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Insert Your Favorite No Seriously If You Live In New Orleans Get The Fuck Out This Time Because You Have Ample Warning Again So Next Week I Don't Want To Hear You Crying "Where The Govmint At" And Looking For Somebody To Come Haul Your Ignorant Asses Out Again Joke Here.

sarah palin - vice president i'd like to fuck. funny.

over four hundred forms used by our own national security agency

let's all have a moment of silence for christina applegate's beautiful bosum

this photo can not be explained. or maybe it can, and i just don't want to hear it. dear god.

This Tasteless Friday Brought To You by Crunchy Frog.

So, there was this rich, snobbish girl in high school that I had a major crush on. Our lockers were close together, and when she couldn't avoid it, she would look at me, smile in a strained sort of way, and say hello. I found out that her parents were throwing a birthday party for her one night, and that the whole "in crowd" had been invited. (Yours Truly was not one of the illustrious guests on the list.) But what the hell, right? So I finished up my part-time job at the liquor store that I was working at, having also "requisitioned" a couple of pints of apricot brandy. (Apricot brandy is made by the demons in Hell. Trust me on this.) I walked across town and found her basement doors standing open, through which, I could see that the party was in full swing. The guys, (mostly asshole jocks) were all dressed in slacks, shirts, and those gay-assed knit ties that were hip in the 80's, and the girls were wearing gowns and dresses. It looked like something out of a bizarre 50's prom.

Anyway, having imbibed one pint of apricot brandy on my way across town, I was feeling pretty damn good, and no longer even feeling conspicuously underdressed. (Levis, boots, and a faded Motley Crue concert t-shirt) I saw her, and was riveted to the spot. She was beautiful as always, and dressed in a flattering strapless gown with a plunging neckline. Her boobs were nearly hanging out of the gown. A slow song came on, and she took one of the jocks out on the dancefloor and spent most of the dance making out with him. Feeling really miserable at this point, I ducked back out of the doorway and quaffed the other pint of apricot brandy. I was going for broke!

I guzzled the fucker. Anyway, the dance ended and Mr. Jock and she were standing behind a long table that held a crystal punch-bowl, cups, a cake, long platters of cookies and brownies, and plasticware. People were all coming to the table to help themselves when I found myself standing in front of the happy couple, the table between us. Both of them were looking at me as though I were something that they had scraped off of their shoes, and the music was suddenly a bit too loud, the room a little too warm, and everything just slightly tilted out of whack.

Before I could stop it, I spewed a perfect stream of sour brandy and nachos at a high velocity, the stream arching and almost all of it splatting perfectly between her breasts. Then, trying to turn away and overcome with abdominal distress, I proceeded to barf in the punch, on the cake, on the cookies, on the plasticware, the brownies, and all over the rest of the table. I was spewing chunks like a revved-up woodchipper.

What happened next was kind of a blur. Superjock leapt over the table, spilling it to the floor, bellowing like a sodomized water-buffalo. He grabbed me by the neck, dragged me outside, and proceeded to beat the fucking dogshit out of me. I began the long walk home, my face bloodied and throbbing, and (Oh, thank you, God) it started to rain. Meanwhile, I'm horking up bloody loogies and splacking them into the road. I tried to hitch a ride, but no one is going to pick up a stumbling, bloody kid, weaving through the streets in the middle of the night in a rainstorm. I finally made it home without further incident.

She never smiled at me, looked at me, or acknowledged my existence again.

I hurled a sponge loaded with paint-thinner on the hood of Jock-boy's parked car a few weeks later. So much for his beautiful, metallic, midnight-blue paintjob... Crunchy Frog

And the current leader in Box Dodge Fury is Chris with 575 followed by Alex with 446.

PSSSSST. PSSST. NEW ORLEANS. PSSSSST! GET. THE. FUCK. OUT. THIS. TIME.

ten mispronunciations that make you sound stupid. nucular.

the place i loved to hate (and fear) -- so long yankee stadium, we hardly knew ye

If Ya Can't Beat Em, Join Em.

To expound upon yesterday's post, here's another certain truth. That as long as automobiles exist, and alcohol exists... people are going to drive drunk. It is absolutely inevitable. It's going to happen no matter how many cops you put on the road, no matter how many DUI checkpoints you put up, and no matter how many fliers MADD hands out. People are going to drive drunk. Some of these people will be repeat degenerates with no regard for themselves or their fellow man, some of those people will be otherwise responsible folks who just made a bad decision. But drinking and driving is going to happen, period. The only question is whether its going to destroy lives or not.

Knowing this, I'd like to point out one thing that I think law enforcement is doing wrong in the war against hammered drivers. And that's getting too overzealous and arresting people for DUI such as this guy. I mean the guy had three previous DUI convictions. Clearly he has a drinking problem. Clearly he has excercised poor judgement at least three times earlier. But this time, instead of climbing behind a 4,000 pound missile and aiming it down the road at 60mph, the guy does what is probably the most responsible thing -- next to stopg drinking altogether -- and that's ride his slow ass lawn tractor instead. You can't tell me that this guy tooling down the road at 5mph honestly caused a threat to the general public. Take a look at the chart to the right, which calculates out the amount of energy in various vehicles. Here it is in graph form, so you can put things in perspective. On one extreme is a certain someone's 2006 Nissan Altima weaving down the road at 57 mph, and on the other is a Sears lawnmower buzzing along at a whopping 5 mph. Now you can't tell me you consider those as equal threats to society.

Was Mr. Jensen drunk? Sure he was. So cite him for public intoxication. If he was weaving out into traffic, then cite him for impeding the flow of traffic. If he was yelling and singing to himself, cite him for disturbing the peace. But arresting this guy for DUI isn't in the public's best interest, it only serves to pad somebody's statistics. The same thing with this guy -- who the fuck was he harming? A few people's lawns? Woo hoo, then cite him for tresspassing or destruction of private property. We've all seen this video before. Public intoxication, open container, littering, and with a little help, public indecency. Funny yes, but a DUI? C'mon. How about this lady? Aside from being ugly, what crime did she really commit? Public Intoxication, sure. Maybe even Reckless Endangerment? But DUI? C'mon, that's an awful big leap. How about on a bicycle? Are you fucking kidding me? That's just stupid. Or on a horse? Animal endangerment, maybe even animal cruelty, sure. But it's not DUI, and to try and peg it as such is a very shitty thing to do.

Listen, being charged with DUI is serious business, as it should be. The average cost of your first offense can be anywhere from $5,000 to $10,000. Do you really think that's an appropriate punishment for these lawnmower and mobility scooters riders? I don't. I think hanging a DRUNK DRIVER sign around these folks' neck isn't in the spirit of the law. They're dumbasses yes, but not drunk drivers. Some of you might want to counter with, "well, a motor vehicle is a motor vehicle," and that's an stupid mindless argument. Sure, in the strictest interpretation of the words, but I'd like to think people have the common sense to see a difference between the two. Hell, in the strictest interpretation of the law, if I stab you and throw the knife away I'm not only committing manslaughter, but littering. When's the last time you've seen someone charger with felony manslaughter and misdemeanor littering? Exactly, you haven't.

