweet, sweet smell of the temperature and oceans rising. I love the smell of methene in the morning....it smells like victory! (well, and death....).
So, there you have it. A full DHS confession right here and now! G2G, the black helicopters are on their way!!
Monday, February 9, 2009
If I don't make it back...
So, most of you know that I'm full of crap. Well, that crap has to be purged tomorrow in Bowel Prep day; I expect that I'll be losing fully 25% of my 200 pounds. (Wednesday is Scope day! Yay on me!)
And while being a svelte 150 pounds would be nice for my wife, I'm worried that my quality blog posts will go down the toilet in the purge.
I know this is all TMI, and you can be thankful that I won't blog through my experience...well, unless WoW is down.
Oh, yeah, tomorrow's Tuesday...Maintenance day. You might want to start calling Blizzard now to lobby for rolling restarts instead of any significant down time....you have until 12 noon Eastern time before I start the cleansing.
And while being a svelte 150 pounds would be nice for my wife, I'm worried that my quality blog posts will go down the toilet in the purge.
I know this is all TMI, and you can be thankful that I won't blog through my experience...well, unless WoW is down.
Oh, yeah, tomorrow's Tuesday...Maintenance day. You might want to start calling Blizzard now to lobby for rolling restarts instead of any significant down time....you have until 12 noon Eastern time before I start the cleansing.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Some Musings
So, since my readership has increased to 6 (thanks Uncle Ernie for tuning in - Uncle Ernie brings along Bert, Jamaal, and Lil' Goodroot with his multiple personalities), I've decided to bring everyone up to speed on my current efforts to become superhuman (supero humano xmen-us) via contact with a 3 Tesla MRI. Recently I found out that Wara has been trying to do the same thing via the South Pole - great minds think alike!
Over the weekend, I had two opportunities to come into close contact with a Philips Acheiva 3 Tesla MRI and came away with mixed results. But before I disclose them to you, please allow me to list my superhuman abilities as of last Friday.
1. I can fold a sheet of paper (8.5X11) into perfect thirds making it into a 8.5X3.66666666666666666666666666666666666666666666667 folded piece of paper. This ability is well documented by my envelope stuffing days at the Geriatric Endotoxin Race for the Moat (GERM) offices.
2. I have some sort of mass on my wrist from when my brother bit me long ago that may eventually grow into a tentacle. So far, I have been unsuccessful in taking control of the mass to bend it to my will, but I continue to exercise the nerve endings in my efforts to fully develop this part of my inhuman anatomy.
3. And speaking of anatomy, the hair on my back continues to thicken into a finely woven cloak that may eventually be bullet proof. The same armor is already protecting my ears, armpits, and nostrils.
There are other abilities/anatomical niceties that I could mention, but if I told you, (everyone say it together),
"I'd have to eat granola and snort Root Beer through a straw."
LOL! That saying never loses its luster....anyways, back to the point.
So, the results of my cuddle time with the 3T (as a recent graduate of the Philips School of MRI Leetness, I'm authorized to call the Philips Achieve 3 Tesla system by the name of 3T or Trudy - my choice) were mixed. There were no Hulk like immediate changes that I could see, but there are some developing issues that may culminate with me in a spandex suit.
1. Through the power of suggestion (and a P.O.) I was able to move a part from Louisville (pronouced Lolwvul - one syllable), KY to Indianapolis (pronounced Indy), IN with very little sustaining effort on my part. All of the initial energy I expended in "thinking" the move was sufficient for the action to take place. I will have to see if I can speed up the process as it took about 12 hours for the part to make a 2 hour journey. Maybe more initial thought would do the trick.
2. I have a new freckle that bears watching. No, I haven't given up on my bite mark that will one day save the world from the Girl Scout extremists, but the spot in question has grown from 1.178472647856 mm to 1.178472647857 mm. Yes, a relatively small increase, but remember, it's taken me 41 years to grow 49 inches in stature.
3. I was able to successfully hack into the Biomed laptop that is used for getting into Trudy's service software. Nevermind the fact that there are no defined users on the laptop, so it comes up in Windows instead of a log in screen; the point is that I....I!!!!....gained access to this valuable resource. While this may be more of a skill rather than a quantum leap in brain power, I'm leaning towards the latter as it makes my reports look better.
There are other developing changes/mutations that I've noticed, but if I told you (everybody say it together!!),
"I'd probably get rabies and poison ivy, that leaves a nasty rash and makes you scratch it until it bleeds and then you have to go the hospital where you wait around while the so called heart patients continue to bump you back on the priority list and the kid next to you pukes on your shoes and finally you get an MRI done for your rash and get told to suck it up and just live with it."
