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Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

christopher walken is watching you pee.

new leader in under construction is squicker with 33,334.

well, this is something you don't see every day. safe for work.

and now for something quite useful: running christmas lights on your bike.

whatever you type into this website gets flipped upsided down. trippy man, trippy.

let's check your short term memory. oh, and you can check your short term memory, too.

Shhhhhhhhh, Quit Talking So Loud.

Everyone gave a nice Thanksgiving? Good. Lots to eat and drink? Good. So now we can focus on Christmas. But first let me ask you something. Four men and four women are shipwrecked on a desert island. Eventually each one falls in love with one another, and is himself loved by one person. John falls in love with a girl who is in love with Jim. Arthur loves a girl who loves the man who loves Ellen. Mary is loved by the man who is loved by the girl who is loved by Bruce. Gloria hates Bruce and is hated by the man whom Hazel loves. So my question is: Who loves Arthur?

And the current leader in Under Construction is Big Mikey with 31,972. Also note, since Mikey has finished the game, only scores from completed games will be accepted. Any scores from games progress and I'll just stick my fingers in my ears and sing, "La! La! La!" until you go away.

the results of askmen's great male survey. interesting read.

is your favorite username taken? find out at usernamecheck.com

a photo gallery of the mumbai terrorist attacks. some graphic content

hot chick doing parkour. nothing super dangerous, but she's got a pretty stellar body.

cctv time lapse of an office parking lot in canada and how it fills in a period of 1hr and 40 mins.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Well, it's another year and I've managed to keep a roof over my head, beer in my refrigerator, and gas in my truck. That's no small feat nowadays, either.

And I suppose if you're reading this, then you must be doing okay too, since you've at least got internet access. So today you should eat, drink, be merry and have a happy Thanksgiving.

But while you're sitting around that big fat turkey and enjoying laughs with your family, think about those who aren't.

They can make it home for Christmas though, but only if you help.

Keep Your Fucking Mouth Shut.

You want to know the hardest thing for me when posting on another website? Out of respect for the other webmaster, I can't really unload on someone like I'd normally do. It's like being invited to someone's Thanksgiving feast, getting into an argument with someone and spiking the dinner rolls into the gravy boat before leaping over the table with a butterkinfe in your hand. It's rude, and I don't do it. So instead of telling someone to blow it out their ass, I have to be humble. That's hard for me to do. Wicked hard.

I can't believe Ronnie got pinched. I thought at the last second, Vic was going to somehow pull off some immunity for him, or at the very least tip him off to run. Instead, Vic let Ronnie go down. Man that's fucked up. And it all stemmed from an immunity deal that Vic didn't have to take anyway, because Shane ended up killing himself. You see, Vic forgot the cardinal rule; Keep Your Fucking Mouth Shut. And it cost him his job, his family, and his friends. Now he's stuck in the soul sucking depths of cubicle hell with just this girl to watch your back. Brother should have kept his cool and held on to Olivia's file. You poor bastard.

Well you tell me, EHOWA army... do we have what it takes to send Megan home for Christmas?

Oh yeah, and I almost forgot. While you're having a few cocktails and waiting for the turkey to cook tomorrow, here's another game challenge. This one combines 99-Bricks with a conveyor belt, some spackle, and a sledge hammer. In Under Construction you have to assemble variosu shapes with Tetris like blocks. Lose points for any blank spots. You'll get the hang of it pretty quickly, I'm sure. But fast enogh to beat my 15,662? I doubt it.

Thanksgiving history lesson: To celebrate the harvest, the pilgrams and Indians came together in a feast; the greatest in all the land.

ten cars that damaged gm's reputation. c'mon the chevette wasn't that bad.

just because it's wednesday here's a ridiculously sexy model posing in a waterfall.

how can I get my labrador dog to stop urinating and defacating on me while i'm sleeping?

snoop and martha: i'm calling bullshit on snoop's 'santa go straight to the ghetto' - that's by james brown.

A Thanksgiving Tasteless Tuesday By Red Rooster.

Yes okay, so we're off to dinner at the SR's uncle's house today. Family dinner with all of the folks in attendance, especially her fuckin' parents. Go knows I can't stand them any more than they can stand me, Christian Coalition assholes. This whole tribe disowned her and hated my guts until our son, now age three was born. Now they've patched things with her and they tolerate me so as to assure access to their grandson. The hostess of today's turkey flesh grabfest requested that for our contribution to the meal, I should prepare the cranberries. Okay, so I have in the fridge, ready to go, a culinary masterpiece. My tribute to the bog berry includes a six ounce bottle of syrup of ipecac, lovingly stirred in to the berries as they cooled. My father in law loves cranberries, so do his brothers in law. The SR and my son don't like 'em so no problem there. 'Can't wait for the festivities to start. Somehow I actually look forward to going this year. Color commentary later tonight. If it works out with the video camera, I may have some vidcaps to share.