And while no one wants to give a thumbs up to getting on the road hammered, let me ask you this. If we can't stop driving under the influence of alcohol -- and trust me brother, you can't -- what can we at least do to soften the blow? Well, how many times have you heard someone say, "If you want to put your own live at risk that's your business, but when you're on the road you put other people's lives at risk, too." (Boy that really sounded bad in the first person, but it didn't work any other way...) What if you could significantly reduce the threat to yourself, and virtually eliminate the threat to other people? Have I got your attention now? Good. Here's my suggestion to DRASTICALLY lower the DUI rate and the injuries and deaths they cause; designate vehicles under 1,500lbs and with a maximum speed of 30mph, as DUI-PROOF. That's not to say you can't still be stopped for any other traffic offenses, just that you can't be charged with a DUI. Lemme ass'plain...

Here in Florida, you can drive small electric cars known as Neighborhood Electric Vehicles on any roads up to 35mph. NEV's are a neat way of saying 'gussied up golf carts' -- only they have headlights, tail lights, brake lights, radios, windshield wipers, and some even have air conditioning. They have a top speed of 25 mph. Plain old golf carts can be driven on any road up to 35mph, so long as they meet certain requirements (headlights, etc). Golf carts max out just over 19 mph. Then add to the mix small 49cc scooters, which by manufacturer design are limited to 30mph. The heaviest of these vehicles, a Ford Think! seats four people and cranking along at its top speed of 25mph would generate less than 1/10th the energy in a crash of my favorite bartender flying along at 57 mph in her Altima. A golf cart, 1/36th the forces. Those Bas Add Scooters I used to have? Less than 1/100th the energy. And those fearsome lawnmowers the cops of North Pole, Alaska are so worried about? That could bump into your leg at full throttle and would be about 1/800th the energy of a car crash. Maybe you might need an ankle brace afterwards.

Armed with this information, I propose that operators of these vehicles be exempt from DUI charges, providing they meet some basic requirements: The vehicles must have valid state registrations, carry at least $25,000 liability insurance, have functioning head/tail/brake lights, and have seatbelts or helmets depending on which is applicable. Said vehicles can only be operated on streets with speed limits of 35mph or less -- perfect for heading home from the neigborhood watering hole or your neighbor's kick ass party. Hell, even restrict the hours to something like 10pm to 4am. And of course, drivers would still have to obey all other applicable traffic laws, and would still subject to other charges such as; public intoxication, impeding the flow of traffic, disobeying stop signs, etc. They'd just be exempt from Driving Under the Influence.

I know it seems kind of stupid at first, but think about it for a minute of all those crashes that happen after 2am when the bars close. For those of you who have been injured by a drunk driver; what would your injuries be like if you had been thumped by a big plastic car at 25mph, instead of a pickup truck at 50mph? Folks with DUI convictions -- if you had the chance to head to the bar in one of these instead of your normal ride, would you? EMT's -- would you rather approach an accident and see a 19 year old girl with her face peeled off from going through the windshield, or see a 19 year old girl casting angry glances over the hood of her car and saying, "Is he drunk, I think he broke my radiator." Police -- would you rather respond to a woman and her kids getting rear ended at a stop light by a drunk driver in a pickup truck, or a drunk driver in a golf cart? Emergency Physicians -- would you rather see your ER fill up with, "pedestrian vs motorcycle" or, "pedestrian vs stupid ass on a 49cc weenie scoter" -- what's the latter going to take? A few splints and maybe some neosporin? And while I won't say you're going to be particularly excited about getting hit by a golf cart, or that there's no danger in it, but I will say it's not going to kill you. Besides, if you can't sidestep a fucking golf cart, you've got bigger issues at hand. And with less DUIs to process, think of how more effecient our court systems would be.

I pitched my DUI-proof vehicle idea to my brother while we were driving through upstate New York on the way to vacation, and he thought I was fucking nuts. "What are you going to do if one of those guys pulls out into the road in front of someone?" Just as he asked that, we came upon a farm tractor putt'ing along on the right shoulder of the road, hauling a load of hay. Seeing this, my brother gently turned the wheel to the left and we passed the farmer without incident. He paused, "Oh," he said. And again I'm not saying to everyone, "Hey wow let's all go out and get loaded, I'll see you on the sidestreets. Jack Daniels forever, woooo!" See, I kind of see my solution as pre-emptive plea bargaining. if you can't stop yourself from drinking and driving, at least take a little responsibility for your actions ahead of time, and we'll take the big charge off the table. I know this idea isn't the solution to the DUI issue as a whole, but I think it would make our neighborhood and city streets a lot safer. Would my solution fix every DUI situation -- no, especially not in highway crashes, but I do think there would be a lot more people telling funny stories around the dinner table. It's my whole bend with the wind or break philosophy.

nissan altima specs - yamaha zuma specs - lawnmower specs - duis stats

time to hit the road. just click and go baby, click and go.

from rage to riches to rags to riches to rags to riches to rags to riches to rags

That's One Line You Don't Want To Walk.

Let me introduce everyone to one indisputable fact in this world; a fact of which I am 100% certain is completely true. That is if [you have a drivers license and you drink alcohol] then you have without a doubt, at some point in your life, driven drunk. Everyone has done it. Everyone. I'm not saying you're particularly proud of it, I'm not saying you meant to do it, I'm not saying you condone it, I'm not saying you haven't done it in a very long time; but of this fact I am certain. Everyone has done it at some point. Period. End of story. I don't care if you're a cop, a pilot, a teacher, a priest, or if your mom was killed by a drunk driver. Everyone who drinks has driven drunk at some point, period. And most likely, you didn't even get caught. I once read a statistic somewhere that stated the average person will drive drunk over two hundred times before getting caught. Presuming it's true, that's scary.

When I was a young buck, the closest I've ever come to getting nailed for a DUI was after leaving a party in Quincy and returning to Hanscom AFB. My truck had this freaky rear brake problem at the time, where most of the time they wouldn't grab correctly so you had to stomp on the pedal harder to slow down. But every once in awhile they'd function as they should and because of the extra pressure on the brakes, you'd stop quite abruptly. One of these times happened to be when I was returning from said party late on a Friday night/Saturday morning. I lowered my passenger window (gets rid of the booze smell), dimmed my headlights as required, and applied the brakes to come to a nice easy stop in front of the guard shack to present my military id. Unfortunately, instead of a gentle stop, it was one of those less than graceful nosedives which brought an immediate frown to the Security Policeman's face. After quickly assertaining I was drunk, he abruptly told me, "Look, I'm a State Police Officer here on weekend Reserve duty. I can easily run your ass in for DUI right now, but quite frankly, I don't want to do the paperwork. You're a quarter mile from your dorm. Go there. And don't ever do this again." I did, and after peeling my shit stained shorts from the seat, didn't.

