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Only Two More Days To Zombieland.

All kids love playing with fireworks. And I think the only thing kids more than playing with fireworks, is making your own. As a teenager, I can remember biking up to this spot on the barge canal in Rochester and my friends and I would spend hours blowing off homemade bombs. Nothing stupid, like pipe bombs, just really big firecrackers made up from cut up illegal M-80s. I remember one evening after my parents had gone to bed, I was up cutting up a brick of firecrackers and dumping all the gunpowder into a larger cardboard tube. Now I forget how it ignited, but since the end wasn't capped it didn't explode, it just burned bright red like a road flare, filling my room with smoke and the acrid smell of burned powder. Evidently, adults like playing with fireworks too. I guess seeing someone do almost the same thing kind of reminded me of that. And I was living vicariously through this guy, right up until he said a little too much magnesium, I guess. Because man, that's just crazy talk.

I dunno if it's been all the zombie movies lately, or if people are just closet zombie afficianados but it seems everywhere you look on the internet, there are references to zombies. Not that I'm complaining mind you, hell we all know I go to bed each night praying for a zombie apocolpyse. But now there are mathemeticians getting involved, complete with model simulation tools, model simulations with nuclear weapons, new games that work old zombie stories into their plotlines, hell even the Russians and the North Koreans want to get on board. And you know how to spot the first sign that someone is going to turn into a zombie? That's right, bad teeth.

Honestly, I hadn't really thought about making Capsules a game challenge, but you know what? Why the fuck not. So, this time the person to beat isn't me (haha, don't beat me off), phat ass it's John's phat ass.

Yeah, dogs rule. Cats are fucked up, and if you have one, you're closer to a natural-born killer than you think. Common housecats are actually fierce feline hunters responsible for killing over a billion small mammals and birds each year. Here's a video, complete with the demise of an alley rat via first person Killer Kitty Cam. Stupid cats.

If you want to watch Conan O'Brien split his melon open racing against the she-beast that is Teri Hatcher, skip to 1:20 for the impact and 2:50 for the aftermath. You'd think a fat pasty white Irish guy would know better.

What happens when a 28 year old guy makes a profile of a hot girl on a free dating site? A bunch of WTF.

MOST. AWESOME. XMAS. GIFT. EVAR.

who would you rather? olympic hottie edition.

roman polanski reviews 'hannah montana'. pedobear.

original court transcripts of polanski's diaper sniper routine.

sexiest babes from dancing with the stars. dibs on stacy keibler.

cheat codes for celebrity modes in games: bruce campbell mode rules.

repeat after me: thous shall not burn an American flag outside of a VFW post.

Right Back At Ya, Sweetheart.

Trust me, this is the coolest fucking thing you'll see all day. No, all week. There's a bunch of videos, be sure to look through em start to finish. And don't be shy with the speakers, either. And for those of you who are afraid of heights, beware: that first videos goes a long way down. Kind of puts my cameraphone to shame, eh? Aw. c'mon don't be a hater. I'm due for a new cameraphone later this year and things will perk up.

Remember the 1959 Bel-Air vs 2009 Impala crash video? After action photos.

HOLY SHIT! Yes, I did and one of my favorite build-off was when Billy made Down and Dirty and set his ass on fire during the ride to Texas (Louisiana?). So wow, I guess he got completely bombed one night and ended up killing somebody. I wonder if that'll make his bikes more or less valuable?

Ouch! Because when your body can't save its own ass, it's totally cool to have a someone else step in and do it for you. And ladies, I don't care how cute your nose ring is; when your man asks you to shave yourself bald, this isn't what he means.

rick from pawn stars tells how to spot a fake rolex.

new precision missile takes out the taliban while leaving civilians unharmed.

i went to a fight the other night, and a hockey game broke out.

the smallest countries in the world. that goodness i took latin.

I Had The Swine Flu This Weekend.

The symptoms set in late Saturday evening, just as I was leaving comedy night at the O-Club. I had all the telltale symptoms: headache, nausea, vomiting, loss of balance, inability to communicate, even difficulty walking. And to make matters worse, these symptoms continued through Sunday morning, keeping me bedridden and swigging down Gatorade for most of the day. Thankfully I'm beginning to feel a little better today, although I won't be staring down a Jack Daniels bottles anytime in the near future. Stupid swine flu.

Oh enuf with the fere mongring allready. If this wur tru I wood be dumblier than your dumlie.

If it makes you feel any better Rob, my Swine Flu symptoms got better when I stopped drinking. But not before I barfed my guts out. In my car on the ride home. Yes, that's right, in my car. I know, a little embarassing but hey, I'm a free wheelin dude.

Is it me or is Katy Perry the current leader in the Rockingest Body In The World contest? Seriously. She's like Zooey Deschanel only with bigger tits.

Hey don't thank me, thank Alex, as he's the one that shared that little gem with me. And I must adsmit, my dogs have accomplished a lot more following his advice than they did the shock beer pong collars.

I have no doubt that this girl is the world's biggest Peyton Manning fan and from the Why-I-Continue-To-Hate-Tom-Brady Department, I call dibs on Bridget Moynahan.

wait for it. wait for it. waaaaaaait for it....

steve mcqueen's former ranch on market for $1.95 million.

eleven feature length films that were based upon film school shorts.

you are like a giant cock blocking robot, developed in a secret fucking government lab.

adventure (atari 2600), narwhal, warsaw ghetto uprising, phalanx cwis, interstate highway system.

Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

don't look so surprised

unanswered questions in geeky movies.

even more gruesome methods of execution.

iconic television show buildings that actually exist.

because cell phones always work until a killer is on the loose.

food shown in marketing versus reality - even in the uk it's a fuck job.

exclusive pics and video of pam anderson's wardrobe malfunction in new zealand.

remember my speech 'there are black people and then there are niggers' - here's a nigger cop.

Has Anyone Seen My Watch?

Oops, I forgot one. It made my day. Want to make your day? Be running at least 1280x768 resolution, because 1024x768 is dying technology. In fact, my numbers are even lower -- I say it's for pussies.

Here are seven cold war military installations that have been converted into some pretty bitchin homes. And this might be a long shot but in case you ever decide to get your fat ass off the couch and look into one of these silo homes for yourself, the minimum buy in is $275,000.

And I thought the winner in Deflector 2 was going to be Rob who improved his time to 2:10, but in the end, it ended up being Jeff who scored an astounding 2:01. Boy Rob, I sure hope you take defeat better than this kid.

This is the famous 'tipping' scene from Reservoir Dogs, re-enacted with Muppets. It's not easy being Mr. Pink.

Wow, Steve. I'll admit I didn't see that one coming. But a chicken finger? I dunno man. I don't think I could eat all that ;that fucking thing was big. I bet your pants fit better when they were done. But once they got it out, I hope you saved it in a jar of alcohol or something because after this Extreme Hunting game, I think it's the best fucking thing I’ve seen in my fucking life.

And if anyone wants to strap on a pair of beer goggles, here are some of the topless photos of Aubrey O'Day that leaked out and got her all pissy and nagging. You know what they say: Once upon a time, one day long, long ago, there lived a woman who did not whine, nag or bitch... But this was a long time ago...and it was just one day.

So maybe erecting that border fence on our side of the river ain't such a bad idea, eh? That way as little of their hell spills over as possible. Remember folks, guns don't kill people, people kill people. Even at weddings.

And with that, the weekend has arrived. Time to kick off the work boots, yell yee-haw and and stick your toes in the sand. Oh what's that? You live up North and it's too cold to go to the beach? Looks like the joke's on you, sucker!

the evolution of patrick swayze's hair.

ten companies that are veering toward bankruptcy.

the key to a good bruce willis movie? stay in the mcclane zone.

how to land a helicopter after the pilot has been killed (or too drunk).

hottest women of sports tv shows. nice call with sabriana lloyd from sports night.

empire state building, ted williams, wilhelm scream, d.b. cooper, russian woodpecker.

Everybody Has Got Dirty Little Secrets.

Touching back on a comment Phate made about lists (and tags), that brings us to the latest trend on the internet; clearing one's conscience via anonymous posting. For example there are sites such as Post Secret, Texts from Last Night, Secret Chest, My Drunk Texts, Secret Tweet, and my personal Schadenfreude favorite, Fuck My Life. But remember, there are two sides to every story.

This is how an American soldier is made. For 27 months, Ian Fisher, his parents and friends, and the U.S. Army allowed Denver Post reporters and a photographer to watch and chronicle his recruitment, induction, training, deployment, and, finally, his return from combat. A selection of photos from Ian’s journey are posted here.

Finally, I've found an Iranian that I don't think is completely fucking nuts. Her name is Nadine Rajabi, she's a comedienne and somewhere out there is a picture of her spectular pair of tits, whom she has named, "Sales and Marketing."

Aubrey O'Day debuted in the Las Vegas production of Peep Show on Tuesday night with Holly Madison, and already the winds of controversy have blown into Sin City! Aubrey's debut, which was met with critical praise, has been upstaged by the fact that she is canceling her Tuesday night performance. Why? Because someone leaked photos and a video of Aubrey and Holly topless in the show. In a video that Aubrey distributed to the web, the once-blonde bombshell appeared with unbrushed hair and no makeup. She lambasted websites for posting the photos, and then removed her shirt, revealing a see-through pink bra.

mrpotatobender - sunspotcloseup

g.i. joe: the rise of cobra: the abridged script.

know the difference between cold and swine flu symptoms.

somehow i want to call bullshit on this but hey, she's got nice tits.

the farthest you can ever be from a mcdonalds, is 107 miles.

I Had Lunch With a 9/11 Conspiracy Theorist Yesterday.

Don't look at me that way. I didn't do it on purpose.

It all started when I decided to take the Vic out for a little afternoon sun, and head up to the O-Club for some twenty-five cent tacos. That's right motherfucker, twenty-five cent tacos. And not shitty microwave ones, either. These are genuine handmade tacos in your choice of hard or soft shell. A quarter a pop. As many as you can eat. Although if you want a little container of sour cream, it's $0.25 extra. Anyway, I get to the O and as one might imagine, it's pretty full with the lunchtime crowd; twenty-five cent tacos will do that. So the only seat available at the bar is at the corner. And normally, I'm not a corner seat kinda guy, but hey it beats sitting on the floor. But I soon found out why this seat was available.