...time lapse 8 hours...

Yes An update to my earlier post regarding the syrup of ipecac enhanced cranberry sauce I took to thanksgiving dinner with the wife's family. Geez! Why didn't I think of this sooner? Five guests partook of the special cranberries. Three purged within 15 minutes, a fourth soon thereafter, and idiot Uncle Phil with the intestinal fortitude one would expect of a lower life form registered no effect at all.

The first to puke up the mix was my wife's cousin, 26 year old Angie. Drop dead gorgeous young thing. She began salivating it seems for a few minutes, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. She gave off 2 short heaves lightly pitching at the shoulders. The next thing to happen was a noise something along the order of a stifled hiccup as her hand went to her mouth. Trying to push back her chair, head tilted slightly back, a smooth flowing stream of the recently chewed meal flowed from under her hand dropping into her cleavage as it rolled off her chin. A slight gagging cough as she stood placed a blob of gelatinous goo onto her plate bearing the distinctive color of the cranberry assassin. A wad of what appeared to be stuffing plopped in the liquid and began a slow drooping sag as it blended into the other contents of the plate.

This precipitated the response from victim number two- James, 8 year old product of my wife's first marriage who resides with his maternal grandparents. He's a bit of a sissified twerp, very squeamish and the sight of flying hurl made him go 'Ooh! Ooh!' then UHH_HEEEH! as a cheek-bulging load of puke tried to fight it's way past his lips. I'll give the kid points for heart, he tried to hold it. But when the runny brown gravy liquid started to trickle out of his nose the load in his mouth expelled onto his plate. He leaned forward as another stomach convulsion hit and just lightly bobbed his face in his plate from the recoil of his gag reflex. He came up wailing with the acid taste of puke in his mouth and the sting of the slime trailing out both sides of his nose, tears in his eyes and started hollering for Granpappy.

Granpappy got up from the other table and came to guide young goofy step-son to the bathroom. Cuz Angie was in the first bathroom being assisted by her husband so James and Granpappy had to make the long haul to the other bathroom downstairs. There was few minute lull and I got to savor the success of the moment. All conversation ceased except for some quiet inquiry and speculation about what on earth could be doing this. There was sort of a collective shock and psychic trauma in the air. This was pure bliss, absolutely intoxicating to behold. Ahhh, the years I've waited for this moment of payback. My wife asked what I was smiling about. Sorry says I, just kinda taken aback by the sudden bout of illness everyone seems to be suffering. Yep honey! Just abso-fucking-lutely enchanted! The thought was driven away by the sound of rapid footsteps coming up the basement stairs.

Here comes Granpappy! ... There goes Granpappy!

Right out the side door heading for the exit from the garage! He didn't make it, and the fresh wax job on Uncle Wayne's mini-van got spoiled in the bargain. I leaned over looking out into the garage and there was Granpappy holding himself up with one arm against the side of Wayne's van going through the most impressive round of tuberculoid coughing, gagging and spitting while trails of lumpy textured mess dripped off the rocker panels of the van. Pure delight! Glad to see you in such a state of affairs Paps!

Lessee hear... It was your money that paid for the attorney fees during the child custody hearings wasn't it? made my life hell for almost two fucking years..... Have a GREAT fucking day you prick 'cause I sure am. BUWAHHAHAAAA!!!! So good to see one of such pious self righteousness reduced to his more basic elements just for consuming a few mouthfuls of cranberry sauce. The old prick combs his hair with buttered toast, white trash hillbilly style and that one strand in front had fallen and was poking him in the eye as he tried to get his breath back. Lookin' good! By now there wasn't a single bite being consumed by anyone except me. I was casually munching on a carrot stick taking in the world of wonder unfolding before my eyes. The hot, acid like stench of vomit was pretty strong and the kitchen and dining room were starting to clear out. My wife asked how in the hell I could continue to eat after what had just happened. I responded that it wasn't a problem since I wasn't eating puke.

That did It! the next thing I heard was Granpappy's 86 year old mother seated behind me go "OH! Sweet merciful Jesus! Help me" I missed seeing her toss but there she was in all her glory, soaked from chin to mid-thigh with vomit, a bubble expanding from her left nostril and contracting with each breath. She began to tremble and shake, turning very pale. So, I scored a direct hit on the head matriarch of this miserable clan of self-righteous fuckwads. The fact that my wife could arise from this miscued set of genetics is surely tribute to the recessive traits that surface in various bloodlines from time to time. Wouldn't figure a little bit of puke to be such a big deal for her since she routinely shits her pants anyway. Depends dear? No, not for me. I don't like those things.