So what stimulates this little topic of the greatest tabboo? Did I have the honor of wearing steel bracelets? I am glad to report that no, no I did not. In fact, I am not the person who prompted this post at all. Remember me saying that I occasionally browse the Lee County Sheriff's office list of mugshots? Yeah I was doing that last night. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but my favorite bartender! Now those of you who pay attention to my phonecam have probably seen her a few times when I was frequenting Bikini Joe's for lunch. My friends that have come to visit have certainly met her a few times. And despite what her mugshot shows, she's really a beautiful girl. Fantastic body. Extremely intelligent and fun to talk to. A devout Red Sox fan. Very funny. Very down to earth. Yet despite this, here she is getting cocked at 9:49am on a Thursday morning, and after some later cyber-stalking would reveal, driving 57 in a 35 zone and not wearing a seat belt. Dude!

I now realize that I've come to regard drinking and driving the same way that I've come to regard stealing. That is at some point, you just realize that the peace of mind of not doing it is more valuable then what you hope to get away with. With stealing I evolved from, "If I can steal something that's worth $10 then I can keep the $20 in my pocket," to realizing that if I just buy the fucking thing I won't have to sweat out getting caught. And with drinking and getting behind the wheel it evolved from, "Ah I'm fine, I'll just drive slow and I'll be fine," to just saying fuck it and calling a cab for a measley $25. If you give that a moment's considerating, you'll see it's a no brainer. It's all just a matter of coming to that realization before you kill yourself or someone else.

New challenge is Box Dodge Fury, where you have to beat my 345 points. it doesn't start to get interesting until you reach 200 feet, and the physics are about as real as those in The Fast and The Furious 4, so you can stop or turn around in midair when you jump.

ATTENTION STUPID PEOPLE - PLEASE READ 'THIS ANATOMY OF A MALWARE SCAM' SO YOU ARE BETTER INFORMED

the most awesome idea ever to combat animal cruelty - tough guys and puppies

If You Have To Read It, You Shouldn't Be There.

On the final leg of my flight back from Rochester (layover in Baltimore, kill me) I was shoehorned into the middle seat with a cougar next to me by the window. She looked to be a professional woman in her early 40's, had chestnut brown hair, maybe needed a few botox injections in her forehead, but otherwise had a pretty bangin body. I was going to be a gentleman and pull my cock out for her, but saw something that froze me in my tracks. She was reading a book entitled, "The Five Dysfunctions of a Team: A Leadership Fable." I hate these kinds of books. No, I fucking loathe them. Over two hundred pages of complete and utter bullshit that ultimately teaches the middle manager nothing. And the corker is, if anyone needs to read a fucking book like that, they shouldn't be in a position of influence to begin with. Want to lead an effective team of employees in your workplace? It's easy. Make them feel valued. Say, "good job," and pat them on the back. Don't cut them off at the knees with every decision. Don't rob them of benefit after benefit while giving up nothing of your own. Don't treat them like shit just because you know the drowning economy doesn't present them with any better opportunities right now. And here I was, sitting next to some divorced cunt who was no doubt going to shatter people's spirits in the coming weeks. Upon seeing her choice in reading, my first response was to lean over and vomit in her lap; but not having any breakfast rendered me impotent in that regard. My next choice was to pray for the window to rupture, allowing the bulkhead to fail and pull this succubus out fake tits first. But pray as I might, the Boeing window held firm. Out of options, I did the only thing I could do. I donned my headphones and settling low in my seat, let out a long and silent fart. I closed my eyes and waited for the smell to waft up to my nose. Something that took longer than I expected because of the small dial air vents overhead. But after an eternity of waiting, sure enough, there it was: Budweiser, Jack and Coke, and cheeseburger with hot sauce from the Dakota Grill. From the corner of my right eye I could see her nose first twitch, and then wrinkle underneath her reading glasses. She shifted unfortably in her seat and leaned closer to the window probably yearning for some of all that fresh air just out of reach. She allowed the book to partially close in her lap and continued her stare out into the world. A tiny invisible smile pursed my lips. I gently dozed off to sleep.

Well, I couldn't find much. The Air Force releaseds this brief article within a week of the crash, but that was over two months ago and I couldn't find anything newer. Wikipedia attributes the latest C-130 crash to, "the loss of all four engines." You'd probably be more qualified to answer how/why all four engines could quit at once. My excruciatingly uneducated guess would be some sort of fuel contamination, or somebody sneezed and hit the OFF switch. Either way, the EOD guys sure did enjoy blowing it up. [the video] Oh, and say hello to Ashton for me. My hat's off to you guys... you're all fucking nuts.

Well Jeff, I guess it's time to ditch the Packard Bell on 28.8 dial up, eh? And while I don't normally cater to the lowest common demoninator like you, I was able to find a site with the vast majority of these resized to 640x480. So don't say I never done something for you. So in the game of life, I'm the chimp and you're the toad.

And I know the Cuban/Olympics Tae-Kwon-Do knockout kick thing is old news, but uh, I should think the referree would be pretty skilled in the art as well? And so.... why the fuck couldn't he defend himself? Isn't this kind of like a high-schooler knocking out Chuck Norris?

the 'guess where my accent is from' game - the whore from miami lies.

the top 20 sports cars of all time - 1963 chevy nova curiously absent, sorry tim.

Things I Learned While On Vacation.

The auto-updates didn't work, so on the third day I needed enlisted some help from homebase to make it go. I flew Airtran, and they were awesome. I still miss the inflight trivia games from Delta/Song, though. It's more humid in New York than it is in Florida. The St Regis river was 64 degrees... quite a change from my 84 degree pool. But I went swimming anyway -- beer helps you do anything. Infrastructure in the town of St Regis Falls has entered the year 2008 yet. Once tried on, even the most steadfast opponent loves Crocs. Spanky's in Massena has a shitty fish fry. Thank you to Walmart for my free Swiss Army knife. Had a wasp's nest in the cabin, but nobody got stung. There are some big fucking spiders in the Adirondacks and they like to eat stunned wasps. The summit of Mount Azure is 2,518 feet, which you reach in less than a mile hike, at what seems to be a 60 degree grade. Beer drank at the summit tastes better than beer drank at the bottom. Watching old dogs walk make me feel bad. Glow sticks attract fat girls. Saying, "Boeing 717," is a nice way of saying, "rebadged McDonnel Douglas MD-80." Nick Tahoe's hot sauce can be beat. Ipods kick ass. All the bowling skills in the world can't help you out Wii-bowl a ten year old girl. Seeing 730 foot long ships up close is just as much fun now as when you were a kid. The only bar in St Regis Falls is for sale, but no thanks. Old Boy Scout skills fade, but never really disappear. I don't feel any safer after taking off by shoes and belt or by having my boarding pass checked three times. We saw two rollover accidents on the drive back -- both on wide open straight stretches of road -- fucking New Yorkers. Bees get knocked out when hitting side view mirrors at 65 mph. Crocs, while cool, weren't meant to climb houses. Steel doesn't get cold. Unlimited food and drink makes you gain one pound per day. Flicking bottle caps is a skill worth passing on to future generations. Empty water bottles can be used as missiles. Pickled eggs taske like pickled gorilla ass rubbed in dogshit. My oldest brother likes pickled gorilla ass rubbed in dogshit. French Canadians still stink. Annoying fat people shouldn't run golf courses. My ATV still runs well after nine months of storage, although I didn't get crazy because I didn't have a helmet. Pools turn green in a week.