I never did find out the name of the guy I sat next to, I'll just call him Crazy Fucking Conspiracy Guy. I ordered a beer and four tacos with sour cream. After a quick hi/how ya doin top the guy next to me (CFCG), I find out that he is sixty-three years old, and has been retired for nine years after putting in thirty-seven years at General Motors as an electrician. Now let me preface this with this: I don't like to talk to people at bars. I really don't. I'm prefectly content to just sit there, play some trivia, and enjoy my beer in silence. Other people are chatters. When chatters try to talk to me, I oblige them so as to not be rude, but don't go through any lengths to contribute to a full blown conversation. This is especially true when I'm eating. But as I said, CFCG is a little older, and mentions that he only comes out to the O on Tuesdays for twenty-five cent tacos, so I presume he's a little lonely and do my good deed for the day and engage him in some conversation. Big. Fucking. Mistake. because I had no idea how strong this guys opinions were.

Him being retired inevitably leads the conversation to, "So what do you do for a living?" Usually I just tell people I run porn websites to shut them up, thus sparing myself from a conversation that I don't want to take part in. But this time I answered truthfully, wondering if this older dude would even know what a blogger is. "Oh you're a blogger," CFCG says to my surprise, "yeah I spend a lot of time on the internet. I like to look up conspiracies." Now I'm thinking grassy knoll, or fake moon landing conspiracies, you know, nothing too crazy. No such luck. Less than thirty seconds later, he's telling me about how they found nanothermite in the wreckage of the World Trade Center. And it's here where I made a critical error in judgement. I thought it would be entertaining to egg a 9/11 Conspiracy Theorist on. I really did. I wanted him frothing at the mouth, eager to get this all off his chest to a willing audience. So I egged him on. I asked him to tell me more. Boy was that stupid.

I let CFCG go on for about five minutes or so about how Dick Cheney told NORAD to stand down, about how Charlie Sheen -- that's right, Charlie Fucking Sheen, everybody -- has all these documents proving that 9/11 was an inside job. And how Charlie Sheen even challenged Obama and several other high leaders to a debate on the issue, and because they declined that was even more proof of the government had a hand in the attacks. And I could quote him on that, he offered. After all, how could we have the exact names of the nineteen hijackers a mere twenty-four hours after the attacks? And how the Patriot Act had been drafted during the Clinton Administratio, and they were just waiting for any excuse to take away our civil liberties. I mean this guy had completely lost it.

It was around now that my tacos arrived. And let me describe them to you, as they were quite delicious. Spicy seasoned taco meat, crisp lettuce, fresh charp cheddar cheese, and firm plump tomatoes. All served on a warmed soft taco shell. Four of them. All yummy and juicy and begging in their little taco voices, "Eat me Ernie, eat me." And that's just what I was prepared to do. Except I couldn't really hear my tacos because I had this fucking whack job, two pitchers of beer down, yammering off in my ear about how I would soon be paying taxes to the UN under a New World Order. I quickly realized that it was a grave error in judgement to invite this genie out of the bottle, as all I wanted to do was enjoy my fresh yummy twenty-five cent tacos. And in an effort to stem the flow of his mouth a little bit, introduced CFCG to my Blowjob Theory. That theory as you might remember, is that if Bill Clinton couldn't get a blowjob in the Oval office without the nation finding out about it, there's simply no fucking way a conspiracy that would involve hundreds of people, could possibly be kept under wraps. But the very bitter CFCG was having none of it. He chastised me that I didn't believe it was a conspiracy, because I didn't want to believe it was a conspiracy theory. Uh-huh.

Over the next agonizingly long five minutes I did my best to enjoy my fresh yummy twenty-five cent tacos and maintain some sort of presence on my Buzztime trivia game, all the while tuning out this CFCG who evidently had no intention of keeping his secrets any longer. He yammered on and on about photo proof, and hidden documents, and how Walter Cronkie predicted in 1988 that the United States would move towards a New World Order -- and than he was congratulated by none other than Hillary Clinton! My Gosh! And all the while, all I'm trying to do is enjoy my fresh yummy twenty-five cent tacos. Occasionally he would ask me what I thought on a given matter, and I would have to snap out of my daze and offer that just because you see it on the internet doesn't always make it true. Oh yes it does, he contested, because he's certainly done his research and urged me to do the same. The truth is out there, he assured me.

I'd love to tell you that I took the time to enjoy each of my fresh yummy twenty-five cent tacos, but alas I did not. I scarfed them the fuck down and asked for my bill. I know, kind of a sleazy thing to do, but I couldn't help it. The old guy simply out lasted me. I paid my tab, overtipped for my short stay, and got the fuck out of there. I'll probably go back for more fresh yummy twenty-five cent tacos next week, but I'll be sure to get there a little earlier and sit at the other side of the bar.

Oh, and the current leader in Deflector 2 is Rob Dawg who completed all sixteen levels in 2:40. Surely this has made me feel quite emasculinated, and thus I now have to go to the bathroom in a SheWee, and use several other creepy feminine hygiene products. Yet despite this and despite what anyone else tells you, no I am not moving to Salt Lake City. because there are scorpions there. And on the list of things that I will never fuck with? The tailless whip scorpion ranks up there one notch behind camel spiders.

the infamous history of yakuza tattoos. hai!

inside the apocalyptic soviet doomsday machine.

the ten most painful usc losses under pete carroll. ha-ha!

another in depth look at exactly why you're a fat ass, fat ass.

las vegas bikini contest. all contestants are 50 or older. they're kinda hot.

lcdr craig r, "merlin" olson #5 lead solo, as his f-18 hornet picks up vapors from the bay.

That's A Pretty Enthusiastic Face There.

Well, it's been awhile since we've had a game challenge, eh? So how's about we do one now. As usualy, I tried to find something that's kind of physics based, and I've settled upon a game which I've hinted at this past weekend, called Deflector 2. You must create deflection lines to bounce the green ball into the white goal. Left click and drag with the mouse to create deflection lines. The clock is ticking, so you have to be quick to sneak in under the time limit. You can retry any time by clicking the Retry button in the top right, but be forewarned: the game does NOT save your progress, so if you get all pissy and close your browser, it's back to the beginning with you. Best to have a few beers and relax while you're playing it. The first two levels solve themselves, just so you can see how the game works. Then as you progress, you have to get further than Level 14, otherwise I've got this game in the bag. Yeah, a few of those are genuine solutions, but a couple, I pulled right outta my ass.

Ever since we were kids, everyone has always preached about strangers: don't talk to strangers, don't take candy from strangers, and certainly don't get into a car with strangers. But let's be honest, a chick with DSL's like this and a rack like this starts talking about having dead batteries and you know what? I fall for the Bribing Trap every damned time. Next thing you know, I'm getting filmed naked by this guy.

The Onion: Our panelists debate whether TV programs like A Double Shot At Love and The Bad Girls Club depict unattainable levels of skankiness.

happy birthday (yesterday!) to stephen king.

collegehumor's sexy girls of summer contest. SFW.

bear mauls nine people at local bus stop caught on tape.

myfreepaysite.com, the world's first and only truly free adult megasite. NSFW.

a woman calls 911. claiming that her son has a cobalt bomb. in his left testicle. uh-huh.

dc tea party. march footage with interviews. 9/11 was our warning, repent and turn back to god.

Well, It's Been About Three Weeks.

Which means Ike and Bianca are ready to get into another scrap sometime soon, as they've been on a once-a-month schedule lately. This if course is a vast improvement over the twice-a-week schedule they operated on when we first adopted Bianca, but there's obviosuly still some room for improvement. Someone wrote in and asked me how I liked the shock collars, although I've lost the email, sorry. In short, not a big fan, simply because they're too inconvenient. The greatest tool in the world is useless if all it does it sit on the kitchen counter; strapping the collars on the dogs wasn't that tough of a morning ritual, but who the fuck wants to walk around all day with the remote control hanging around their neck? Not me, I can assure you. So after a few weeks, the shock collars gave way to my dad's old tried and true training tool of choice: the rolled up newspaper. And to be completely honest, I wasn't all the imnpressed with the suggestions from the dog trainer I hired, either. His solution was to keep Bianca muzzled all the time, "until I could trust her." Well, okay, how do I know when I can trust her. "When she's not biting the other dog anymore." Well how do I know she won't bite anymore, if she's muzzled? "When you can trust her." Well, okay, how do I know when I can trust her. "When she's not biting the other dog anymore." Yeah, there was a lot of that, so eh, thanks but no thanks.

I have found that the one event that seems to take center stage in regards to what sets off these little fisticuffs, is Bianca being very attention aggressive, especially with attention from children or people she doesn't see very often. If someone is petting Bianca and Ike comes up to get some attenion too, things get really edgy. But I've gotten a lot better at spotting when this is going to happen and have been pretty successful in stopping anything before it gets started. Before as I'd see Bianca stiffen up with her tail high in the air, I'd sit there for a second and wonder, "Boy I wonder if she's going to..." and before I could finish that thought the dogs had gotten into it. Now when I see the warning signs, I always error on ther side of caution. Granted that means Bianca has been introduced to the New Press' Classified section a little more than she'd like, but I'd rather she see that than the inside of the vet's waiting room. I'm hoping this issue smooths out gradually as Bianca becomes more accustomed to her new home and loses her fear of abandonment.

So aside from the attention thing, I think we've all but found peace here in Casa del'Ernie. Example: A few months back. Night time, watching TV. Ike on one side of me, Bianca on the other. I get up to take the dogs out for one last piss run. Bianca gets up, Ike, eh, he doesn't need to go out, so he stays inside curled up on the couch, still sleeping. Come back in, Bianca comes over and puts her front paws up on the couch, right in Ike's face. I recognize the dominant posturing, so I call her name in a "you're in trouble" way. She backs down. But then jumps up on the couch and stares at him again. But before I can do anything, she lays into him and I have to break that one up. Absolutely NO provocation on anyones part and Ike was even still sleeping when she nailed him. Nobody could tell me why. And then Alex chimes in, "You ever see those Paris Hilton wanna-bees with the chihuahas and shit-zus in the purses that no one is allowed to touch because they bite? The reason why they bite is because they are 5 feet taller then what they are supposed to be, so their ego is through the roof and they think they are bigger than what they are. So they night that Ike was on the couch minding his own business Bianca was upset that he was physically higher up then her, thus higher up the chain. She didn't like that even though you told her no. So she made it known that she didn't want him to be higher up the chain or ego." That was the first answer that actually made sense to me. Ever since then, I've made a point to not let Bianca down until Ike has gotten down first, and viola -- no problems. So a big thanks to Alex T from the East coast for helping me to understand dog psychology a little bit.