Bonus round!!! Prissy James surfaces from the basement. In all of the confusion it seems the boy pissed his pants. The sight of this little fucking Orca with piss on his pants, puke on his face and shirt and pale pure white complexion made me giggle. Eight years old at 120lbs, sway backed, knock kneed pounds seems like he's well on his way to cardiac arrest by age sixteen. I'm smirking openly now and the wife catches it. What could I possibly see so damn funny in all of this?? I guess if you have to ask, you wouldn't understand.

Over all the day left me feeling damn near euphoric. I had a little nap and slept off a near narcotic like stupor that set in after arriving home. It's the kind of release of energy I get when a very intense event transpires in synch with my whims. What a great day it was. I am vindicated. Now I get to go to work on what to do for Christmas Day. My snotty stuck up sister-in-law and her Jewish as he needs to be husband are coming to visit for three days with a visit to our house planned for Christmas Night. - Red Rooster

Whatever dumbass editor at FHM decided these pictures weren't hot enough to be included the first time round doesn't deserve to own a weiner, and should be sacked immediately! Still it does mean we get a second round of Megan Fox hawtness, so when it's game time it's pain time, I suppose.

So let's say you're walking down a dark alley at night...

okay you chemistry majors, what makes this happen?

my life is complete. the original doom trilogy, done in flash. rejoice.

what's better than a playboy bunny? two playboy bunnies, of course! twins in fact.

An Update On LBEH 2008. And It's Not Good.

Ernie, Longtime reader, first time emailer. I wanted to say thank you for hosting LBEH again this year. I am recently separated Air Force medic (still in IRR, lets hope we do not invade Iran) who completed two tours overseas. I considered it my duty to get my troops home for the holidays whenever possible during my time in, and as a young Airman I appreciated the donations of others to get me home. What you are doing is a natural extension of the sense of compassion and duty for caring for our brothers and sisters that we as a society should try to foster more and more, and I thank you for it. I know the economy is in the toilet right now, but I am sure people will come through for men and women in the service. To put it perspective, if we all cut out a night at the pub and instead donated the money to LBEH, you would be able to reach your goal in no time. I sent in my "night out", with another to come depending if I am still employed in a few weeks, but I thought that you might want to communicate to your readers to do the same. Thanks for your service, and for your great site. V/R Chris

Ernie, Thank you so much for what you do. This year, we are all in a bind. My decision this year was based on the principal that EVERYONE is in a bind. So, in the honor of the Christmas spirit of giving, we (my children and I) have decided to forgo the traditional "gift giving and receiving" this year. No this doesn't mean that Santa won't still come this year. This just means that "santa is also in a bind" and will be limiting his gift giving as well. This year instead we have decided to give to those less fortunate that ourselves. We will be volunteering at a local ministry. My kids are 10, 8 and 7 and are now starting to understand what is going on around us. So, in honor of Christmas and those less fortunate and for the brave men and women who fight so valiantly to protect all of our rights and freedoms, we will be donating to the LHEH campaign this year. Unfortunately, I was unable to last year. I will continually pray for each and every one of our brave soldiers this holiday season and god bless you as well for all that you do. Happy holidays! From Mary and kids

Ernie. I visited LBEH.org when our station flipped to Christmas music, saw that you were accepting donations, and immediately put the PSA into rotation. During my shift, you get one live read a day. I have donated every year for the past seven years and will do so again, but this year is difficult for me: I am about to lose my house, my marriage is over and I make less than half of what I need to pay the mountain of debt that my ex put me in. (That's why I am about to lose my house. I can't even pay my mortgage in full. I have to sell it before it gets taken away.) Ex is currently unemployed. ...and this is the year that I really should be helping. My son is in the Air Force. He's going to Japan in January, but he will be here for Christmas before he goes. He's paying for his own ticket, knowing that all I have to offer is a bed and warm meals this holiday season--but for him, that is enough. He just wants to be with his family. My daughter is going to Parris Island in January as well; she's joined the Marine Corps. I am now officially a military Mom, with 2 of my 3 children serving. Hope all is well. Best of luck in this year's campaign. -Anonymous

Ern, PLEASE tell me that your viewers have been giving LBEH.ORG more money, and that you are SO INNUNDATED w/ Paypal emails and booking plane tickets that you have not had time to update the status of money received from donors? $8500 in 10 days? At this rate, you’ll be looking at ½ of where you where last year. The economy sucks, but wouldn’t it suck worse if you couldn’t be w/ loved ones for the holidays? I’ve been there – I’ve seen what it can do – it is criminal that these young enlisted might not be able to make it home for the holidays due to want of a plane ticket, when we could have helped. LET’S BRING ‘EM HOME!!! Major Puddy, USAF

You wanna know what's fucked up? I'll tell you what's fucked up. A week in, and LBEH has barely crossed the $10,000 mark. Normally we're around $25,000-$30,000 by now. That's how fucked up the economy is. I'll be honest, I'd be happy if we take in a third of what was donated last year. But half? Man that's just crazy talk at this point. We've stopped taking ticket requests and don't have the funds to pay for about half of the ones we've already got. Now I don't know about you, but I can go without a couple rounds of drinks the next time I go out, so that's $25 more I can donate. How about you?