/sigh! That saying never gets old!
Over the weekend, I had two opportunities to come into close contact with a Philips Acheiva 3 Tesla MRI and came away with mixed results. But before I disclose them to you, please allow me to list my superhuman abilities as of last Friday.
1. I can fold a sheet of paper (8.5X11) into perfect thirds making it into a 8.5X3.66666666666666666666666666666666666666666666667 folded piece of paper. This ability is well documented by my envelope stuffing days at the Geriatric Endotoxin Race for the Moat (GERM) offices.
2. I have some sort of mass on my wrist from when my brother bit me long ago that may eventually grow into a tentacle. So far, I have been unsuccessful in taking control of the mass to bend it to my will, but I continue to exercise the nerve endings in my efforts to fully develop this part of my inhuman anatomy.
3. And speaking of anatomy, the hair on my back continues to thicken into a finely woven cloak that may eventually be bullet proof. The same armor is already protecting my ears, armpits, and nostrils.
There are other abilities/anatomical niceties that I could mention, but if I told you, (everyone say it together),
"I'd have to eat granola and snort Root Beer through a straw."
LOL! That saying never loses its luster....anyways, back to the point.
So, the results of my cuddle time with the 3T (as a recent graduate of the Philips School of MRI Leetness, I'm authorized to call the Philips Achieve 3 Tesla system by the name of 3T or Trudy - my choice) were mixed. There were no Hulk like immediate changes that I could see, but there are some developing issues that may culminate with me in a spandex suit.
1. Through the power of suggestion (and a P.O.) I was able to move a part from Louisville (pronouced Lolwvul - one syllable), KY to Indianapolis (pronounced Indy), IN with very little sustaining effort on my part. All of the initial energy I expended in "thinking" the move was sufficient for the action to take place. I will have to see if I can speed up the process as it took about 12 hours for the part to make a 2 hour journey. Maybe more initial thought would do the trick.
2. I have a new freckle that bears watching. No, I haven't given up on my bite mark that will one day save the world from the Girl Scout extremists, but the spot in question has grown from 1.178472647856 mm to 1.178472647857 mm. Yes, a relatively small increase, but remember, it's taken me 41 years to grow 49 inches in stature.
3. I was able to successfully hack into the Biomed laptop that is used for getting into Trudy's service software. Nevermind the fact that there are no defined users on the laptop, so it comes up in Windows instead of a log in screen; the point is that I....I!!!!....gained access to this valuable resource. While this may be more of a skill rather than a quantum leap in brain power, I'm leaning towards the latter as it makes my reports look better.
There are other developing changes/mutations that I've noticed, but if I told you (everybody say it together!!),
"I'd probably get rabies and poison ivy, that leaves a nasty rash and makes you scratch it until it bleeds and then you have to go the hospital where you wait around while the so called heart patients continue to bump you back on the priority list and the kid next to you pukes on your shoes and finally you get an MRI done for your rash and get told to suck it up and just live with it."
/sigh! That saying never gets old!
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Some musings
It's been far too long....
So, yesterday over on Kael'thas, I was talking with my new guildie, who I suspect is a Hordie in disguise (BBB's guild is Alliance). What tipped me off is that he seemed more comfortable fighting as an Undead Night Elf Warrior vs. a live one. I tried to tell him that he couldn't equip his sword as a wisp and so, couldn't Sunder Armor, but my advice fell on deaf ears.
And since I had deaf ears not listening to me, I decided to "help" him out by implying that he had a problem to which his solution involved The cat, a rollercoaster, and a medicine ball. I tried to help him by pointing out that The cat wouldn't meet the minimum height requirements for the rollercoaster AND that the average housecat can in no way swallow a medicine ball.
An aside, I did say that I had read reports of domesticated felines being able to swallow a billiard ball and one unconfirmed article of a cat swallowing a basketball, but none being able to choke down a medicine ball.
Anyways, while preparing dinner, I realized that a simple solution to his problem would be cat stilts. "But, what about the ban?" you might ask. First of all, it's a moratorium, not a ban, and secondly, it was the UN that put that out. And everyone knows that UN resolutions are non-binding.
After I had communicated that to my best buddy from Europe, the afore mentioned undead NE warrior who's name I will not devulge (See Ashhi, I CAN be descreet!), seemed a bit overwhelmed by my simple solution, so I presented an alternate: Kitty blindfolds. I'm still not sure if my message got through the language barrier, as I only spoke in Mandarin.