So this morning as I was sitting on the toilet for my morning constitutional, I found myself wondering just what is rhinitic caseosa nasal cholesteatoma? We all know the textbook definition is a chronic inflammation of the nose with formation of granulation tissue and accumilation of a cheesy material resembling cholesteatom. Every dickhole knows that. But what does it look like? Well, wonder no more my friend. Not safe for lunch.

Dear Phate: The guys at Geekpad Show put together this list for you. No shit.

Guys will tell you that they want a woman that looks, well, the textbook definition of the fairer sex. What they won't tell you is that they also secretly desire the exact opposite; a sleek, toned fighting machine that would just as soon punch you in the face as they would make you breakfast. Indeed, as a testament to Darwin's visionary thinking, we have seen the development of a hybrid of those two types, women with the body of a centerfold and the eye of the tiger. Evolution: nature's wish factory.

Here is the first DJ battle in history. It looks like the creepy old gypsy lady from Drag You to Hell beats Joseph Stalin.

I'm tempted to put the shock collars on Craigslist and recoop some of the money I wated on them, but I don't want the collars to find their way into the hands of some asshole who's going to misuze them. So for now they've been relegated to a much lamer purpose: my drunken amusement. Neighbor Rob and I got all tuned up on Jack Daniels and decided to play our own twisted game of Never Say Never Again. He won; he made it all the way to max power while holding it in his hand. But neither of us could get back 70 when we had it strapped to the underside of our forearm, which is more sensitive. Now I can't wait for my nieces and nephews to visit. Heh.

the wider view: the last pictures taken by the youngest british soldier to die in afghanistan.

i scored a 94 on this 100 question citizenship test. beware of trick questions.

best of craigslist. to the guy in my closet: no you don't have aids.

test pilot dennis maland doing what test pilots do best.

nfl players' better halves have their way on the poll.

the five stages of your life, in chart format.

Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

bangthosedrums.jpg - cornblow.jpg - forgottenwench.jpg

the aht guide to hamburger and cheeseburger styles.

the ten worst movies to open at number one.

the ancient laws of the pirate, as written by blackbeard himself.

sized-to-fit condoms obviously require you to accurately measure your naughty bits.

cinemassacre: the top ten jackie chan fights.

three bald eagles lock talons as they plunge to the ground in mid-air battle.

imissthesoviets.jpg - lookcloselyleg.jpg - zebrabus.jpg

Feedback Friday.

In celebration for the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety;s 50th anniversary, a 1959 Chevrolet BelAir was crashed into a 2009 Chevrolet Malibu -- I know, I cried a little, too -- visually demonstrating how far automobile safety has come in 50 years. Can someone give me some asprin? I need to go haul grampa out to his coffin. Oh, and one of the best things about living in Florida? It's mid September and my pool is still open. Oh, and hey, remember Mystique the mighty morphin uber-hottie from the X-Men movies? Yeah, she's preggo now. And yeah, it gets a little awkward.

Ha! You know who has got to really be pissed about all these "Top-x" lists running around? Chris White. He the guy who started it all about fifteen years ago with his Top 5 emails. Then along came email filters which killed about 90% of the email lists that used to be out there. So while the Top 5 is indeed still alive, I'm sure it's nowhere near the internet juggernaut is used to be. Anyway, I think that for the entertainment side of things, Top-X lists were just a logical evolution, much the way tags came into mainstream about five years ago. Let's say that I post this video of Selma Hayek's stripper scene from Dusk Till Dawn. Everyone loves it, I get a lot of traffic, there's lots of buzz, woo hoo. So I post a second one, this time Jessica Alba in Sin City. Again, champagne falls from the skies and everyone loves it. What's the next logical step? The Top Ten Sexiest Movie Strippers is, that's what. if for no other reason, than continuity and organization. Now granted, some Top-X lists are more exciting than others. Personally, I wouldn't raise an eyebrow over the Fifteen Most Corrupted Members of Congress because hey, they're fucking politicians so of course they're corrupt. But the Ten Most Humiliating Reasons to be Arrested? That might be worth a look. And you can't tell me you don't get a chuckle out of the Nine Worst Celebrity Boob Jobs. I do my best to pick ones that I think people will like -- and yes linking to some of these sites does indeed contribute to keeping a roof over my head -- but I try to be as accommodating as I can reasonably be.

I did and immediately replied back to Brian, "In the beginning of that video, there is a female voice on the radio. She has an accent. I want to have sex with her. BTW, refueling probe view = coooooooooooooooooooool." A few minutes later came his reply, "Iwas the maintenance superintendant and I almost shit a brick when I saw that camera strapped to the probe. The aircrew snuck out to the helicopter and put it on there and I didn't see it until they launched on a mission. I was pretty pissed off about it but I got over it when I saw the footage. BTW, the British chick on the radio had huge tits, too bad I dont have pictures to send." Dammit.

True that. She lost a point for her outburt, and it just so happened to be match point. What the fuck do I know, I don't watch tennis. But even so, I still found this shot simply fucking amazing.

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. Don't fuck with the Jews, man. They'll kill ya. I know, I know, but the Jews fuck with the Arabs. Because the Arabs fuck with the Jews. Because the Jews fuck with the Arabs. Because the Arabs fuck with the Jews. ...lather, rinse, repeat... You can see there's a lot of circular reasoning in that part of the world. But at least they're putting our tax dollars to good use.

I don't want to spoil anyone's appetite or anything but in this collection of silent films from the 1930s, surgeons from the British Medical Association demonstrate how to remove an enormous ovarian tumor, excise tuberculosis from the brain and deliver a baby by Caesarean section. Warning: like I said, not safe for lunch.

Are you arguing with your roommate, girlfriend, or sibling? Can't resolve a debate in fantasy sports? Settle it here! Take your friends to court to tell your side of the story - while a public jury will vote on who's right! You can also help others settle their squabbles by joining a jury and weighing in.

Jesus Jason, I sure hope you ate that fucking thing and didn't shoot it just to hang its head on your smoking room wall. Besides, is there a little something else you'd like to share with the class? Hmmmm?

The Supreme Court of the United States is the highest judiciary body and the most important legal authority in the country. Here is their secret go-to chart for easy answers. With obligatory Gary Busey reference!

two british kids travel all the way to nürburgring, germany only to crash after ten seconds.

week 2 nfl picks: hottie cheerleader edition

was i the only person who thought the soldier sould be able to defend herself?

fuck it all, here's the absolute worst of absolutely everything.

and you guys call waterboarding tough. feh, pussies. check out this medieval shit.

Sergeant First Class Jared C. Monti, United States Army.

On 21 June 2006, SFC Monti, then a staff sergeant, was the assistant patrol leader for a 16-man patrol tasked to conduct surveillance in the Gowardesh, Nuristan Province, in northeastern Afghanistan. The patrol was to provide up-to-date intelligence, interdict enemy movement and ensure early warning for the squadron's main effort as it inserted into the province. The team set-up a small base on a ridge. The larger operation was delayed and Monti's team began to run low on provisions, so a helicopter delivery was made, giving away the team's position. As nightfall approached, the patrol was attacked by a well organized enemy force of at least 60 personnel, who had established two positions on a wooded ridge above the patrol. Outnumbered four-to-one, SFC Monti's patrol was in serious danger of being overrun. Monti ordered his soldiers to take cover and return fire, then reached for his radio headset and calmly initiated calls for indirect fire and close air support (CAS), both danger-close to the patrol's position.

Enemy fire killed Sergeant Patrick Lybert. Another soldier, Private First Class Brian J. Bradbury, was severely wounded and left lying in the open between the enemy and the position where the rest of the team had taken cover. Staff Sergeant Chris Cunningham, leader of the patrol's sniper team, called out that he was going to try to rescue Brabury. When SFC Monti realized that Bradbury was critically wounded and exposed ten meters from the nearest cover, Monti replied, "That’s my guy. I am going to get him." and without regard for his personal safety, advanced through enemy fire to within three feet of PFC Bradbury's position, only to be forced back by intense RPG fire. . His second try was similarly turned back and as the rest of his patrol provided covering fire, Monti advanced a third time but an RPG round exploded at his feet, blowing off both of his legs. Monti died moments later.

About the same time, the indirect fire and CAS he called for began raining down on the enemy's position. The firepower broke the enemy attack, killing 22 enemy fighters. PFC Bradbury subsequently died when the winch that was raising him to a rescue helicopter snapped. The fall also killed Staff Sergeant Heathe Craig, 28, a medic from Severn, Maryland.

SFC Monti's actions prevented the patrol's position from being overrun, saved his team's lives and inspired his men to fight on against overwhelming odds. Monti is buried at the Massachusetts National Cemetery in Bourne, Massachusetts. His grave can be found in section 11, site 38. A ceremony to formally present the Medal of Honor to Monti's family will occur today, September 17. So long Sergeant First Class Jared Christopher Monti, United States Army, we hardly knew ye.

shy kid teaches the lessons of jack dalton to a shirtless bully. be nice.

what do you do when a twelve year old won't open the door? yeah, you shoot through it. be nice.

this red carpet photographer needed to be taught the ways of jack dalton. be nice.

how do you react when a truck drives through your crash scene? be nice.

Some Random Thoughts.

"I never really believed in him. I heard a lot of stories from Barcelona about him, but never really seen him. I started to believe he was just a myth, a modern Yeti, a figment of some very disturbed people imaginations. But then one day there he was, right in front of me. The world stood still and as he walked in the middle of the crowd. Faces froze with fear and amazement as he made his way through the streets in broad daylight." This one is NSFW so continue at your own risk but trust me it's pure internet awesness. Your life simply won't be complete without seeing this at least once.

Personally, I fucking loathe Adobe reader and with it, all of its associated .PDF files. I think the application is a big bloated piece of shit that does nothing more than hog resources and slow my machine down. So when Andrew sent in a link to an article titled, "A Mathematical Model for Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse", I was elated. And that elation quickly turned to disgust when I discovered the main article lived inside a PDF file. And while I fucking hate PDF files, I fucking love zombies. So here's where I have good news for you: enter a cool little application called Cool PDF Reader. It opens PDF files for viewing/printing, is only 650kb and as a standalone application requires no installation. And its fucking awesome. And I can tell you this: if you live beyond Day 6 of a zombie outbreak, you're ahead of the game. I wonder if you'd be using any of these questionable zombie survival tactics?