On a lighter note, here's an interview with Women's National Motocross rider Sarah Whitmore, along with some clips of her riding the tracks. Which she can do a hell of a lot better than I can, by the way. But when the interviewer asks if she's ever had an orgasm while riding, you can feel the interview slide sideways a bit. But the bitch can tear it up, none the less. I think I have a new crush.

Piece of cake. Booze can easily be sent into the hot zones when disguised as mouthwash -- Scope or Listerine usually work the best. Dump out the mouthwash into a clear container. Refill the bottle with vodka/schnapps/whatever. Add a little bit of food coloring to match the color of the mouthwash you dumped out. Reglue the little plastic seal on top and viola!

i had no problem hearing all the way up to the 17k range, but i had my speakers up a little.

it's not often that a college girl dancing on her webcam gets upstaged by a dog, but it happens.

jeff bridges kept a little photo diary of his experiences during the making of iron man. pretty cool actually.

Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

From yesterday but the site went tits up after I linked it: Take one part arm wresting, one part kickboxing, and one part jujitsu. Essentially two guys tie themselves to a table, then lash their left arms together (arm wrestling) and then proceed to beat the shit out of each other with hockey gloves on. You can't run, I mean you're tied to the fucking guy, so there's a lot of slugging. Oh, and the commentator, Jennifer England, isn't too tough on the eyes, either. Give it a look see.

barfing in zero g's is just sooo cool. and messy.

everything you need to know about $2,000-per-hour escorts.

shaken not stirred. everything you need to know about famous martinis.

if only charles shultz were around to explore the great mumpkin a little more.

babbooncock - fuckoffcar - fuckyoubrickwall - porkypigshead - underwatertictactoe

a little more 'wear a helmet' action. featuring someone who doesn't learn his lesson the first time.

Well, It Was A Landslide. The Old Colors Stay.

Sure, I received a few people who liked the black/white theme, but the vast, vast majority supported keeping the old colors so that's what we're going to do. I'd been kicking the white/black theme around in my head for a few weeks, wondering what EHOWA would look like wearing some "grown up" clothes, but in the end it was Greg who reminded me, "...I look at your site at night in low light, after a long day at work. The dark blue is easy in the eyes." If that doesn't sum up the average EHOWA visitor, then I don't know what does. That plus Fernando added, "Black text on white background works on a book, but on monitors (which are backlit, with newer ones being even brighter than older ones) it's like staring into a candle. MY EYES, THE PAIN, MY EYES!" So I guess it's settled. Blue it is.

As for the side menu changes I've just gotten rid of a few things that quite simply seemed to be taking up space. Example, the "Cool Games" section. Looks neat, but over a thirty day span, each game only racked up about 150 unique clicks, where as the Game Challenges section averages about 500 a day. So why waste the space? And thus the "Cool Games" along with the "T-Shirt Hell" sections are both gone, although the T-shirts will be reborn as a 120x120 on the right side. I'll also be revamping the Tasteless and Flames sections, readding those to the top menus and a few other tinkerings here and there. Long story short, I'm just trying to streamline things a little bit and get rid of the cluttered look.

One thing to discuss is the page width. I hate sideways scrolling, and I'm sure you do too. And obviously not everyone on the internet is running the same video resolution so webmasters have to to do their best to make their sites viewable by as many people as possible. But at some point there has to be a line between pandering to the masses and pandering to the lowest common demoninator. As an example, almost 4% of EHOWA's daily visitors are still running 800x600. That's pitiful. You people don't even count. You're retarded. In fact if I were driving down the road and had the choice to run over a stray cat or a person running 800x600, my only concern would be if I could still go through drive-thru with a retarded person stuck in my front bumper. And I hate cats, so that tells you something. The next rung up the video food chain is 1024x768, which as of today, almost one third of you still use. It's not a bad resolution, but to be honest it's a little dated and kid like. Look, we're all grown up boys and girls here. We've all managed to pull our big girl panties on this morning and with these fine motor skills we don't need desktop icons the side of of a fucking coconut. As is, EHOWA will just barely -- barely -- fit in 1024x768, which is the standard resolution for most work computers and a lot of older laptops. Let's take a look at thirty day snapshot of traffic in 2007 vs the same period in 2008. You 1024x768 folks are a dying breed. By this time next year you'll be in the 1:5 minority. So at some point, you're going to have to leap into the future and bump up a resolution or you're going to get left behind. I'm not saying its goinng to happen today or tomorrow, but sooner or later the internet is goig to pass you by.

One more thing to address is me moving both 120x120's over to the right side and adding a few more in the process. And in this example I'm going to make an exception to my normal rule and use a person's full name, just because I think it's so cool...