Oh, and a fucking tropical storm -- named after my Mom -- hits my house while I was gone. Because you know, that happens every day. No damage though, but I do have a fuckload of email to catch up on.

a set of photographs from the war in south osetia made by arkady babchenko

how to buy a new car and not get screwed - a video tutorial by rob gruhl

the perry bible fellowship -- the best fucking internet comic out there

Try This At Your Job And See How It Works Out.

Dear Boss,

I have enjoyed working here these past several years. You have paid me very well, given me benefits beyond belief. I have 3-4 months off per year and a pension plan that will pay my salary till the day I die and a health plan that most people can only dream about. Despite this I plan to take the next 12-18 months to find a new position. During this time I will show up for work when it is convenient. In addition, I fully expect to draw my full salary and all the other perks associated with my current job. And if my search for this new job proves fruitless, I will be back with no loss in pay or status. Before you say anything, remember that you have no choice in the matter. I can and will do this.

Sincerely, Every Senator or Congressman running for President.

Okay, all my shit is packed but I still have a few miscellaneous errands to do before I venture up to the land of 40 degree nights. Fuck, I thought a vacation was when you go someplace warm? Anyway my standard E-H-O-W-A vacation posts are queued up -- like the thumbnails here, top rows will be SFW, bottom rows NSFW. Or, the fact that some of the images are of tits might clue you in, too. And while I won't have my laptop -- vacation, vacation, vacation -- I will have my snazzy cell phone with me -- will my phonecam archive be updating? I dunno, the engine will be on and accepting my posts, I just don't know if I'll get any cell service up there in, "the cutest little town in Carburetor County."

If not, I'll see ya when I see ya... which will be on the 24th. Konichiwa, Bitches!

at age 91, ernest borgnine reveals the secret to a long life on live television. masturbate a lot.

attention all fathers: there is a 51% chance your little princess is sucking cock after school

social experiment on craigslist: "I found some cash. did you lose it?"

ordered list of films that use the word FUCK - no, not the good 'running scared', the other one.

this is why you should always bring a bag of cheese doodles with you when you go on safari

Boy, I Fucked The Dog Here, Didn't I?

A thousand years ago, when I used to live up north, it was kind of an annual tradition for the Stewart clan to spend one week a year at a campsite in St Regis Falls, New York. As I'm sure you've never heard of it, I can assure you it's no tropical paradise. More like Radiator Springs, only in thw woods of upstate New York instead of the deserts of the Nevada. Complete with general store, dive bar, one gas station, post office, and traffic light that blinks slower every third time. But it's a good time. Lots of family, booze, and peace and quiet; no cell phone service, no internet, no stress. The last time we all went up as a family was to spread my mom's ashes back in 2002, so it's been quite awhile. So here we are six years later, and it's about time for another go. What's this mean to you? Well, not too much. I can't do any game challenges, because I won't be around to score them. But I'll be setting up some automated posts to happen this coming Monday-Friday, so while there will be something to read, I'm afraid it won't be my witty commentary on current events.

You know, I can always tell when I need a vacation. My quality control goes to hell...

Yeah, I fucked up on that one. Which is funny given that I've driven through Virginia/DC about four times in my annual road trip. I just took a quick look at a map like this and assumed Maryland. Oh well, no offense to anyone in DC.

I'd love to tell you that I realized I missed the tasteless post this week, and wanting to make ammends for it, posted it a day late on Wednesday. But the truth is, I thought it was Tuesday, too. Which obviously it wasn't, nor could it have been since I put out the trash yesterday morning and that only happens on Wednesdays. But hey, that's life.

Huh. A real live, Ruskie! Well, as for the civilian deaths, you're right I neglected to mention those. We've heard reports of a few thousand killed at first, but now there's some speculation thtose numbers are way too high and the real civilian death toll is less than one hundred. Who knows. Anyway, thanks for catching that. But you want to know the cold hard truth? Nobody cares. Seriously. Nobody cares about civilian deaths. They're not sexy. They're not exciting. South Ossetians have been getting killed in one fashion or another for sixteen years now, and Russia never did anything to really put an end to it before. And when I say, "did anything,' I mean, 'invade and kick ass.' It was the death of Russian troops that was the excuse to let slip the dogs of war. Troops that I think, were placed there on purpose knowing that sooner or later some of them would get killed, so it wasn't a matter of if Russia invaded, but when. But hey, it's a contested area, so conflict is going to happen sooner or later. Best to push through and get it over with, eh?

Anyway, tomorrow will be my last full blown update for a week. I still have to finish some laundry. And pack. And pull weeds from the pond. And fix my pool chlorinator. And put more air in my scooter tire. And pay some bills. And sew a few buttoms on my shorts. So I gotta run.

you won't believe what michael phelps eats every day. there's enough food for six people.

if you've got time to answer 100 questions, find out how eligible are you for marriage (circa 1930)

This Tasteless Tuesday Courtesy Of Uncle Jesse.

Ok sure, I've read many of your tasteless articles, including your supposed letters, and they've been amusing as all hell. As a matter of fact, I just read the one about the pony with diarrhea, and that's the one that set me off. The thing is, all of your stories sent from outside sources are well written. However, they appear to be written in a very familiar manner... kinda like the way YOU write. Now, I guess there's absolutely nothing wrong with re-wording a really good story that someone sent you. Hell, I'm sure most of them would be boring and unintelligible without further clarification. So, thanks, actually, for adding some cohesion to otherwise muddled messes. I just want you to know that I'm very sure that you're either making these stories up, or you're performing a complete re-write. Not bad actually... Ian

No such luck, douchebag. Aside from the occasional spelling correction, all the Tasteless Tuesday articles are either culled from old old old old alt.tasteless archives, or contributed directly from my readers, like this one from Jesse...