Of course there's been a lot of buzz over the past few days about Serena Williams getting kicked out of the US Open semifinals. Which I consider quite funny, actually. Not because I don't think that big bitch Serena is completely capable of showing a ball up that guys ass just like she promised, but anyone who remembers John McEnroe would consider She-Zilla's outburst to be quite tame. Besides, how can you compile a list of the most bizarre endings and not include Charlie Bauman's 1978 Gator Bowl punch?

Various coming of age rituals from around the world. Bullet ants are for pussies. Land diving sounds fun because a jumper is allowed to say anything he wants to anyone before the jump and not be held responsible for his words. But bloodletting? Which is shoving canes down your throats sharp reeds up your nostrils and plunging sharp arrows repeatedly into your tongue? DUDE. WHAT THE FUCK? I'll stay a kid, thank you very much.

I used to work with a guy who was an Air Force Pararescuman from the Vietnam War. True to the stereotype, he was quiet, was sometimes quick to get angry and had these crazy eyes. This was back when the tech industry was booming and companies were hiring any warm body foolish enough to send in a resume. This former PJ didn't have much computer or telephony experience, neither skill came particularly easy for him, so his temper made frequent appearances around the office. Anyway, one day PJ was exceptionally quiet, not talking to anyone and even letting his phone ring unanswered, and it kind of freaked out his co-workers, myself included. I fully expected him to pull out an Uzi and start spraying everybody. But the responsibility of confronting this madman-to-be fell upon our boss, Mark, who called PJ into his office. About ten minutes later, PJ comes out, gatheres up his stuff and departs for the day. About a week later over a few beers, I found out a bit about the conversation that went on behind closed doors. That day the the anniversary of PJ's first 'kill'. And I don't mean kill like enemy-kill, I mean wounded soldier mercy-kill. Apparently back in the Vietnam era when it was easy to get a PJ into a hot situation but not so easy to get them out -- especially if the person to be rescued was mortally wounded -- it was not uncommon for the PJ (at the dying soldier's request) end their suffering with a gunshot to the back of the head. Needless to say this is very difficult emotionally for the person doing the mercy killing, and each year the anniversary of this event was quite taxing on my co-worker, the former PJ. I only bring this up because this article by Michael Yon reminded me. The guy with the Raiders patch on made me snicker, though. Anyway, I wonder how that crazy old bastard is doing?

Join David Hasselhoff’s Sharkwatch and witness his quest to seek out a tiger shark and attempt to feed the second most feared shark to the great white! Teaming up with shark expert Mark Addison in South Africa as The Hoff describes the experience as the, "most incredibly awesome experience," of his life. Of course he can say that, only because he's never experienced a hand grenade buttplug.

One year after Hurricane Ike tore across the gulf coast of Texas, residents paused on Sunday to observe the anniversary of the costliest natural disaster in Texas history. Destroying or damaging many thousands of houses, including 3/4 of all homes in Galveston, Ike's 110 mph winds caused more than $29 billion in damage, and took the lives of at least 72 in the United States. In Galveston one year later, 75% of businesses have reopened, much of the debris has been cleared, and 95% of the population has returned, but much work still remains to be done as residents continue to rebuild and recover. Collected here are a series of before-and-after photographs - which (starting with the second one) will fade between "before" and "after" photos when clicked.

Kanye finally came up with a good reason why he acts like such a fucking douchebag - he's sad because my mommy died. Awwwwww. And when asked what his mother might think of his outburst at the recent awards show, poor Kanye got all choked up. Pussy. I'll tell you what my mother woudl have done? She'd have proudly beaten the every loving shit out of me. Right there on stage in front of millions of people. Wouldn't give a shit. Solid ass beatin. So don't use your dead mother as a crutch, you fucking pussy. It's as disgraceful as your fucking haircut. You and your barber make a perfect pair. Oh, and speaking of a perfect pair, Jennifer Tilly's pair of queens turn 51 today.

for you fucking n00bs, the complete guide to facebook privacy.

sebaceous cyst removal from back-done in home - alabama style!

learn the art of the sleeper hold, the sexy way: with hot girls in bikinis!

the power of trains: high speed photography + train wheels + rocks = cool.

the girls' guides to homelessness. and i suppose we shoudl include the dog, too.

yeah i'm gonna need an airstrike on these guys planting an ied. oh wait, nevermind.

Be Careful What You Wish For.

Oh dear heavenly God, let it be true. Let Bruce be the next John Travolta, and let Spiderman 4 be his Pulp Fiction, please, please, please. C'mon, it's the circle of life; one door opens as another one closes. And you know what, as much as I had pined for his demise in all of the celebrity death trifectas, mnow that it's happened I'm genuinely saddened by Swayze's passing. I really am. He fought those pinko commies in Red Dawn, felt up Jennifer Gray's perky little tits in Dirty Dancing, and then taught us how to be nice (until it was time to not be nice) in Road House. Yeah, Swayze was an all around good guy, born into a classier era when celebrities entertained us with genuine talent and didn't make asses of themselves to steal headlines -- or microphones. And just as I was getting into The Beast, the news of terminal cancer the headlines. And now that the inevitable course has been run, I guess it's time for us to bid farewell to the best damned cooler in the business. So long Patrick Swayze, we hardly knew ye.

Anyone who has had to navigate the maze of a company's IVR system with it’s “Press 1 for blah, 2 for blah blah and 3 for blah blah” instructions will share our yearning for the past when phones were answered by humans — real humans rather than one of these IVR services or software for call centers. IVR hacks is a database of shortcuts that you can use to exit their IVR system as soon as possible and reach a human being. It may end up be a worker in an outsourced call center but, hey, it's a human being!

Hey good news everybody! Yesterday was porn star Taylor Wayne's birthday! I don't know if anyone got her a dildo, but here are some pictures of her party and some of her friends have very big tits.

Now see, honest 9/11 memories I can handle. But when Denis Leary gets on Rescue Me and starts whining about, "where were you when the towers fell," it kind of makes me want to throw up a little. It's like listening to Stromtroopers whine about, "Where were you when the Death Star blew up?" Rescue me hasn't shocked me since Jerry blew his fucking brains out. Good thing for Space Traffic, eh?

Oh and here's some more Johnny Carson. Taking Bianca to the vet this afternoon, ear infection.

top ten white trash heroes in cinema. #1 is bullshit, should be joe dirt.

fifteen famous movie good guys who were total dicks.

finally, a cash for clunkers program we can ALL get behind.

five actresses who make crazy look sexy.

sexy southpaws: the ten hottest left handed women.

ATTENTION NAVY GUYS: this is an a-6 intruder, not an a-7 corsair, yes?

Yeah, I'm Talking To You, Logitech.

Why did you guys have to fuck with my keyboard? Seriously. Keyboards haven't changed since 1990. So when my old keyboard died this past weekend -- may it rest in peace -- I had to go out and buy another one. I was terrified to find that all of your new wireless keyboards have strayed from the norm. The Home, Delete, End, Page Up/Down keys weren't where they were supposed to be. What the fuck? Don't you realize that my muscle memory has been honed to a diamond sharp edge from years of playing Doom and cropping pictures for the website. Do you guys have any fucking idew how difficult is to maintain your bad ass reputation at Duke Nuke'em when you fuck up all the keystrokes? Now I'm playing like a clueless fucking noob again. That is totally not fucking cool. I'm all fucked up. And pissy. Fuck it, I'm going out on my sailboat.

I love Lisa Lampanelli. I'm not saying that I jerk off to her, or anything but she's one of the few -- if not the only -- female comedienne that can make me belly laugh. HarperCollins is the publisher of Lampanelli's memoir, Chocolate, Please: My Adventures in Food, Fat, and Freaks (2009). Publishers Weekly reviewed: "After more than 30 pages on her search for the "perfect black man," Lampanelli moves on to outline her standup career, from handling hecklers to doing the The Tonight Show... Seeking the roots of her humor, she recalls her childhood as an "attention whore": "Eating to get attention is a behavior that I continued into my high school days." She follows her memories of "fat rehab" with a variety of topics, from the Virgin Mary to vegans. Much is quite funny, and Lampanelli never pulls her punches. Despite her raw language and raucous writing, honest reflections and stark self-insights emerge as she probes her past."

Joe, I'm very disappointed in you. If you were really a long time reader, you'd know that I'd never post a link depicting an act of animal cruelty. In fact the only time I publicize such events is when it turns out to have a (reasonably) happy ending, or when someone's ass needs to be sent to PMITA prison. The link to which you refer falls into the former category. Me thinks you're trying to speak with wisdom beyond your years. Well, either that or, you know.

This is Michelle McCool. She's 6'1'', with huge tits. And she dates the WWE's The Undertaker. And to be quite honest, she scares the shit out of me.

the nine types of britney spears fans.

two cringeworthy words: testicular. abscess.

because what is america without a good protest or two?

here, i'll save you some time looking up the 'truth truck' website.

top ten movie sequels/prequels that never should have been made.

some of the most beautiful, erotic, and artistic bodies burgeon in women's tennis.

Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

Hey Ernie, I have finally found something to contribute to your site after many years visiting it. I don't think I have seen it there before. This has been circulating around at work because we rent this type of forklift among others. The story associated with the photos appeared in the local news where it happened. The link below has the story and a few smaller pics. The attached photos are the ones not shown in the news article. If the driver had stayed in the cab till they cut the power he might have been okay. Take care Ernie! Scott. [WARNING – Pictures are graphic.]

eight real life doogie howser md's.

catyak - dontdropthesoap2 - freakybodytattoo

the ten greatest post-kill puns. let off some steam, bennet.

remember yesterday's shark footage? here comes the snacky cake. not safe for lunch.

old school gi joe's + stop motion awesomeness = new school ultra-violence.

lookclosely1 - lookclosely2 - onehugaeassspider

the funniest moments in muppet history.

To Mourn or Not To Mourn?