Ha-Ha-Ha! Dude, your initials are GARP. That is so cool. But to address your first concern, here's the truth. Yes, the images on the side are indeed ads. Think of it this way; EHOWA is more or less an online magazine. How do magazine companies make their moneey? Subscription fees and advertisements. What's the subscription fee for EHOWA? Zero. So unless you want me living under your front porch and raiding your refrigerator at night, that leaves advertisements as the way to keep a roof over my head. I don't do pop-ups or sliders (interstatials), but I do 120's. How else is a brother's gonna pay his bills, man? Anyway, there was of course a lot of feeback, but while I can't quote everyone I do think I've addressed all the immediate concerns. I know it's not perfect -- so few things are -- but I think the new layout will be solid for awhile. Yes, it will still be balanced from left to right. No, it won't burn your eyes out. Yes, the old colors will stay. No, there shouldn't be any sideways scrolling. Yes, everything will still be here. So relax, I'm here to please!

Hey does anyone else watch Sons of Anarchy? Did anyone else realyl freak out when Trig mistakenly killed Opiue's wife, whinking it was him? There's going to be hell to pay next week, that fo sho! But while we're on this topic, does anyone else have a hard time drawing a distinction between Gemma and Peg Bundy? Like at any given minute, she's going to roll over and whine, "Clay, rub my butt." And seeing Ron perlman in the lead role as the biker boss? In my mine he's always going to be typecast as Hellboy, so at these SOA meetings I keep expecting him to bang a big red fist down, not a gavel. I'm sure I'll eventually get used to him in this role, and then what happens when Hellboy III> comes out? Maybe he'll ride a chopper?

The current leader in Diamond Fever is still Josh with 92,081.

oh shit! oh shiit! oh shiiit! oh shiiiit! oh shiiiiit! oh shiiiiiit! oh shiiiiiiit!

can you believe how stupid some people are when voting? minnesota seems to be the new florida.

good news: a porsche can beat a golf. bad news: the golf crashes. good news: it's okay, the driver was french.

Doesn't Matter If You're Black or White.

Old and busted: "When the man with a .45 meets the man with a rifle, you said the man with a pistol is a dead man." The new hotness: "When the man with a dirtbike meets the man with a GAU-8 Avenger 30mm cannon, the man with a dirtbike, is a dead man." And so are his friends, apparently.

I've always liked Gary Busey. The guy is just plain awesome. With his eyes all fucked up and uneven after his motorcycle accident, nobody plays a better guy with a few screws loose, than Gary Busey. Here he wants an interview to look spontaneous and forces the interviewer to re-do the shot a bunch of times because the interviewer is not following Busey's directions properly. Busey pulls the typical actor comment, "give me something to work with here," as if he's filming a movie. It's hysterical. Who knows how much time was wasted just trying to get the opening shot. Gary Busey is fucked up. Awesome, but fucked up.

Here's a conversation you don't want to walk in the middle of, "Vaginal Vodka and Anal Beer Bongs." That sounds like something that could go completely wrong quite easily. I have no doubt you will never look at tampons the same again.

Think the Wall Street bailouts are an injustice? Think the automaker bailouts are an injustice? They don't hold a candle to the fact that orlando Bloom is hitting this. Now that my friends, is a fucking injustice. So while you mull that over, fuck it, Fuck you, Orlando Bloom.

here be an interview with the somali pirate spokesman, yarrr.

this is the most awesome thing i have ever seen in my entire life. trust me.

They're Coming To Get You, Barbara.

Hey, if I told you I was thinking of ditching linkfacts and going back to old school untracked links, what would you say? Would you still roll with me, or would you roll with Rick Santangelo instead?

So it's slowly turning to "winter" down here in Southwest Florida. I put that in quotation marks, because it's not really winter. Real winter has foot and a half snowstorms and frozen pipes. Winter down here is more like fall.

Going back almost a year or so, remember the asshole that refused to show his receipt at Circuit City and was subsequently arrested by the cops for refusing to show some identification? Remember me saying the proper way to handle it would have been to simply comply with the officer's instructions, and then if you still felt strongly about it, pursue the matter in civil court later? Someone finally listened, and to be honest, I hope it blows up in his face.

Hey Ernie. I took this picture in N.E. Vermont back in October. Can you spot what's wrong? Shannon. [Ernie says: very subtle, I like it!] Ernie, I saw this sign in the Publix at Camelot Isles Shopping Center today. I wonder where the dolls are made... China? Hope the picture isn't too big. I enjoy your site. rowhill I don't care what color the President is, but i just had to pass this along. John Good morning, Ernie. It seem that somebody was listening to you and I'm sure a bunch of other people. Have a good day! Colin

Right out of the gate, right after I posted Diamond Fever yesterday, Robin stepped up with this score. And I thought that was pretty good until Josh came up from behind and delivered the dreaded double cunt punch. Ouch, that's gotta hurt. Just goes to show you why we always wear a helmet around here.