Ernie, I have been reading your site since I was a young Marine many moons ago. I love the site and been addicted to it since the first time I read. Lately I have found your tasteless Tuesdays pretty good and figured I could add something to it. After getting out of the Corps I went to EMT school. I thought that it was a respectable and rewarding job, and I liked the fact that I would have the power to light 'em up. My story starts with my partner and I on a normal day. We have worked together for a few years and of the thousands of calls we had run together this one took the cake. It started as a normal day, running the same mundane bullshit calls. These calls being shortness of breath, high blood pressure, you name it. It may be a huge deal to that person, but to us it wasn't. We wanted a test. You know the bus full of hemophiliac nuns falling off a cliff and into a glass factory. Shit like that. Well were doing a post move; going from one part of the city to another when the Call of All Calls came in.

Dispatch came over the radio to give us our Code-3. We were kind of confused when the only information they gave us was that it was a trauma and that we were to look at our pager for the rest of the information about the call. So I light it up and head in the direction of the call. Then the pager goes off and my partner started to read. As he read the pager he began to laugh uncontrollably. He handed me the pager and told me to read it, that I was not going to believe my eyes. Sure as shit I couldn't. It read "code-3, trauma - penis in padlock." I about shit myself and almost crashed.

At this point it became personal. I put the hammer down and we were on our way just below ludicrous speed. As we start heading up the street, we see the big red house marker (fire truck) sitting on the street. We get out and walk to the back to get our gear. The whole time relishing the smell of brakes and transmission. I look toward the front door and I see a firefighter walking out and he is trying to hold back a smile. I ask him whats going on in there and the only thing he can mutter is that we just needed to see it. We park the gurney and go inside. To what do my wondering eyes gaze upon? A completely naked man laying on the couch on the verge of hallucination. When we asked to see the padlock in question he rolled over and showed us. I couldn't believe it. This was no ordinary lock. This was one of those industrial padlocks you use on your storage units. One of those disc locks. He had slid it all the was to the base of his penis. He started it at the tip and it became uncomfortable so he kept sliding it down. At this point, his member had grown roughly to the diameter of a beer can and looked like it was going to burst apart. This being because the opening of the lock was only about an inch and a half wide and once the blood went it, it wasn't coming back out. The color it turned was something that I had never seen on a human body. It looked as if you took and purple and black crayon and mashed them together.

After a few seconds of thinking, "man, that has to hurt" and trying not to laugh, a somewhat logical thought crossed my mind. Where the fuck is the key? Turns out, it was 70 miles away with his wife. Now we get the back story. He had cheated on his wife, and to show that he wouldn't cheat on her anymore, he slapped this thing on like some sort of chastity cock ring. So my partner calls the wife and asks if she can bring us the key. No surprise she said no and that for all she cares it can just fall off, and she was going to lose the key. Only thing we can do now is get this man some help. We get him on the gurney and start to wheel him outside. The whole time his friend has his camera out and it yelling how funny this shit is and that he's putting this on youtube. (I've looked for the video and can't find it.)

Now the questions comes up of where to take this guy. Trauma center? Somewhere with a urology specialist? The nearest hospital? It's decided that we are going to the nearest hospital, and we put him in the back and are off like greased lightning. The nearest hospital is about ten minutes drive normally, but lights, sirens, and diesel fuel, we got there in three. On the way to the hospital I call in the hospital and let them know what we are on our way with and advise them that we are going to need a locksmith. The doctor blows me off as usual, and we arrive at the back door of the hospital. We wheel him in to a room and a doctor pulls back the covers on our patient. The first words out of his mouth were, "call a locksmith." Dumb ass.

We transfer our patient to the hospital bed and I take the gurney out to the rig. I clean up the back, and make up the gurney. I tell my partner we aren't leaving till we see what happens. He might have to be transferred, and since we were there, we could do it. I jump in the driver seat and my partner begins to write his report. Ten minutes later Mr. Locksmith shows up. I ask if he knows what he was called for and of course he has no clue. So I hand him a pair of gloves and give him a smirk. Boy is he in for a shock. We follow him in laughing between ourselves and show him where to go. When he sees the lock, and its position, he informed the staff that this was the hardest lock to break into, and he would be back. Here I'm thinking this guys got a special lock picking kit he is going to go get. Nope. He came back with a hammer, vice grips, and flathead screw driver and a power drill with extra bits. My partner has to go outside when he sees the tools.

The locksmith then goes to work. I applaud this man, because he treated the situations like it was another day breaking into a lock. He starts with a small drill bit to work on the tumblers. During this stage we all forget that two metals rubbing together make heat. The patient goes into a panic and screams like a wild banshee. One of the nurses grab some water and doused him. My partner and I grab some syringes full of saline and keep the area cool while the locksmith goes back to work. After ten minutes of the small bit, its time to really open this lock up. He goes for the big bit. He starts to drill again, working the drill up to speed when the drill bit bites into the lock. At this point, there are about eight people standing around watching and all had the same reaction. Doubled over in horror of what just happened. I seriously though he had ripped the guy's cock off. Now the patient is whaling like a air raid siren. The locksmith is nauseous, and has to walk away for a moment.

A minute or so later, we are ready to get back to work. The locksmith though, puts the lock into the pair of vice grips and told the patient to hang on as tight as he could. My partner and I resumed our cooling measures. It took another few minutes, and a couple more close calls and he was finally through the lock. He grabbed the screwdriver and with a flick of his wrist it was open. The doctor slid off the lock. At this point we figured that blood would beginning to circulate again. We were wrong. After ten minutes more the thing looked the same. At that point we left. We never found out what had happened. I don't think it was good though. Jesse.

Oh, and I gave Missile Mayhem a few extra days because people kept trumping each other. Duff, Mike, and Steve all sent in completed scores over 100,000 points, but in the end it was Whitman with 111,411, and... Virgil with a whopping 126,832 that took the win. Thanks for keeping your pimp hand strong, boys!

I bet this shop is owned and operated by this lady.

canis lupus familiaris -- man's best friend until the end, and beyond. fuck him for not thinking about his dog first.

best of craigslist - unique opportunity for unemployed dirtbag

bob saget freaks out on the crew while taping a promo for his upcoming roast. real or fake, i love bob saget.

betterthansunscreen - dontlikediscovercard - igotwhatyouneed2 - nundoesntlikeyou - snakeslikebigasses

Russia Invading Georgia? They Can't Even Play A Fiddle.

I have to admit that up until a few days ago, I didn't really know where the country of Georgia was. I always presumed it was much further northeastern that it was, up towards Siberia and the like. But surprise, it's down towards the Black Sea. And if my geography wasn't spot on with that, then I'm sure it comes to no surprise that I didn't even know such a place as South Ossetia even fucking existed, let alone where it was. But current events have forced me to cast my ignorance aside and educate myself a little bit, so I'd like to save you some time break down the current conflict so everyone can understand what's happening.

When the Soviet Union dissolved in 1992 (I know, technically it was late December of '91 but all the good shit happened in '92), all the satellite countries that were under Soviet occupation declared their independence from the great Russian Bear. One of those new countries was Georgia. The Georgians turned to Moscow and in the spirit of independence shouted, "Fuck you guys, we're outta here," thus declaring themselves a sovereign nation. The United Nations, NATO and the European Union recognized them as such, establishing diplomatic ties in Tbilisi, which is the Georgian capital.