I woke up this morning realizing that September 11th puts me in somewhat of a quandry. Do I repost my original 9/11 post like I've done in previous years, dedicating the entire day to that act and that act alone? Do I post all my 9/11 stuff, or just the newer stuff? Or would I just be beating a dead horse? And if I don't and decide to post some other non-9/11 stuff, am I not mourning enough and not giving a national tragedy its due? Or would that just be too much and just reopening an old wound? What to do, what to do. But I will tell you this though. If you had told me eight years ago that Ground Zero still would still be just a big pit, with politics keeping the Freedom Towers from filling the void left by WTC1 & WTC2, I'd have called you a fucking liar. But indeed, here we are 2,922 days later and sure enough, no buildings. I think that's another tragedy in and of itself.

But before I finished my first cup of coffee, I made myself feel better by simply re-reading my original post from that morning. And of course, I dug up this old photo and remembered both what it was like that morning, and what it was like to have a car with only 5,000 miles on it. The whistling in the A/C was the compressor equalizing the pressure after I turned the car off, by the way. It still does it every time I use the air conditioning on a hot day, even now some 50,000 miles later. Anyway. Everyone knows what day it is and what happened eight years ago. No need to rub people's faces in it. You don't need my help to remember the attacks and will most certainly pay tribute in your own way, I'm sure. But if it's any colsolation to you at all, at least know that George Romero is making another zombie flick due out later this year, called Survival of the Dead.

Now see, I hope somebody slaps that lady around a little bit and then sticks it right in her can. And shame on you Josh for exposing my diabolical plan to fake my own death. Hey listen man, I've got my reasons.

There's always a better way to examine the shifting power rankings in the Big 12 region. But before we stick a fork in Oklahoma, or forget that there's such a division as a Big 12 North, let's take a long look at how the programs in the nation's most prolific conference are fairing. Power ranking the cheerleaders of the Big 12. Because again, yes, I have turned my back on the NFL.

nature's perfect predator - the great white shark. in shit-your-pants high definition video.

twenty-one celebrities who have killed someone. no chuck norris jokes, please.

see what the internet knows about you. or, why to clear your browser history.

ever wonder what would happen if you printed the entire internet?

eleven firsts in internet history. god damn you, digital.

The State Of Florida Vs Defendant-X, Part Quatre.

After a few minutes of waiting, the Bailiff returned to escort us back into the courtroom. And again with the pomp and circumstance as he announced our return, prompting everyone to stand as we entered. As the Foreperson, I was in the lead, but since I wanted to stay back to seat myself on the same side of the jury box as the Court Clerk, I stood aside and let the five other folks go in before me. The Judge gave us permission to sit, and we did. I held the verdict form in my hand, and I have to admit... it trembled a little bit. I gave it one last glance to make sure I had filled it out correctly, because who wants to look like a stupid ass in front of a courtroom full of people, eh?

The Judge asked if we had reached a verdict, and I acknowledged that we did. He then asked that the record reflect the Jury had returned with a verdict and then just like you see in television, had a Bailiff bring him the verdict form. The Judge looked it over and announced to the courtroom that he found no errors or omissions, and thus our verdict would stand. He then passed the verdict form to the Court Clerk, who stood up and pulled a microphone close to her lips. It was obvious she was going to read the verdict to the courtroom and I have to admit I was a little disappointed; I wanted to do it! You know, kind of like a kid wants to play with a police car's sirens. But alas, she spared me the opportunity to fumble my words, and read our verdict out clearly to everyone.

"IN THE CASE OF THE STATE OF FLORIDA VERSUS DEFENDANT-X, CASE NUMBER 1234567, IN THE FIRST COUNT WE THE JURY FIND THE DEFENDANT GUILTY OF BURGLARY OF A DWELLING." There was no hushed whispering in the courtroom, no dramatic gasps. I guess everyone saw this one coming? She continued, "IN THE SECOND COUNT WE FIND THE DEFENDANT GUILTY OF PETIT LARCENY IN THE SECOND DEGREE. SO SAW WE ALL." The Judge again asked the court record be updated to indicate our verdicts, and he asked if either of the two counsels would like the Jury to be polled for their individual verdicts. Obviously Newbie Prosecutor was fine with our decision, so he declined. Public Defender Lady wasn't as accommodating and took the Judge up on his offer. The Court Clerk then called off each of our names and asked if that was our verdict, and we each had to individually stand and answer yes. All six of us did, and with that both Public Defender Lady and Defendant-X were officially fucked.

Before dismissing us, the Judge first thanked us for our service and noted that under penalty of law, we could not be compelled by anyone except him, to discuss our deliberations in the Jury room. We could of course choose to do to -- as I am doing now -- but no one could compel us to. And with a wave of his hand and one final, "Thank you for your service," the Judge dismissed us from the courtroom. I would note that the exit was in the back of the courtroom, and thus our egress took us right between the Prosecutor and Defense desks. I suddenly realized that I would be walking within five feet of a man that my signature had just doomed to state prison. I wonder if he was going to leap at me and try to jab a pencil in my neck or something cool like that? Alas, he didn't. Although one Bailiff does indeed follow the jury all the way downstairs, out through the lobby and to the bus stop to catch the shuttle over to the Jury parking lot. I asked him if this was standard practice and he said it was; every so often the family of a defendant gets a little miffed at the Jury and decides to get a little rowdy. That is usually with a radio call for more Bailiffs, and the family are temporarily detained giving the Jury a chance to get on the shuttle and make a hasty retreat. Alas, there was no such excitement this time, as Defendant-X had no friends or family in the courtroom that day.

And with a roar of Big Red's 360 cubic inches of ass kicking goodness, I had completed my obligations to the judicial system of Lee County Florida for the next 365 days.

One thing I had forgotten to mention on the first day of the Judge's instructions to the Jury was: under no circumstances were we to perform any investigative work on this case. Meaning we were not to search out Defendant-X's name nor were we to visit the scene of the crime and/or talk to anyone about the case. To do so would be in Contempt of Court and we would be subject to a night in jail getting butt fucked by anyone who so chose to do so. This is of course why I didn't turn my cameraphone on in the courtroom, nor mention any specifics about the case until it was resolved, and even now I'm still only referring to him as Defendant-X. This is done to preserve the integrity of the court; during our deliberations we were only allowed to consider facts in evidence and as such, that's one of the reasons why we didn't consider the mystery trimmer in our decision making. I'm sure one of us can regurgitate a scene from television about prior bad acts. And in all honesty, I think it's a good idea because without it, there's simply no way we'd have given this guy a fair shake. Granted, we found his thieving ass guilty anyway, but our verdict was based upon the evidence on this specific case and not a preconceived notion of a career criminal. But the real jawdropper? We were never told of the potential penalties for the crimes in which Defendant-X is accused of comitting. But after some quick research, the penalty for Burglary of a Dwelling is up to a $10,000 fine and/or up to 15 years in prison. All because this asshole couldn't keep his hands off some old and busted lawn edger. I guess don't do the crime if ya can't do the time, eh?

On a side note, not to get all drama queen or anything but I've finally thrown myself on the sword and signed up for Facebook & Twitter. The Facebook, I'm not so sure I want to add EHOWA people to yet, simply because odds are I'm doing to be adding my family at some point, and I won't want people leaving comments on pictures such as this. Thus if I've added you on an EHOWA reader basis, and end up kicking you, don't take it personally. The Twitter feed however, is open to the masses. Will Twitter eventually replace Ernie Cam? I dunno, I'll have to see how well it works out. Probably not as well as a porn rehersal, but I'll do my best.

The Legend of Crasher Squirrel - Melissa Brandts, who was visiting from Minnesota, had set up her camera on a bipod to capture her and her husband, Jackson, in front of picturesque Lake Minnewanka in May. "We had our camera set up on some rocks and were getting ready to take the picture when this curious little ground squirrel appeared, became intrigued with the sound of the focusing camera and popped right into our shot!" she wrote.

The Onion asks... Are violent video games adequately preparing our children for the apocalypse? Panelists debate whether games like Fallout 3 and Gears of War 2 are teaching children skills they'll really need in the End of Times. That's right folks... more fucking zombies! And on that note, is it me or did Southpark's ManBearPig come back to life as a zombie in Left 4 Dead 2?

in pictures: the cars thieves love most.

seven examples of extremely bad porn acting

hair we go again: 80s styles are the new wave again.

i hate cats as much as the next guy, but this is going too far.

and no tila tequila, you are not allergic to alcohol. you are simply a bad drunk.

The State Of Florida Vs Defendant-X, Part Trois.

The jury room we retired to looked very much like the coffee room of any given office building. There was a long table surrounded by seven hard backed chairs -- a seat for each juror plus the alternate. Yeah, we had an alternate too, a little Vietnamese guy who spoke perfectly well all through the selection process, but then once he was chosen pulled his best Jackie Chan accented, "I no speaka good Engrish!" excuse before being sent home on the first day. So with one vacant chair among us, we sat down to begin our deliberations. I suppose now is as good a time as any to introduce my fellow jurors: two white guys; White Construction Guy and Fellow Bald White Guy, Black Lady, Hispanic Lady, and White Lady. As Lord of the Internet and clearly the smartest person in the room -- a given no matter where I am -- I sat at the head of the table with my minions spread out before me. The first thing we had to do was select a Jury Foreperson; it was this person's job to bring some order to the deliberations, interface with the Bailiff who was standing guard outside the room, and present the verdict to the Court Clerk. White Lady put to the room, "So who is going to be our Foreperson?" An awkward silence fell about the room as conversations fell quiet and everyone found the old wooden desk to suddenly be very interesting. I had debated doing the touch-my-finger-to-my-nose routine, which would normally select the last person to catch on and do so as 'it' -- but let's be fair here, a guy's freedom was at stake so I didn't want to fuck around. I let the silence stand for about five seconds and then said fuck it and raised my hand. "I'll be the Foreperson." Everyone else breathed a sigh of relief and began their conversations again. That's right folks, I was the motherfucking Jury Foreperson

Firmly in charge I set about to my first task: compensation. I asked each of my fellow jurors to take out a $20 bill and pass it towards my end of the table. For some reason, they refused, so I set about to my second task, which was reading out the verdict form to everyone. You know that script you hear at the end of every trial, "In the case of State vs So-And-So, we the Jury find...," yeah it was like that. In the middle of the page were the two counts with check boxes next to each one. I as the Foreperson (and Lord of the Internet) would check off next to the charges we found Defendant-X guilty of, or next to the Not Guilty box, sign my name, and then send someone to the gallows. Our choices were: Guilty of Burglary of a Dwelling, Guilty of Burglary of a Structure, or Not Guilty. Then for the next charge: Guilty of Grand Larceny, Guilty of Petit Larceny 1st Degree, Guilty of Petit Larceny 2nd Degree, or Not Guilty.