But back to the cat stilts. I'd like to expand on this riveting subject and explore the history of how the UN came to stick their nose into the national industry of Sri Lanka.
The origin of cat stilts is still debated, but the early renditions are well known. Pugnacious "Yarp" Boonswaggle was arguably the first person to make a crude set of "kitty elevators", as they first were known. Unfortunately for him, the 4X4 beams that he nailed the cats' feet to were too heavy for the felines to effectively use. So, while the cats gained 6 feet of "elevation", they could not use the stilts for their intended purpose. And the idea seemed to die.
With the advent of welding, puss extenders became one of the first applications of the new technology. Researchers quickly determined that welding the actual paw to the 4X4 was a recipe for disaster, and soon began looking for shoes or "boots" that could be used instead. Hence, we get the phrase, "Bob's your Uncle!" But, once again, even with the feet firmly, and humanely, attached, the cats were unable to properly use the stilts.
After this, cat stilt research entered a dark era that included steroids, DNA manipulation, and live sacrifices. Due to the icky part of this field of study, many researchers left for greener pastures in the mold industry, however, despite many different approaches, the 4X4's could not be made any lighter or the cat's more beefy. But all was not lost, as many useful products resulted from the 3 million cats who sacrificed their all; the list of products include Velcro, Super Glue, and the letter P.
Enter Rufus "Batman" Cage. Batman is credited with saving the industry from itself (and them dang regulators) with his revolutionary idea of using 2X4's instead of 4X4's. The cats still did not have the strength to use the new stilts, but this line of thinking caused researchers to continue trying new and different material for the stilts. It would only be after extensive research into 1X4's, 1/2X4's, 1/4thX4's, and on down to 1/256thX4's that the next breakthrough would be realized. As an aside, the next iteration (1/512thX4's) would have sliced through those kitties' paws like a hot knife through butter, and the researchers had run out of cats to complete a full study.
That breakthrough was balsa wood, and the rest, as they say, is history.
So, yesterday over on Kael'thas, I was talking with my new guildie, who I suspect is a Hordie in disguise (BBB's guild is Alliance). What tipped me off is that he seemed more comfortable fighting as an Undead Night Elf Warrior vs. a live one. I tried to tell him that he couldn't equip his sword as a wisp and so, couldn't Sunder Armor, but my advice fell on deaf ears.
And since I had deaf ears not listening to me, I decided to "help" him out by implying that he had a problem to which his solution involved The cat, a rollercoaster, and a medicine ball. I tried to help him by pointing out that The cat wouldn't meet the minimum height requirements for the rollercoaster AND that the average housecat can in no way swallow a medicine ball.
An aside, I did say that I had read reports of domesticated felines being able to swallow a billiard ball and one unconfirmed article of a cat swallowing a basketball, but none being able to choke down a medicine ball.
Anyways, while preparing dinner, I realized that a simple solution to his problem would be cat stilts. "But, what about the ban?" you might ask. First of all, it's a moratorium, not a ban, and secondly, it was the UN that put that out. And everyone knows that UN resolutions are non-binding.
After I had communicated that to my best buddy from Europe, the afore mentioned undead NE warrior who's name I will not devulge (See Ashhi, I CAN be descreet!), seemed a bit overwhelmed by my simple solution, so I presented an alternate: Kitty blindfolds. I'm still not sure if my message got through the language barrier, as I only spoke in Mandarin.
But back to the cat stilts. I'd like to expand on this riveting subject and explore the history of how the UN came to stick their nose into the national industry of Sri Lanka.
The origin of cat stilts is still debated, but the early renditions are well known. Pugnacious "Yarp" Boonswaggle was arguably the first person to make a crude set of "kitty elevators", as they first were known. Unfortunately for him, the 4X4 beams that he nailed the cats' feet to were too heavy for the felines to effectively use. So, while the cats gained 6 feet of "elevation", they could not use the stilts for their intended purpose. And the idea seemed to die.
With the advent of welding, puss extenders became one of the first applications of the new technology. Researchers quickly determined that welding the actual paw to the 4X4 was a recipe for disaster, and soon began looking for shoes or "boots" that could be used instead. Hence, we get the phrase, "Bob's your Uncle!" But, once again, even with the feet firmly, and humanely, attached, the cats were unable to properly use the stilts.