Shortly after this happened, a small providence in northern Georgia right on the new border with Russia, said to Tbilisi , "Hey that's ironic, because fuck you guys, we're declaring our independence from you!" This tiny providence about the size of Rhode Island wanted to be called South Ossetia and wanted to retain close ties with its Russian motherland. The Georgians said to South Ossetia, "The fuck you are," and sent in troops to reel the renegade providence back in. Then Russia said to the Georgians, "The fuck you are," and sent in troops to bolster South Ossetia, its former territory. Realizing the Russians could kick their fucking ass, the Georgians negotiated a cease fire, and it was agreed that South Ossetia would be considered a seperate entity from Georgia, but still fall under Georgian rule. Kind of like how the District of Columbia is seperate, yet still a part of, Virginia.

South Ossetia's independent-but-not-really-independent status continued peacefully on until 2004, when Ossetian rebels stepped up guerilla attacks on Georgian interests in the region. Again hostilities escalated until Russia said, "Fuck everybody, we're deploying Russian troops to the region to act as peacekeepers." The only thing is, they didn't do such a good job at peacekeeping, and are accused of being quite biased -- allowing the Ossetian separatists of continuing their attacks on Georgian troops and doing little more than preventing Georgian retaliation.

This simmering tension continued for four more years, right up until last weekend, when Georgia had finally had enough. With a battle cry of, "No, no, fuck you guys," Georgian troops rolled into South Ossetia with the intention of ending the attacks permenantly. The catch is, the Georgians accidentally killed 12 Russian 'peacekeepers' in the process. This was exactly what the Russians were waiting for, as now they have the excuse they need to kick Georgian ass and chew Georgian bubblegum. And they're all out of Georgian bubblegum. Russian troops have been beating the living shit out of Georgian troops right up until this morning, then the Russian president ordered his guys to hit the pause button for a little while.

So who is the good guy and who is the bad guy? Fuck if I know. This isn't a game of Spy vs Spy and the good guys don't always wear white and th ebad guys don't always wear black. The Ruskies have the right to defend their troops, but should have done more to de-escalate the violence to begin with. The Georgians have the right to defend themselves against guerilla warfare, but really should have granted South Ossetia their independece to begin with. So with both sides contributing to the chain of events that led to this clusterfuck, who the fuck knows. But here's the diplomatic corker; The Georgians sent some troops over to assist the United States with our occupation of Iraq. Now I don't know if I would go so far as to call them an ally, but they did help us out when a lot of other countries wouldn't. So do we 'owe' them? That's a matter of opinion. And even if you decide we do, do we owe them so much that we'd be willing to get into a tangle with the Russians? Hmmmmm.....

There's no easy answer and I certainly don't envy the decision makers in this little chess match. Then factor in that we're trying to get Russian cooperation on dealing with Iran's possible nuclear status, and the situation gets further complicated. It's a situation that's going to require a lot of diplomacy and tact, and pardon me for saying so, but I'm not quite sure GWB is the best man for the job right now. You have to admit, he's not exactly The Great Communicator. And I first thought -- no, I hoped -- that photo had been digitally edited. You know, mirrored from right to left to make the flag appear backwards. But it seems no, it wasn't. Nice.

reuters gallery of the russian/georgian ass kicking - associated press gallery of the russian/georgian ass kicking

open letter to nbc. please let knight rider die in peace. watch the trailer, it's REALLY REALLY BAD.

go ahead, try to tell the defiant dog to sit. go ahead, i dare you.

What The Fuck?

Let's see... in the past week:

An American relative of the US men's volleyball coach is killed in China. Not all remarkable since random violence happens all the time, but c'mon China, how many round eyes do you see running around Beijing right now? Wasn't it kind of obvious they were in town for the Games? Shit man, where's your Olympic spirit?

Bernie Mac dies. Of fucking pneumonia? Sure his case was complicated by sarcoidosis, but what the fuck, it's 2008. It's not like he was in the hospital already where they have, oh I dunno, antibiotics or anything. I really enjoyed his stand up comedy, I thought he was brilliant in Bad Santa, and I'm really sad to see him go. He's one of the few people that I found genuinely funny. But how the fuck does a person die of pneumonia in this day and age? So long Bernie, we hardly knew ye.

Russia goes all postal on Georgia. Where the fuck did this come from? And what's really freaks is how anti-American some of the Russian news agencies are. it's like the Cold War never ended. Then I looked up a list of the UN member states and seeing that both Russia and Georgia are both members, thought how the fuck does this happen? Then I noticed that Iraq is too, and thought, oh.

And now Isaac Hayes dies. Of everything, at least this one is the least of a shock. A 65 year old man found dead next to a running treadmill... I don't think we're going to need to call in Columbo on this one. Shoulda been hittin the Lipitor, bro. He's off to make sweet, sweet love in the sky.

make sure you're using the appropriate racial slur - even has my favorite, 'sleeper cell'

photo collection of a model yamaha motorcycle being put together. sounds lame, but really some great pics.

Insert Your Favorite Bernie Mac Weekend Joke Here.

the moment a man punched a girl off her feet during a facebook water fight

game challenge - bob is in the lead followed by alan

anotherdayattheoffice2 - floridalifeisrough - someoneexplainthis - stupidemoteen - twoexciteddogs - wastedbybudlight

i consider anti-bush propoganda from other countries to be bullshit, but this one made me snort milk

Imagine If There Was Vodka In That Watermelon.

So with the Olympics getting underway, we've already seen links to the hottest female Olympians, and now the ugliest ones. But I think I've discovered a pattern that needs a little more investigating. I've noticed the all the female pole vaulters have absolutely amazing fucking bodies. All of them. Seriously, do a Google search on "female pole vaulter" and it's like, "Goddamn. Goddamn. Goddamn." We've all seen pictures of Alison Stokes, and I'm not saying they're all as gorgeous -- I'd hardly call Yelena Isinbayeva a looker. But you can do your fucking laundry on her totally rockin washboard stomach. So what gives?

And then on the flip side of those washboard abs, we offer this. Which begs the question -how the fuck does he get out of bed each morning without rocking himself back to sleep? Hey when you sit down and your gut hangs out further than your fucking knees -- isn't that a clear indication you've got a weight problem? When you are too fat to physically walk -- wouldn't that be your clue to lay off the sweets? My spidey senses tell me it's been awhile since that guy has been laid.