First I took a straw poll around the room; what are people's first impressions as to Defendant-X's guilt in regards to having stolen some shit from Angry Homeowner. We all felt that Newbie Prosecutor had proved beyond a reasonable doubt that he did, and thus it was a unanimous 6-0 in favor of Guilty. I asked if anyone could think of a reasonable scenario that fit the facts that were presented to us, in which Defendant-X was not guilty; an evil twin, a guy who looked like him, etc. We could not. Comfortable that Defendant-X did indeed have sticky fingers, we found him guilty of stealing so the question now was to debate whether or not the garage constituted as part of the dwelling. And it's here that you have to know a little about Florida homes, or more specifically, Florida garages. Of the four years I've lived down here, I can count on one hand the number of detached garages I've seen. Virtually every house has an attached garage; and I don't mean just by a long covered walkway, I mean the garage is an integral part of the house. In my garage I've got cases of water, cases of soda, a freezer full of food, all sorts of shit that I use every day. Fellow Bald White Guy commented that his children often play in the garage, and White Lady noted she often sits in her garage to watch rainstorms. The group was clearly leaning towards finding the garage as part of the dwelling. Hispanic Lady asked for clarification on the, "designed to be occupied by people lodging therein at night," -- since one does not sleep in their garage, could it be part of the dwelling? I replied that while I didn't sleep in my kitchen, should someone break into it I would definitely consider that part of my dwelling. Convinced, she agreed and again it was unanimous - we had found Defendant-X guilty of Burglary of a Dwelling.

Next up was determining the value of the items stolen. Because the lawn trimmer was never found, I had reservations about Grand Larceny and was therefore leaning towards Petit Larceny in the 1st degree, since the only item I found myself willing to take into account -- the edger -- had been declared to be worth $250-$260. As I floated this out to my fellow Jurors, I was relieved to find they too had trouble taking the lawn trimmer -- or rather its absence -- into account. I mean Angry Homeowner could have very well said that Defendant-X stole $10,000 lying around his garage -- him saying it doesn't mean it was true, especially since we all found Angry Homeowner to be a dick. And thus we collectively agree that the lawn trimmer was out, and would base our decision solely upon the theft of the lawn edger. Again, I was perfectly ready to say Petit Larceny in the 1st degree ($100 - $300), but here's where the wisdom of our Forefathers comes into play. Two of the jurors - White Construction Guy and Fellow Bald White Guy - stated to the group that they had prior experience with landscaping and as such had a better grasp of what the tools might be worth. Both of these men explained that the service life of an edger is about four years, and while yes they're about $250 new, they depreciate VERY QUICKLY. Both assured us that you could easily pick up a used one for around $75. The other four of us, lumping me in with the chicks unfortunately, admittedly having no subject knowledge of lawn tools agreed that this would be the value we should use in determining the value for the stolen lawn edger. And thus I went around the room again, and we unanimously found Defendant-X guilty of Petit Larceny in the 2nd Degree. To be very clear -- had these two guys not spoken up I have no doubt it would have been the more serious 1st degree charge.

I checked off the appropriate boxes on the verdict form and with a stroke of my pen -- I felt pretty powerful I have to admit -- signed my name to the form that would bring bad news to Defendant-X and Public Defender Lady. I passed the signed form around the room one more time to make sure we were all in agreement. We were. As I got up to knock on the door to let the Bailiff know we had finished our deliberations, I could hear 'regular' chit-chat begin behind me. The Bailiff instructed us to remain in the room while he went and informed the Judge we were ready. That took all of two minutes and that was the first time that we actually introduced ourselves to our fellow jurors. Which was kind of cool, I think. While Defendant-X wasn't necessarily found guilty by a jury of his peers persay -- remember there were no brothers on the jury -- he was indeed found guilty by six complete strangers who didn't know each other from a bag of assholes.

Tomorrow, the verdict gets read. And I was just kidding about the $20. It was only $10.

At first when this guy claimed to be an ordained priest in Dudeism, I thought this was a parody. But as it turns out, it's not. Anyone else wanna be a Dudeist with me?

After suffering from being blessed with gigantomastia as a teen, Soleil Moon Frye underwent a breast reduction three months before her 16th birthday. Thankfully today she no longer looks like Punky Brewster -- unless she gets one million Twitter followers -- but instead looks like this. Hubba hubba.

There have been a lot of botfly videos roaming around the internet lately, and yet they still remain somewhat of a mystery to people. And so here is a video of a hot brunette chick telling you all about the reproductive cycle of botflies -- as she's digging one of them OUT OF HER FUCKING HEAD.

the former careers of ufc fighters.

how to solve the healthcare debate. WITH VIOLENCE.

the twenty sexiest ugly people, like KENNY FUCKING POWERS

i'm a friend of sarah connor. i was told she was here. could I see her please?

boom, boom, wow: the pac-10's finest cheerleaders. dibs on asu.

american vice: mapping the seven deadly sins.

The State Of Florida Vs Defendant-X, Part Deux.

So anyway, Helpful Neighbor gets done testifying and is sent along his merry way. Next up is Angry Homeowner , who true to his name, is really kind of a dick. But the real corker is right after he is sworn in and gets on the stand... he starts crying. No shit. Honest to goodness tears streaming down his face, tapping his fingers with one hand while holding up the other and asking for a minute to compose himself. It was pretty fucking weird. Anyway, once finding the courage to relive the story of how his lawn edger was taken from him, Angry Homeowner begins to testify and answer the Newbie Prosecutor's questions. The two go through great lengths to explain that Angry Homeowner's garage is indeed attached to his house, all under one roof and he and his family spend a great amount of time in his garage. The goal of which being to establish the garage as part of the main dwelling. Once that was done, they moves on to the items stolen.

And it's here the biggest stumble in the prosecution's case. Defendant-X was accused of stealing both a lawn edger and a lawn trimmer -- and what the fuck the difference is between those two, I have no idea -- each of which Angry Homeowner claims to be valued between $250-$260. Thus the combined total supposed to be in excess of $500, thus warranting the Grand Larceny charge. But in his deposition from back in 2008, Angry Homeowner made the off handed comment that be believes his edger was worth, "around $100." Then enter the lawn trimmer, which was never found either on Defendant-X or in the areas surrounding this little fiasco, and to this day remains unrecovered. Angry Homeowner states that the replacement cost of this trimmer was $323.

It's here I'd like to point something out to you folks who may one day be sitting in the witness chair. And that's this: don't be a dick. Seriously. Listen, we've all seen Law and Order on television. The opposing counsel is going to ask you a series of questions. Chances are you won't like them, as they're designed to paint you in a bad light and their client in a good one. Obviously you don't want to contribute to their efforts, but that's no excuse to be a dick. Public Defender Lady spent about five minutes trying to get Angry Homeowner to admit that he estimated the value of his four year old lawn edger to be about $100. She even had court transcripts of his deposition. She even brought those transcripts up the witness chair, and had Angry Homeowner read them to refresh his memory. And yet still, Angry Homeowner would not admit to ever having made those statements, getting a quite belligerent in the process. And in speaking with my fellow jurors later on, we all found Angry Homeowner to be quite the dickhead and in the end, discounted a lot of his testimony for that reason.

The last prosecution witness was a cop -- a rather short and portly cop, I might add -- who took the stand and in my opinion didn't offer dick shit to the case. She testified that as the second officer to arrive on the scene, Defendant-X was already in handcuffs and the lawn edger had been recovered. So what the fuck was she doing there? I dunno. I think Newbie Prosecutor just felt a little better having a police officer on the witness list. The only thing Public Defender Lady asked of the Fat Cop was why they didn't take pictures of the lawn edger in the back of the trunk where it was when they arrived on the scene, instead of placing it out on the ground like they did. All in all, very un-exciting testimony.

Then came closing arguments, and one thing they don't show you on television is while yes the prosecution goes first, they also get the opportunity to break their closing up into two parts and essentially go last as well. And as I sat listening to Newbie Prosecutor's closing arguments I could only sit back and wish I had a video camera because I'd love to show the footage to him in about twenty years. You want to talk about passionate? Like it was a fucking capital case. In between casting glances at his feet and the ceiling tiles, Newbie Prosecutor -- whose ink is probably still wet on his law degree -- went on for a good ten minutes on how terrible it was that Angry Homeowner's lawn edger was stolen. And how society would be a safer and better environment for us and our children is Defendant-X was to be found Guilty of these crimes. And and all the while I keep thinking in the back of my mine, "Dude, it's a weed eater."

Public Defender Lady went next and true to her earlier form, presented a much more polished and fluid closing. She challenged the value of the lawn edger. She questioned whether or not the unrecovered lawn trimmer even existed. She asked why the police had not collected any additional evidence beyond witness testimony, such as fingerprinting the lawn edger. And she questioned whether or not it would even be physically possible for a man to ride a bicycle with two motorized lawn tools stretched across his handlebars. She again reiterated that it was simply not possible for her client to be guilty of these crimes, and asked us to find him Not Guilty. Then Newbie Prosecutor was given one final chance for rebuttal and he only offered, "Dude, why in the hell would the cops fingerprint evidence that four witnesses watched Defendant-X drop?"

Then we were given our final instructions by the Judge. And here's where the wheels of justice kind of wobble again. Sure he goes past the easy shit, like how we have to elect a Jury Foreperson, reinforcing what reasonable doubt it, and how to fill out the verdict form. But then he goes into the exact definition of the applicable charges. And it's about five minutes out reading text out of a lawbook for each charge. Which wouldn't be so bad, except for the lesser charges; I'll explain. In the first count of Burglary of a Dwelling, there's about six or seven paragraphs detailing what this offense is. But if we don't find him guilty of that, we have the option of finding him guilty of a lesser charge, Burglary of a Structure. That too has its own six or seven paragraphs description, with the ONLY DIFFERENCE being the text, "and is designed to be occupied by people lodging therein at night, together with the curtilage thereof." Everything else? Exactly the same. And then there's the second count, Grand Larceny, which of course has its own six or seven paragraphs description. And there are not one, but TWO lesser charges for that, Petit Larceny in the 1st degree ($100-$300) and Petit Larceny in the 2nd degree (<$100) -- all three of which have the exact same legal description, save for the dollar amounts, and all three of which must be read individually. That got quite boring, belive you me.