This link of cheating celebs held a little surprise for me. Jason Statham was banging Kelly Brook before she was banging Billy Zane? Wow, that's pretty low. I didn't know that. I wonder if Zane has been beating himself up over that?

using basic math we can compute the bandwidth of the human male penis as...

stemcells -- it's starting already, hurray! it happened outside the usa, of course.

yeah i guess the 'henry garfield band' just doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?

This Tasteless Tuesday Is A Little Fishy.

Most people contract some form of food poisoning at least once a year. Most of the time the symptoms are mild, and can even be mistaken for a 24 hour flu bug. Other times, the symptoms are similar to one having a very bad case of the flu, but rarely do people ever need to go to the hospital for food poisoning. Just by its nature, the probability of contracting food poisoning from fish is always higher than most other foods. This is why, based on personal experience, I recommend that no one ever engage in anal sex after your date ate a large fish dinner.

We hadn’t been dating that long, only about a month. Even though we'd only been dating a short time, we were having sex since the second date, and it was the best, freakiest, porno-style sex of my life. Seriously, this was the kind of sex that every man, deep down, dreams about having at least once in his life. It was the kind of sex that I had wished for ever since my voice started changing. It was with this woman, and only with this woman, that I was ever addressed with the phrase, “Use your whole fist for Christ’s sake.”

On one now infamous date night, we were enjoying a romantic dinner at an upscale seafood restaurant. Through the entire meal, however, sex was all that was on our minds. In retrospect, every date we ever went on seemed to just be a temporary diversion from the best part of the night, which involved animalistic insertions, feral lickings and brazen misuse of food products. We emptied wine bottle after wine bottle over the course of the dinner, and by the time the main course arrived, fish for her and lobster for me, she slipped off her shoes and casually masturbated me under the table with her stocking covered feet. Completely plastered and horny by the end of the meal, we decided to skip dessert in the restaurant because a much sweeter dessert “was being prepared in her hot, wet crotch,” she said. I paid the bill and narrowly avoided getting a speeding ticket, not to mention a DUI, during the drive back to my place.

By the time we got into my apartment, we were tearing each other’s clothes off. Sloppy in our drunkenness, we knocked over two lamps during our horny, groping journey into the bedroom. Once in the bed, she got down on all fours, arched her back, and presented her delicious ass to me. I grunted my approval while aiming my rock-hard cock missile at her hairy silo. When the head of my cock began to penetrate her lips, she stopped me. “No. In my ass,” she hissed at me, sounding both horny and angry at the same time. “Are you sure,” I asked? She giggled as she said, “If I could handle last night. . .” Oh yeah, I thought. Last night’s adventure involved a clown mask, three packets of Pop Rocks, and a twenty-inch replica of the Eiffel Tower. What the hell was I thinking? Of course she could handle some anal-action. She reached between her legs and began lubing up her asshole with her own pussy juices. Where did I find this girl? I thought. I was in horn-dog heaven. Blessed. Not being an expert in anal intrusion, I slowly eased my way into her lovely stink-star. First the head, then a quarter of the shaft, and soon I was buried to the hilt between her ass-cheeks.

“Go slowly,” she said, half moaning, half panting in both pleasure and pain, I think. I did as she bid, and very slowly began pulling out, like a steam piston on an old locomotive beginning its first run in a century. Almost all the way out of her, but keeping the head firmly planted in her ass-iris, I slowly began inserting again. “Yeeeeees!” she moaned and began diddling her clit. Soon she said, “Faster.” So faster I went, the tempo increasing until the train was running at full speed, the piston pumping in and out so fast my cock became a complete blur, her hand rubbing her clit like she was trying to start a friction-fire in her pussy. “Gnnnnnnnah!” she screamed. Thinking she was close to orgasm, I pumped that ass even faster, faster than Amish meth-head churns butter.

"Gnnnnnahstoooop,” she screamed, or something like this, because the noise in my head was drowning out the reality around me, for in my head I heard a steam locomotive, chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga-Woo-Woo! Barreling down the tracks, and somehow I pumped even faster. “YES!” I screamed. She started reaching behind her and flailing on the bed in what I thought was ecstasy -- “Stop!” she screamed, able to finally get out the word I had mistaken for groans of ecstasy moments ago. She screamed this with such volume and guttural, primal force that it had the effect of pulling the emergency brake on a 100,000 pound locomotive running at full speed. The sex act squealed to a halt, and I pulled my cock out of her ass like the rip-cord on a parachute. Did someone order champagne? No, that popping noise was my cock coming out of her ass. “Arrrrrrgh!” She screamed, as I yanked my cock free. And then it happened.

Immediately after my cock popped out, I was sprayed from belly to thighs with watery, fish-smelling diarrhea.