After this, cat stilt research entered a dark era that included steroids, DNA manipulation, and live sacrifices. Due to the icky part of this field of study, many researchers left for greener pastures in the mold industry, however, despite many different approaches, the 4X4's could not be made any lighter or the cat's more beefy. But all was not lost, as many useful products resulted from the 3 million cats who sacrificed their all; the list of products include Velcro, Super Glue, and the letter P.
Enter Rufus "Batman" Cage. Batman is credited with saving the industry from itself (and them dang regulators) with his revolutionary idea of using 2X4's instead of 4X4's. The cats still did not have the strength to use the new stilts, but this line of thinking caused researchers to continue trying new and different material for the stilts. It would only be after extensive research into 1X4's, 1/2X4's, 1/4thX4's, and on down to 1/256thX4's that the next breakthrough would be realized. As an aside, the next iteration (1/512thX4's) would have sliced through those kitties' paws like a hot knife through butter, and the researchers had run out of cats to complete a full study.
That breakthrough was balsa wood, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Some musings
Fall always brings thoughts of being on the honey bee farm and wishing I had more turnips. Sigh, good times! My brothers and I would hurl the two turnips we had at each other for a good 5 minutes, 37 seconds. What we would have given for just 40 more of those tasty roots, but alas, in the wilds of Sri Lanka we could ill afford such luxuries.
I remember one time around October 5th, 1973, 10:31.40, that my brothers had started without me due to the extensive list of adverbs that I was working on. How I cried that day! The tears pooled on my thesaurus as I watched the bruising form on my brother's ear, and I secretly hoped that it would be gone by the end of the play time. But it was all in vain, as he strutted around the courtyard sporting his freshly purpled lobe which looked like Barney after a car crusher accident.
So, now that I'm older, and have children of my own, I would love to introduce them to some of the precious activities that will not only make them stronger, but also give them a healthy dose of potential blood clots.
Well, here we are, out back near the crane (machinery not bird), and my youngest has the crane (bird not machinery) by the neck! Guffaw! After showing him how to properly hold the bird (not machinery) by the left dorsal fin, we're ready!
Let me tell you, the looks on everyone's faces was pure joy. Their eyes shined as turnips were tossed and ears turned purple! I dare say that if the crane (machinery not bird) were alive, it would have had the most fun of all! And the crane (bird not machinery) squawked his loud approval at our antics!
Sigh, good times!
I remember one time around October 5th, 1973, 10:31.40, that my brothers had started without me due to the extensive list of adverbs that I was working on. How I cried that day! The tears pooled on my thesaurus as I watched the bruising form on my brother's ear, and I secretly hoped that it would be gone by the end of the play time. But it was all in vain, as he strutted around the courtyard sporting his freshly purpled lobe which looked like Barney after a car crusher accident.
So, now that I'm older, and have children of my own, I would love to introduce them to some of the precious activities that will not only make them stronger, but also give them a healthy dose of potential blood clots.
Well, here we are, out back near the crane (machinery not bird), and my youngest has the crane (bird not machinery) by the neck! Guffaw! After showing him how to properly hold the bird (not machinery) by the left dorsal fin, we're ready!
Let me tell you, the looks on everyone's faces was pure joy. Their eyes shined as turnips were tossed and ears turned purple! I dare say that if the crane (machinery not bird) were alive, it would have had the most fun of all! And the crane (bird not machinery) squawked his loud approval at our antics!
Sigh, good times!
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Some musings
During my time with the cannibals of northern Indiana (mostly a meat and potatoes kind of people), I never ceased to be amazed at their use of turmeric. I know, I know, this is northern Indiana, not India, but, to a family, their use of this yellow root far surpassed anything I had ever seen.
One such use involved the groom on his wedding day. Said groom was rubbed head to foot with the pungent spice before the vows were taken. While the unobserved eye might think the ceremony might end in some sort of Black Widowesk mating ritual, the sad reality was much more mundane: they already smelled like cumin.
The tragic story of these remarkable survivors came to an abrupt end after an uneasy truce that was maintained for 57 years with the neighboring Amish communities was broken by a rogue buggy driver who subsequently was punished by shunning for an hour. The tribes fought valiantly to build their casino, but in the end, lost both their spice and their lives.
Now, as the waves of Lake Michigan roll over the remains of America's only known cannibal settlement, one has to wonder what might have been, what could have been, and what WAS I eating?