Then with more fanfare -- it's neat having everyone in the room stand when you enter or leave -- and we retire to the jury room to elect a Foreperson an begin our deliberations. That of course, will be tomorrow.

When Hustle Hottie Holly Madison likes to get away from it all, she doesn't call old gal pals Bridget and Kendra, nor does she ring up Hef or even the reclusive Criss Angel. Holly reaches out for Brazilian babe Sasckya Porto, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that! Link includes some nice upskirt photos of Holly Madison.

A little interesting reading now, that being celebrities with cool obscure talents. For example, Ken Jeong the skinny little Asian guy who was the doctor in Knocked Up? Year turns out he's really a fucking doctor. And Danny Devito is a renowned hair stylist. That is when he's not stripping down naked.

English Travel Tip #273: when travelling to Thailand and getting quite snockered at a bar, you shouldn't mouth off to the locals. As you will knocked the fuck out. By a woman.

A controversial Tsunami print ad for World Wildlife Fund (WWF) popped up at several blogs and news sites worldwide. The ad was created in December 2008 by a team at DDB Brazil that is no longer with the agency. DDB Brazil apologizes to anyone who was offended or affected by the ad stating iIt should never have been made and it does not portray the philosophy of the agency. Personally, I don't think it was that bad. See for yourself.

fifty things that are being killed by the internet.

one hundred and one ridiculously hot redheads. sfw.

the quick ten: nine fallen natural landmarks, and one more that’s stumbling.

awesome: remote control plane briefly stops play while cruising around dodger stadium.

Happy Labor Day! You Know, Presuming You Still Have a Job.

Labor Day is a United States federal holiday observed on the first Monday in September (September 7 in 2009). The holiday originated in Canada out of labor disputes ("Nine-Hour Movement") first in Hamilton, then in Toronto, Canada in the 1870s, which resulted in a Trade Union Act which legalized and protected union activity in 1872 in Canada. The parades held in support of the Nine-Hour Movement and the printers' strike led to an annual celebration in Canada. In 1882, American labor leader Peter J. McGuire witnessed one of these labor festivals in Toronto. Inspired from Canadian events in Toronto, he returned to New York and organized the first American "labor day" on September 5, 1882 in New York City. In the aftermath of the deaths of a number of workers at the hands of the US military and US Marshals during the 1894 Pullman Strike, President Grover Cleveland put reconciliation with Labor as a top political priority. Fearing further conflict, legislation making Labor Day a national holiday was rushed through Congress unanimously and signed into law a mere six days after the end of the strike. Cleveland was also concerned that aligning a US labor holiday with existing international May Day celebrations would stir up negative emotions linked to the Haymarket Affair. All 50 U.S. states have made Labor Day a state holiday.

Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

On 13 March 2009, an E-8C JSTARS, tail number 93-0597, assigned to the 379 th Air Expeditionary Wing, experienced a near catastrophic fuel tank over-pressurization during aerial refueling. The Mishap Aircraft (MA) terminated its mission and returned to Al Udeid Air Base, Qatar. The crew and mission personnel evacuated the aircraft safely with no injuries. The mishap resulted in damage to the MA in the amount of $25 million dollars. There was no damage to private property.

DO NOT CLICK THIS PHOTO.

how long does it take an athlete to make $100,000?

how twenty popular websites looked when they launched.

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i don't think you really want to know what's inside a slim-jim.

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ihavetwobreasts - neverobsolete - wearseatbeltproperly

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how i spent last night (according to eye witness testimony).

bridewithbigtits2 - expressurinal - happybikeride

The State Of Florida Vs Defendant-X, Part One.

The wheels of justice do indeed turn. The catch is they're wagon wheels, all of which have lots and lots of broken spokes.

As I expected, the 9:30am trial started promptly at 10:30am. Myself and my five fellow jurors were led back into the courtroom with all the pomp and circumstance of the gradating class of Harvard University, taking our seats in the jury box on the right side of the courtroom wall. Old habits from high school never die and I chose a seat in the back row, as did a few others. The Judge thanked us again for performing out civic duty and began explaining a basic outline of what's going to happen. It's his job to interpret the law, and our job to interpret the evidence and then apply the law that he gives us to the case. He further explains the definition of 'reasonable doubt' and I can't help but feel like I've been sucked into the television and am sitting in on an old rerun of Law and Order. Then on the Defence's request, we are instructed that while Defendant-X would not be taking the stand, we were in no way to interpret that as an admission of guilt nor evidence to the same. Defendant-X was simply exercising his Fifth Amendment rights. Then, we get to the good stuff. The charges.

On Christmas day of 2007, an Unfortunate Homeowner here in Cape Coral opened his garage door to carry out all the trash that accumulated from unwrapping presents, and after depositing said rubbish at his curb, returned back into the house to continue his festivities. On his way back in, he forgot to close his garage door. Here's where the bad guy music comes in because Defendant-X stands accused of riding up on his bicycle a short while later, entering Unfortunate Homeowner's garage and helping himself to some lawn tools; specifically a trimmer and an edger. Oh yes, that's right folks! With all the juicy shit going on down here in southwest Florida, I get a lawn care thief whose getaway vehicle is some old busted ass blue and purple bicycle! And after a short bicycle chase by: Unfortunate Homeowner, Unfortunate Homeowner's son, and Helpful Neighbor, the Defendant-X mastermind scheme to shake the very foundation of the lawncare industry is foiled and he is promptly arrested by Cape Coral's finest, summoned by a 911 call. For his troubles, Defendant-X has earned himself two felony charges: Burglary of a Dwelling and Grand Theft (greater than $300 but less than $5000) since the value of the two stolen items is claimed to be around $250 each.

Then just like television, next comes the opening arguments. And yes, just like Jack McCoy, the prosecution goes first. Only it's not Jack McCoy prosecuting this case, it's Newbie Prosecutor. I could tell he was a newbie because he was the younger of the two lawyers, maybe 25 or so, and appeared somewhat nervous at times. He also had the inability to look at the jury when speaking to us; rather he would look at the floor, the microphone, the ceiling, his notes, anything and everything except us. He would begin sentences only to stop mid word, look up or down, rifle through his notes and begin speaking again, only going down an completely different train of thought. But none of this came anywhere close to incompetence mind you, there just wasn't the spit and polish, or fluid monologues like we see on television. Denny Crane.

Once Newbie Prosecutor finished, then came Public Defender Lady. Whom I will say right off the bat had some very big tits, and although they were inconveniently tucked away inside a ladies suit coat, I could tell they were some blue ribbon winners. But she definitely struck me as the more experienced of the two counsels. And while occasionally fumbling over her thoughts like her adversary did, she was able to maintain good eye contact and generally looked more comfortable speaking in front of people. It was her contention that it was simply not possible for her client to have stolen said lawn equipment, and there was no way the prosecution could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he did and requested that we find her client Not Guilty.

And before we knew it, we had out first witness on the stand. Helpful Neighbor was called forward and after raising his right hand and promising to give honest testimony, sat his ass down in the witness's chair. As he was a prosecution witness, Newbie Prosecutor got first crack at him. And we the jury watched and listened over the next ten minutes as that broken spoked wagon wheel fumbled and wobbled it way down the road. Newbie Prosecutor asking simple questions, eliciting one simple fact at a time out of his witness and trying to recreate the events of that fateful Christmas morning, one excruciating detail at a time. And like television, the second the words, "he said/she said," came out of the witness's mouth, Public Defender Lady would leap from her chair exclaiming, "Objection Your Honor, Heresay" which would be soon followed by the Judge's low and monotone, "Sustained." This would cause Newbie Prosecutor to stick his nose back into his notes for a few seconds while he rephrased his question to get the answer he wanted without getting shit on by the Public Defender Lady again.

All said and done, Helpful Neighbor's testimony was this: he happens to be looking out the front window of his parent's living room and witnesses Defendant-X riding by on a bicycle only to turn into Unfortunate Homeowner's driveway, only to set his bike down and walking out of view. Finding this odd, Helpful Neighbor keeps watching and soon Defendant-X returns to view, only this time he's carrying Unfortunate Homeowner's orange lawn edger. Defendant-X then mounts his trusty steed and with the edger across his handlebars, begins his not-so-speedy getaway. Alert that something is amiss, Helpful Neighbor asks his father to check with Unfortunate Homeowner to see if he's missing some lawn equipment, while he Helpful Neighbor goes out to his car to get ready for a hot pursuit. Unfortunate Homeowner confirms to Helpful Neighbor's father that something is indeed missing and the three of them take off after Defendant-X; Helpful Neighbor in his car, Helpful Neighbor's father in his car, and the now Angry Homeowner on a bicycle of his own. Surely this would have been a sight to behold. Anyway, Helpful Neighbor gets there first and after screeching his tires to a halt in front of the fleeing Defendant-X and subsequently demanding that he drop the chalupa, Defendant-X tosses down the lawn edger and continues to ride away. Helpful Neighbor places the now discarded edger in his trunk and continues after Defendant-X, who is now being vigorously pursued by Angry Homeowner and Angry Homeowner's son who has now joined the pursuit, riding a bicycle of his own. Yeah we sure do get crazy down here in the Cape, eh?

Anyway, tune in Monday for more excitement from the nation's newest crime drama, The Trials and Tribulations of Cape Coral: Living Life On The Lawn Edger.

Last year, Playboy offered Lindsay Lohan half a million dollars to strip down for the magazine’s 55th anniversary, an offer which she refused. Now, Playboy has reportedly nearly doubled their original offer to Lindsay – it’s up to $900,000! And yet the party girl, who’s posed naked in the past, refuses to say yes.

bootleg copy of the new iron man 2 teaser trailer.

britney spears & jamie lynn spears bikini it up sister milf style.

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old and busted: an audi r8 supercar. the new hotness: an all chrome audi r8 supercar.

Now I Understand Why People Hate Jury Duty.

In a word: It Fucking Sucks.

For those of you who haven't been before, let me sum it up for you. Go down to your local DMV. Pull a number and wait in line. And then imagine they could call your number at any time, but don't do so for six fucking hours. That's about it.

My first mistake was showing up on Vince Lombardi time; if you're not ten minutes early, you're late. Or in my case, half an hour early. Let me be very clear about this one: there is absolutely no fucking advantage to walking through the door early, save you might not get a chair that squeaks. None. Zero. Show up early = wait more.