“What the --?” I said, not able to get the word ‘fuck’ out of my mouth because of my shock at the brown funk lining my body. As she sprayed me, she seemed to be propelled forward by the force of the jet-propelled diarrhea, and she collapsed onto her stomach. “Oh. My. Fucking. God.” I murmured, completely shell-shocked. Everything was still. I could hear my wind-up alarm clock ticking on my dresser. I stared at my shit-covered body. I surveyed the room to see if there was any collateral damage. The trajectory of the diarrhea spray was similar to buck-shot in a sawed-off shotgun; it was everywhere. Unfortunately, during the sex act she had been facing the feet-side of the bed, which meant that the headboard, my bedside table and lamp had poop on them as well. Even my bedside clock had a few speckles staining its face. The bed sheets: Killed in Action. A total loss.

I looked at my date, lying there motionless. I called her name. No response. I called her name while shaking her a bit. Nothing. Fear shot through me, as I thought, “Oh my god, what if she’s dead?” But this fear quickly dissipated when I heard her snoring. She was passed out from the wine. I on the other hand was no longer blasted drunk, because the blast from her ass rendered me completely sober. This night was definitely going down in the (ahem) annals as the all time worst date of my life. In fact, I had to invent a new special category, “Even the Devil would feel sympathetic,” to describe this night.

I cleaned up. I cleaned her up. I cleaned the headboard, the dresser, the lamp and the clock. With some manipulation of her passed out body, I was able to wrangle the sheets from the bed and throw them down the garbage chute. By two in the morning, I found myself lying on my couch, drinking Jack Daniels from the bottle. I don’t remember passing out myself, but I can say that unconsciousness didn’t come soon enough.

“It was food poisoning,” her voicemail message explained to me the next day. After some silence, she added, “The fish.” More silence. “Sorry.” She left this message the following day, around 2:00 p.m. I had slept until Noon, and, thank God, she was gone when I woke up. How do you face that? She never called me again. I never called her. I definitely learned two valuable lessons that night: 1) Never have anal sex after a sea food dinner. 2) Be careful what you wish for. There’s only one other experience in my life that entered into the “Even the Devil would feel sympathetic” category, and frankly I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell that story. Let’s just say that the morning after a great one-night-stand, the beautiful woman you banged the night before can certainly use your bathroom... but she shouldn’t be more comfortable standing up while she pees. - Yogurt.

In February 2009, television broadcast signals will switch from analog to digital. This public service announcement will help your grandmother understand what that means to her. So when she calls you asking what the fuck is going on, that voice you hear on the other end of the line will be the sound of failure. Or, you can just head over there and take care of it yourself. That's my advice.

Oh, and since Nick took the crown in 99 Bricks, we have to move on to something else. And thus, I'd like you to give Diamond Fever a try. The first three levels are kinda lame, with a lot of frenzied random clicking, but once you cross into the upper levels, you need to really start thinking fast. I managed to stagger my way to 37,492 points, see if you can beat me. In the meantime, I'm going fishing for mermaids.

well guys, do you have th eballs to wax your beard? this guy did. ouch.

can't change your facial expression or raise your voice above a whisper? all at the david caruso school of acting.

A Pirate's Life For Me.

Question. Is anyone else besides me tired of Somali pirates in the news? I mean for Christ's sake, it's fucking 2008 yet it seems every day there's a new article that reads something like this: "Today a [Insert Country] flagged [Insert Cargo] tanker hijacked off the coast of Somalia. [Insert Number] crew detained and pirates demand a random of [Insert Dollars] for their safe return." Today it was a Saudi oil tanker and this past weekend it was a Japanese freighter. Now in all honesty, I really don't give two good shits about the ships or their crew, I'm just sick and tired of reading about pirates, pirates, pirates. Each scenario always ends one of two ways. Either the host country pays an exorbant ransom and get the ship back, or they don't and I have to hear about it for the next five weeks. Either way, it's boring me. And thus, I present you with my plan to bring the recent escalation of Somali piracy to a quick -- and more importantly -- an exciting ending.

You see, the problem is our current policy in dealing with the pirates is too passive. The United States, along with a small handful of other nations, have warships in the area, whose goal is merely to discourage or thwart an attack. If the pirates break off and flee back to their home ports, we high five each other and declare the official start of Miller Time. This not only leaves the pirates free to fight another day, it wastes resources such as fuel, time, and money. And I have no problem with expending these things, just so long as there's a satisfying explosion at the end; but to date I have been deprived of this and hence our tactics must change. And let's understand something here; from Hollywood we'd like to think that pirates race around in full sized ships, dueling other vessels with cannonfire before boarding with knives clenched in their teeth. That's old school. The new school is two or three skiffs maybe 20-30' in length, swarming around a tanker and shooting at it with rifle and grenade fire until it stops and allows itself to be boarded. Sometimes this process takes three or four hours. Again, not very exciting.