You know, no offense to your buddy, but I've always considered the General Lee Charger to be the quintessential redneck mobile. I dunno why. Take a 1969 Dodge Charger, and it's cool. Now paint it bright orange and put "01" on the doors, and it's instantly redneck'ey. And don't get me wrong, I fucking love Dodge Chargers -- I'd sell my soul for a black 1968 R/T. But somehow I just can't wrap my mind around why someone would take such a beautiful car and paint after a car they've seen on television. I don't hate them ot the point where I'd cheer if they crashed,

Oh, and Brian is in the lead of Missile Mayhem with 33,822 points.

Economists and members of Congress are now on the prowl for new ways to stimulate spending in our muddy economy. Here’s my humble suggestion: "Cash for Clunkers," the best stimulus idea you’ve never heard of.

everything you can evey possibly want to know about motor oils. and then some. and then some more.

Dude, You're Washed Up. Let It Go.

I used to consider Brett Favre one of the best in the game, now I just consider him a dickhead. Just as good as any of the other high caliber quarterbacks of his era -- Joe Montana, John Elway, Dan Marino. The only difference is they knew when to hang up their cleats and end their careers gracefully. Favre's whole I'm-retired-no-I'm-not-yes-I-am-no-I'm-not-yes-I-am routine got old two years ago. Good for Greenbay management for finally closing the chapter on him. If he were half as loyal to the Greenbay fans as they are to him, he's have swallowed his pride and given a young competitor the chance to play the position he's loved for so long. I'm sure Greenbay would fall all over themselves to have Favre on as the quarterback coach. But instead, Mr. Me-Me-Me is off to the Jets. Good, fuck them. I look forward to seeing the Jets in last place this season. That pisses me off.

The next game challenge is a request from Gio, who wanted to send Missile Mayhem into the mix. The goal in this collision based game is to defend yourself from the swarms of enemies tanks by knocking them against walls and each other. For some reason, I always think of a crossbow as I'm shooting. Anyway, I scored 11,243, so let's see you beat that, mister.

what's the downside of the world's first $100k electric car? no cup holders evidently

usually doing a topless scene makes a chick seem hotter. mary louise parker, not so much.

You Mess With The Bull, You Get The Horns, Young Man.

Up to August 6th, occasional bombs, which did no great damage had fallen on Hiroshima. Many cities roundabout, one after the other were destroyed, but Hiroshima itself remained protected. There was almost daily observation planes over the city but none of them dropped a bomb. The citizens wondered why they alone had remained undisturbed for so long a time. There were fantastic rumors that the enemy had something special in mind for this city, but no one dreamed that the end would come in such a fashion as on the morning of August 6th.

August 6th began in a bright, clear, summer morning. About 7 o'clock, there was an air raid alarm which we had heard almost every day and a few planes appeared over the city. No one paid attention and at about 8:00, the all-clear sounded. I am sitting in my room at the Novitists of the Society of Jesus in Nagatsuki: during the past half year, the philosophical and theological section of our mission had been evacuated to this place from Tokyo. The Novitists is situated approximately 2 kilometers from Hiroshima, half-way up the side of a broad valley which stretches from the town at sea level into the mountainous hinterland, and through which courses a river. From my window, I have a wonderful view down the valley to the edge of the city. Suddenly --- the time is approximately 8:15 -- the whole valley is filled by a garish light which resembles the Magnesium light used in photography, and I am conscious of a wave heat. I jump to the window to find out the cause of this remarkable phenomenon, but I see nothing more than that brilliant yellow light. As I make for the door, it doesn't occur to me that the light might have something to do with enemy planes. On the way from the window, I hear a moderately loud explosion which seems to come from a distance and, at the same time, the windows are broken in with a loud crash. There has been an interval of perhaps ten seconds since the flash of light. I am sprayed by fragments of glass. The entire window frame has been forced into the room. I realize now that a bomb has burst and I am under the impression that it exploded directly over our house or in the immediate vicinity. I am bleeding from cuts about the hands and head. I attempt to get out of the door. It has been forced outwards by the air pressure and has become jammed. I forced an opening in the door by means of repeated blows with my hands and feet and come to a broad hall-way from which open the various rooms.

Everything is in a state of confusion. All windows are broken and all the doors are forced inwards. The book-shelves in the hall-way have tumbled down. I do not note a second explosion and the fliers seem to have gone on. A few are bleeding in the room, but none has been seriously injured. All of us have been fortunate since it is now apparent the wall of my room opposite the window has been lacerated by long fragments of glass. We proceed to the front of the house to see where the bomb has landed. There is no evidence, however, of a bomb crater; but the southeast section of the house is severely damaged. Not a door nor a window remains. The blast of air had penetrated the entire house from the southeast, but the house still stands. It is constructed in the Japanese style with a wooden framework, but has been greatly strengthened by the labor of our Brother Gropper as is frequently done in Japanese homes. Only along the front of the chapel which adjoins the house have three supports given away (it has been made in the manner of a Japanese temple, entirely out of wood). Down in the valley, perhaps one kilometer towards the city from us, several peasant homes are on fire and the woods on the opposite side of the valley are aflame. A few of us go over to help control the flames. While we are attempting to put things in order, a storm comes up and it begins to rain. Over the city, clouds of smoke are rising and I hear a few slight explosions. I come to the conclusion that an incendiary bomb with an especially strong explosive action has gone off down in the valley. A few of us saw three planes at great altitude over the city at the time of the explosion. I, myself, saw no aircraft whatsoever. [continue...]

oh dear sweet baby jesus, please let it be true. although she's done topless before, so what's the big deal?

the best hangover cures from around the world - you lost me at tripe soup

What Would YOU Do In A Zombie Outbreak?

As a zombie aficionado, I found this quiz to be complete bullshit. I'd take a shotgun over a rifle any day, a school has too many windows to fortify, and no shit knowing first aid is a good thing. But I will admit it did get me to thinking. Just how prepared am I for a zombie attack? I would have to wager the average Floridian is more prepared than the average New Englander, given that it's customary for us to stock up on food and water because of hurricanes. That plus the vast majority of the homes down here have hurricane shutters make them both storm and zombie proof, gives me a leg up on the competition. But before we do a walk through, Let's first establish a one thing; the zombie's speed. George Romero started the zombie craze and in his original portrayal zombies were slow moving, and for the most part, uncapable of thought. Later movies such as 28 Days Later and the remake of Dawn of the Dead gave Team Zombie a little more pep in their step. I think if zombies really moved this quickly, than unless you live in the middle of nowhere and have prepared for World War III like that crazy couple from Tremors II, you're fucked. So for the sake of this discussion, we're going to presume the zombies shuffle and not sprint.