One such use involved the groom on his wedding day. Said groom was rubbed head to foot with the pungent spice before the vows were taken. While the unobserved eye might think the ceremony might end in some sort of Black Widowesk mating ritual, the sad reality was much more mundane: they already smelled like cumin.
The tragic story of these remarkable survivors came to an abrupt end after an uneasy truce that was maintained for 57 years with the neighboring Amish communities was broken by a rogue buggy driver who subsequently was punished by shunning for an hour. The tribes fought valiantly to build their casino, but in the end, lost both their spice and their lives.
Now, as the waves of Lake Michigan roll over the remains of America's only known cannibal settlement, one has to wonder what might have been, what could have been, and what WAS I eating?
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Some musings
On Saturday, I was minding my own business in Stranglethorn Vale, when all of a sudden, I got ganked by Cleaning, the House. ACK! Power Word: Shield!
Got several adds to this lvl ?? Elite Boss:
Shower Stall, a lvl 65 elite water Elemental.
Vacuum, the Floors, a lvl 65 elite earth Elemental.
Dusting, a lvl 63 elite air Elemental.
First of all, let me tell you Feign Death is always resisted and generated HUGE amounts of threat(s). Also, Mind Control cannot be used on any of the mobs. /sigh, we're in for a long fight....
Got several adds to this lvl ?? Elite Boss:
Shower Stall, a lvl 65 elite water Elemental.
Vacuum, the Floors, a lvl 65 elite earth Elemental.
Dusting, a lvl 63 elite air Elemental.
First of all, let me tell you Feign Death is always resisted and generated HUGE amounts of threat(s). Also, Mind Control cannot be used on any of the mobs. /sigh, we're in for a long fight....
Friday, August 17, 2007
Some musings
While we all can appreciate the sight of a sweaty man in a ruffly pirate shirt, what is less common is the love for a near miss road kill.
We've all been there - in the dark, doing 40 mph or so, and from the shadows comes the gank. This time it was a raccoon, and as he realized the predicament he was in, he thought he could beat Melissa on the angle. He was wrong.
Now, I've make some roadkill, seen some roadkill, and maybe even eaten some roadkill, but I think this it the first time I've given a critter a glancing blow, if you can call running into the sidewall of a tire a glancing blow. I have every expectation that when I go home from work that I will not see that particular 'coon's guts strewn across the roadway.
Do I feel good about this? I'm glad Melissa doesn't have some careless mammal's blood splattered on her sleek black paint job. As for the critter....maybe he's a little smarter for the knock in the head.
P.S. If he was dazed by the contact, he could be a meat pancake as I saw another car headed the other way.....
We've all been there - in the dark, doing 40 mph or so, and from the shadows comes the gank. This time it was a raccoon, and as he realized the predicament he was in, he thought he could beat Melissa on the angle. He was wrong.
Now, I've make some roadkill, seen some roadkill, and maybe even eaten some roadkill, but I think this it the first time I've given a critter a glancing blow, if you can call running into the sidewall of a tire a glancing blow. I have every expectation that when I go home from work that I will not see that particular 'coon's guts strewn across the roadway.
Do I feel good about this? I'm glad Melissa doesn't have some careless mammal's blood splattered on her sleek black paint job. As for the critter....maybe he's a little smarter for the knock in the head.
P.S. If he was dazed by the contact, he could be a meat pancake as I saw another car headed the other way.....
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Some musings
So, here I am in the Intensive Care Unit, just minding my business, when some yahoo in scrubs comes up to me and demands some sort of ID. Well, as many people have found out, the Air Force prepares people for such an eventuality, and I was no exception.
As I prepared to whip out my Big Red Kitty Identification Card and Florida Sunpass draft ID, I noticed the Environmental Services employee talking into his mop handle. The gig was up!
Quicker than you can say "I could've had a V8", I distracted the charge nurse with my handy-dandy Piece-O-Chocolate, which I lobbed into the nearest supply room. Her eyes moved from me to the dainty, little treat as it arced through the air. Foam dripping from her mouth, she attacked the morsel like a stylist on Britteny's hair. I quietly backed away......
As I prepared to whip out my Big Red Kitty Identification Card and Florida Sunpass draft ID, I noticed the Environmental Services employee talking into his mop handle. The gig was up!
Quicker than you can say "I could've had a V8", I distracted the charge nurse with my handy-dandy Piece-O-Chocolate, which I lobbed into the nearest supply room. Her eyes moved from me to the dainty, little treat as it arced through the air. Foam dripping from her mouth, she attacked the morsel like a stylist on Britteny's hair. I quietly backed away......
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