So roll call was at 8 o'clock in the morning, and the first thing you do is watch a rah-rah-rah video abou thow important jury duty is. No problem there, I'm sure they're used to dealing with a bunch of angry people whining about how their outside job are just so important, so this little speech is pretty expected. Then the Clerk calls off juror numbers, twenty-five at a time. Is that a lottery you want to win, or no? Turns out there's no real answer here, just bad luck. The batches of juror numbers get called out every, eh, half an hour or so. In the meantime, we were treated to a nice viewing of Secondhand Lions which made me want to blow my brains out because my laptop battery died halfway through and I actually had to pay attention to this piece of shit movie. But the Clerk says, "don't worry, most of you will be out of here around noon."

And by most of you I mean everyone except me, because at 11:55 he makes one final call for jurors and Yours Truly's number is among them. "You twenty-five people need to be back here at 1:30 to begin a trial, the rest of you are free to go and thank you for your service." Fuck. Some people didn't even get called and get to go home. Oh well, such is life, eh? So I go out to lunch -- $7.50 for a shitty little sandwich and a bottle of Cherry Coke -- and am back in the juror room by 1:30. And of course the Bailiffs don't get down to pick us up until 2:15, so that's forty-five minutes more with nothing but my crank in my hand.

Up to the courtroom we go, and all file according to our assigned numbers, just like we're back in high school. In the courtroom is the judge and his posse, the prosecutor, and the defendant and his lawyer. I can't say anything about the case until its conclusion, sorry. The first thing the judge does is ask if anyone would not be able to act in the jury for this case, which is expected to last one full day. This is where we enter, The Assholes. And I call them Assholes because look, nobody wants to be here dude, least of all the Defendant, so let's just get through this. But sure enough, four or five Assholes raise their hands and explain how all the deadines in the world are coming down the next day and how their jobs would just fall the fuck apart if they had to miss not one but two -- oh my gosh TWO! -- days of work. It's as if these Assholes have never called in sick before, or taken a few days vacation. It was pretty pitiful and reminded me of a kid whining because he didn't want to go to school. Worst of all it wasted even more fucking time.

And after a basic what's what, each juror has to stand up and answer a few basic questions: their name, where they live, marital status, if they've ever been a victim of a crime, if they've ever been convicted of a crime, if they have any law enforcement in their family, and if they've ever been on a jury before. With each person, the prosecutor gets to ask a few basic questions. "Oh you've had your house broken into before. Do you think that would affect your perception of law enforcement?" "You were on a jury before? Were you able to reach an agreement?" "You said you've been convicted of DUI two years ago. Do you think you can remain impartial if chosen for this jury?" Of course the Assholes took this opportunity reinforce what bad jurors they would make; one guy going off on a five minute tirade on how OJ Simpson bamboozled the legal system and another woman warning that she couldn't be impartial because she still has nightmares about her car being broken into four years ago. One older Hispanic lady pulled the, "No Hablas Igles," defense. And no, I'm not kidding.

And they asked those questions. For every single person. All twenty-five of us. One at a time. Slowly. And I understand they have to do it but Jesus Christ was that tedious. Twice we were interrupted when the judge had to call recess so he could back and tend to a jury in mid deliberations on another case. Finally we get called back in and everyone is interviewed. Then, the Defense gets to do the same thing, so we start all the fuck over again. And again The Assholes wouldn't give the attorney a straight answer on anything, "Do you think you could remain impartial in this case? "[after a nice long dramatic pause...] Well I don't know the facts of the case yet, so I can't say that I could be impartial." It's like dude, quit being a fucking crybaby and just take your medicine like the rest of us, will you? Yeah, seriously, this is why people cringe at jury duty. Anyway, when the Defendant's lawyer was done with her panel of questions, the judge calls recess again while the two sides pick out the jurors. And as we're all waiting outside the courtroom, everyone is like, "Oh God don't pick me." As for me, eh, I didn't really give a shit. I mean it's just one day out of my life; do I have shit to do? of course I do but if I were some poor fuck on trial I sure as hell wouldn't want a jury packed with people just looking for the quickest way to get home.

We all get called back in the courtroom at Five-O-Fucking-Clock in the afternoon and they begin to call the jurors forward. And I thought there would be twelve, but it turns out there's only six. So much for television. Who is the last person to be called, juror number six? That's right, me baby. I'm on the jury. Fighting for truth, justice and the American way... and helping to decide a man's fate at 9:30am this morning. So alas, there's not a real big update this morning, as this second day of jury duty is rather unexpected thus I didn't have anything prepared. I just threw a few things together before heading off to court. Wow, that sounds bad ass, eh?

medic ignores shrapnel in her shoulder to save comrades during attack.

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Yes, They Deserved To Die And I Hope They Burn In Hell!

Jury selection refers to several methods used to choose the people who will serve on a trial jury. The jury pool is first selected from among the community using a reasonably random method. The prospective jurors are then questioned in court by the judge and/or attorneys. Depending on the jurisdiction, attorneys may have an opportunity to mount a challenge for cause argument or use one of a limited number of peremptory challenges. In some jurisdictions that have capital punishment, the jury must be death-qualified to remove those who are opposed to the death penalty. Attorneys sometimes use expert assistance in systematically choosing the jury, although other uses of jury research are becoming more common. The jury selected is said to have been "impaneled".

Selected jurors are generally subjected to a system of examination whereby both the prosecution (or plaintiff, in a civil case) and defense can object to a juror. In common law countries, this is known as voir dire. Voir dire can include both general questions asked of an entire pool of prospective jurors, answered by means such as a show of hands, and questions asked of individual prospective jurors and calling for a verbal answer. In some jurisdictions, the attorneys for the parties may question the potential jurors; in other jurisdictions, the trial judge conducts the voir dire. In the United States the process of voir dire is often much more in depth than in other countries and its practical implementation is somewhat controversial because of this. The amount of privacy that the potential jurors are afforded when asked questions raises the issue of the definition of "impartial jury". Some people question if the intensive questioning of potential jurors looks not just for inherent bias but for a potential to be emotionally swayed. On the other hand, proponents argue that this method gives both sides more confidence in the verdict.

By the time you read this, I'll have someone's fate in my hands.Nah, honestly, I'm probably the perfect juror. I'd like to think I'm a healthy mixture of common sense, obedience, and open mindedness. All this fun plus bad coffee and $15 a day? Keep your eye on the Ernie Cam!

million dollar baby, in five seconds. stupid girls.

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soldiers trained at a beach on the xisha islands of china on wednesday.

balls of fury: the nfl's twenty best revenge stories. stupid mike shanahan.

a wildfire in the mountains north of los angeles nearly doubled in size overnight.

earlier this year, afghanistan embarked on its second presidential campaign season.

is there anything the iphone can’t do? if she’s got a restraining order, there’s an app for that too.

So Bikini Joe's is Officially Out Of Business.

You know, I spent an hour looking through my archives for the post I made when Bikini Joe's came up for sale sometime last year. Or maybe it was two years ago? Anyway. It used to be owned by a married couple, Debbie and Wayne, who divorced a few years after opening the bar. Initially she wanted to keep her half and he sell his, but what ended up happening is the bar was sold in its entirety to three brothers for the sum of $250,000. Rumor has it that a few months after that, one brother was kicked out of the partnership for embezzling like $40k. True or false, I dunno. Anyway, ownership fell down to the remaining two brothers, one of whome fucking died last year, leaving one. And the one remaining brother was socially inept a 21 year old kid, who was an enormous fat fuck shaped like Grimace. He routinely wore a shirt that read, "Man Boobs Are Sexy," and no I'm not kidding. To add insult to injury, he cut their food menu to almost nothing, got rid of Buzztime trivia, and after having to pay for a plumber to snake out the toilet drain, decided to remove all the paper towels from the mens bathroom, because he didn't want the drain to plug up again. Needless to say, Grimace quickly ran the business into the ground. The first signs of cracks in the dam were when I went in one time and found price tags on all of the televisions and wall decorations. Huh.

Then a few weeks before I went on vacation, I saw this sign in the window. Thaaaaaaaat, got my wheels a spinnin, because now owning a bar was within my grasp. By the time I got back from vacation last week, further rumors had the price down to a mere $15,000. I was floored! But the smell of death was strong in the air so I asked a few more questions and took a closer look. What's that $15k get you? The business name. That's it. The building is a lease (two months behind) and the kid has already sold off anything worth selling. Plus the business owes some $3,000 in unpaid electric bills and the payroll hasn't been paid in two months so the bartenders have been working exclusively for tips. Couple that with a two new bars that have recently opened in the area and seem to have done a nice job at poaching all the Bikini Joe's regulars (including me), and eh, I think it's a sinking ship that's well beyond repair. The coup de grâce came this past weekend when the power was shut off on Friday afternoon. But with the helping hands of a few bar patrons and some extension cords -- they somehow had power on one side of the building -- Bikini Joes struggled along until Sunday afternoon before finally gasping it's last breath. Better to let that chapter close and start a new? So long Bikini Joe's, we hardly knew ye.

Remember Tiffany Spehard, Port St Lucie school teacher who got canned after her bikini clad pictures surfaced on the web? Yeah, she's doing porn now. No seriously, I'm not kidding (NSFW). No seriously, really not kidding (NSFW). Hey a girl has to pay the bills and like it or not, doing porn is an honest living. But what the fuck is with that tattoo, eh? Someone - Austin - and Lane? Her three kids I presume? Jesus lady, cover that stuff up when you're sucking dick for rent money. That's creepy.

Feed the Hungry Shapes in this funny and quite easy physics engine based puzzle game. Drop all different shapes in each level and remove all the food.

First there was the Snuggie. Then came along the WTF Blanket. And now carrying on the tradition for those of you who like to do the nasty in your Snuggie blankets, we have the Snuggie Sutra.

Behold, the most awesome glove ever.

Ah, the 80's. A time when Bobby Brown was explaining what his prerogative was, musicians were showing everyone we were the world, fat kids were doing the Truffle Shuffle, and generally it was a time when world events didn't seem to weigh so heavily on our shoulders. Unless of course you wanted to catch a Korean Air flight back to Seoul. The times of hammer pants, flourescent clothing, and break dancing. The only thing better than the 80's was the 90's which of course brought us such gems as the original Beverly Hills 90210. Yeah, Jason Priestly seems to be doing okay for himself, eh?

sixty years later: normandy france, then and now.

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angry bee + live news report = 'motherfucker' on the air.