The biggest impact zombie speed would play is how much time would I have to fortify my house. Because let's face it, once you're holed up nice, who gives a shit if the zombies walk or run? The first thing I would do in a confirmed zombie outbreak is load my scooter onto the back of my truck, and back the truck into my garage with the automatic door opener (two garage doors, one powered, one not). The second thing would be to park my car outside, right in front of the other non-powered door. This would allow me to open said door a crack for ventilation/observation, without fear of any deadites forcing their way through later on. Once the vehicles were secured -- which wouldn't take any more than two or three minutes -- now we start the hard work; the hurricane shutters. For those of you who don't live on a storm front, hurricane shutters are the corrugated metal barriers that get mounted over your windows and doors to protect them from flying debris. Even my garage doors -- hurricane rated at 48 lbs/sq ft, offer no weak spots to the offending zombies. My biggest openings (lanai and front door) are protected with accordion style shutters and would be the easiest to get battened down; 30 minutes. The others doors/windows utilize the sectional galvanized steel pieces, and would be more time consuming; probably 90 minutes. Since I live away from the town center, my trusty .45 would be able to dispatch any fresh zombies seeking an early bird special. Once the hurricane shutters are all put up, my house can keep out even the most persistent zombie attack. So with two hours warning I could turn my house into Fort Knox.

So now I'm trapped inside with the moaning and scratching outside growing steadily louder. What do I have for weapons? Well, my .45, a sharp machete, and an axe. So my close range firepower is good -- I can find a shotgun later if I need to -- but I should have a hunting rifle for long range protection. Since I don't have a use for one other than a zombie outbreak, I'm going to leave that void open for now. Inside, I have enough food stockpiled to easily last me a month. And I'm not shitting you, either. Hurricane preparedness at its best. But the first thing I'd do is presuming that running water will stop at some point, fill all the bathtubs, sinks, and bowls with fresh tap water. I usually have 4-5 cases of bottled water on hand, but I'd prefer to save those for if I had to make a run for it. Thus I would live on tap water and frozen foods for as long as possible -- the electricity will surely go out at some point and I don't dare run my generator because the noise will attract more zombies. I have a two hundred gallon propane tank buried in my front yard, affording me both cooking (gas stove) and light (gas fireplace). I have a 20lb bad of dog food stockpiled too, so Ike is good for two months and is living easy. My back porch would be protected by the accordion shutters, so I could even let him out there to take a dump. If my X-box worked, it's be like normal.

I could probably live for three to four weeks on this tap water and frozen food diet, which would afford me ample time to make preparations should an escape be necessary. We've already established my scooter is in the back of my truck, and the truck is facing outwards ready to go. Joining the scooter would be; my generator, five 5-gallon gas cans (you bet your ass they're full, too), and all my dry storage. Canned food, boxed food, bottled water, toiletries, utensils, you name it. I'd also have a small crate strapped to the back of the scooter for Ike -- hey I'd sooner leave you behind than my dog. And while I don't have a welder and some rebar, I do have enough metal screws and scraps of metal/wood to fashion a rudimentary cage over the windows of my truck. It may not be strong enough to protect the windows from a big zombie crowd, but it would be enough to get me past any zombies in my driveway when it came getaway time.

Also in the hurricane bag of tricks are the basics you'd expect... crank powered radio, flashlights, batteries, candles, that sort of crap. I'd preserve as much of it as possible in preparation for a run. The only thing I don't have that I'd like, is access to my roof. I can get up in the attic, but unless I chop a hole through my fucking roof with an axe I can't really get a good visual on the outside world. This would be something I'd save for the very last minute because otherwise, geez, can you image what my insurance premiums are going to be?

And presuming no government troops march down my street declaring all is safe, or no Blackhawk helicopters whisking people off to safety, I would eventually have to make a run for it. My cutoff point would be when I got down to one weeks worth of supplies left. When I hit that stage I'd load up everything useful in the back of the truck, load up Ike, start the generator to plug in the garage door opener, pop in AC/DC's Back in Black... and open the garage door. Unleashing Big Red upon the zombie horde outside my garage door would undoubtedly be a neat experience. It's tires would mash and churn over broken zombie bones. I'd lock gazes with one zombie's undead eyes before his face bounces off the hood and disappears beneath the grill. Windshield wipers would brush the gore aside in mighty rhythmic swipes. The bed of the truck sits too high and would be packed too full for me to worry about any zombies climbing on. There may be a few that manage to hang on to the side mirrors or the cage I've fastened in place over the windows, but sideswiping a few telephone poles should put that to bed. From there I've got a three hundred miles to find more safe haven, assuming eleven miles per gallon because I have to drive over a few barricades or detour around bottlenecks. Or in case I can't find a safe haven, a place where I can at least pause long enough to dump the five gas cans into the gas tank (perhaps even refill those, too?), giving me another three hundred miles. I'd like to think that by some point, I'd be able to make it to what I consider the holy grail of zombie hideouts; a Costco. And if that still proves fruitless and I eventually run out of gas, I drop the tailgate and ramp, load Ike into the cage on the back of the scooter and with trusty .45 on my hip, head out for another hundred miles.

And if I can't find decent shelter within seven hundred miles -- which takes me just about halfway up the Atlantic coastline, then I'm a fucking idiot who has learned nothing from all the zombie movies I've watched, and rightfully deserve to die.

For occasions such as this, of course. Well, that and hauling scooters, motorcycles, sod, landscaping supplies, appliances, and hopefully a jet ski one day. Besides, unlike 90% of the Hummers out there, mine's paid for. And so until called when needed, Big Red sits and waits for the first sign on the zombie apocalypse. Hey did you know that the opening scenes of Day of the Dead were filmed here in the Ft Myers/Sanibel area?

Zombies, man, they creep me out.

the last stand 2 -- can you survive the zombie hordes and make it to union city for rescue?

restored: boeing 40c - finished roll out - the fruit of 623 volunteers and 9 years worth of work.

if anyone wants to experience what tel aviv's copacabana was like, this is about as close as it gets. eh, aj? (nsfw)

Insert Your Favorite Antibiotic Weekend Joke Here.

cary wins count/recount with a new score: "there is a bit of a trick to it - on the bonus level, chose one and click like mad. lots a points. cary

1 hacksaw + 1 dumbass x 30,000 volts / 3.63 per/lb for copper = 1 darwin award

gta4vsinternetdating - myniggabirds - tennesseesucks - yahoofacilities

this one is you you puddy -- too! much! metal! for! human! hands!

remember the tesla, the cool $10k electric car? yeah someone crashed another one

Acute Bronchitis. Let Me Show You It.

Bronchitis is an inflammation of the large bronchi (medium-size airways) in the lungs. It can progress to pneumonia. Acute bronchitis is usually caused by viruses or bacteria and may last several days or weeks.[1] Acute bronchitis is characterized by cough and sputum (phlegm) production and symptoms related to the obstruction of the airways by the inflamed airways and the phlegm, such as shortness of breath and wheezing. Diagnosis is by clinical examination and sometimes microbiological examination of the phlegm. Treatment may be with antibiotics (if a bacterial infection is suspected), bronchodilators (to relieve breathlessness) and other treatments. [from wikipedia]

six terrifying things they don't tell you about childbirth

so maybe you might want to think twice before taking your computer in to best buy for a little geek squad fun