So where shall we start to turn the tide, eh? Well, taking a quick look at the International Chamber of Commerce's Live Piracy Map 2008 we can see pirate attacks happen all over the world. But if you zoom in a little bit, you'll see the Gulf of Aden hosts more than its fair share activity. The thousand mile long Gulf is bordered by Yemen on the north, and Somalia two hundred miles to the south, so roughly it's 200,000 square miles of pirate heaven. With such a vast area to patrol and so many juicy tankers coming out of the Suez Canal, you can see why our current tactics of warship patrols has been quite impotent.

Enter the MQ-9 Reaper developed by General Atomics Aeronautical Systems of San Diego. Yes, the Reaper is the latest and greatest in unmanned aerial vehicles, so you can't help but get a boner when you consider this new age solution to a problem that has been around for two centuries. Armed with AGM-114M Hellfire II missiles, which are designed for 'soft targets' such as unarmored and civilian vehicles, you can see we gonna be havin' us a good o'l time. Yee Haw!

So here's the plan. I'd need at least three Reapers, all of which would be stationed at Camp Lemonier in Djibouti, which is at the far western side of the 1,000 mile long Gulf. Their patrol pattern would be a big long oval, up and down the length of the Gulf; first a complete 2,000 mile round trip oval, followed by a smaller halfway 1,000 mile round trip oval. Reapers have a range of 3,800 miles, so this is well within the capabilities, plus allowing for some extra time on station to drop the hammer on some pirates. At any given time there would be two Reapers aloft, thus they'd each be responsible for a 500 mile stretch of coastline. With a maximum speed of 300 mph, either Reaper could respond to a hijacking attempt within an hour an a half. Three or even four Reapers in rotation would be more effective and decrease their respective response times, but hey I don't want to get too greedy. So all a big tanker needs to do is hold out for an hour and a half at the most, and then >WHOOSH!< the pain comes like a finger from God. One second Achmed the Pirate is rattling off his AK-47 at the bridge of a supertanker while the guy beside him lines up an RPG, and next second there's a white smoke trail and an explosion of blood and shattered bone. No negotiating, no discouraging, no warning shots. Just realization that by the time you hear the shriek of the Hellfire, you're already dead.

There have been 88 hijacking attempts this year. Assuming three pirate skiffs involved per attack and each Hellfire costs $68,000, that's $18,000,000 worth of anti-piracy fun. Whose gonna pay for it? Easy. Given the choice between paying out a $1.1 million dollar ransom knowing it can happen again next week, or $200,000 for some Hellfire missile knowing they've put an end to the problem... I don't think the insurance companies that insure these vessels would have any problem footing the bill. Fuck, we can even have holiday sales, or little cards that get stamped, "buy 6 missiles get your 7th missile free," or some shit. So all in one fell swoop we; have an immediate impact on piracy, provide a live testing and training scenarios for new UAV pilots, earn international goodwill from the nations whose ships we rescue, and stimulate the US economy a little bit (at least for General Atomics and their suppliers).

See, that's what I do folks. I solve problems.

watch this atv rider break his neck. no seriously, fractured c2 vertebra.

this is ground control to major tom. take your protein pills and put your helmet on.

Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

soooooooooo, can anyone tell me the difference between the north korean prison camps and auschwitz or dachau?

keep in mind men cheat for sex and women cheat for excitement while you look at this list of cheating celebs

three armed men tried to rob an san paolo police officer (he's in civilian clothes) in front of a bank... (graphic)

at first i was like I WIN and then jason was like PFFT and then wes was like WTF and then nick was like LOL N00BZ.

beautifullaketahoe - breakafeweggs - happyandyouknowit - nodogsallowed2 - perfecttitsruined - thatsalotofcows2

I Am Jack's Sense Of Right And Wrong.

Upon my return to the Sunshine State, I suddenly find myself faced with an interesting moral dilemma with roots curl through the soil of life, down past my stolen cellphone and fastening themselves tight to the lumberyard in Chase Pitkin. You see, here in Florida we have somewhat, sorta legalized casinos. Not the Indian Casinos where everything goes, but the strip mall 'gaming rooms' where they host slot machines and serve two day old pizza to the old ladies whose fingertips have long since turned yellow from cigarette smoke. These clubs are legal because before you can play, you have to sign up and 'become a member' -- hence making the place a private club. You walk up to the cashier -- invariably a retiree whose pension isn't cutting the mustard anymore or a 20-something with greasy hair and bad breath -- hand them the amount you'd like to gamble with and they charge that amount to a small computerized card. Take said card and slide it into the slot machines of your choice and it "moves" your money from the card to the machine. Gamble for as long as you like, and when you choose to cash out, reinsert your card and it "moves" the money back. Should you be lucky enough to win -- remember the payout margins aren't regulated like they are in Vegas -- you collect your winnings not in cash, but in gift cards. It's not as bad as it first seems; some places only do Walmart cards, some Target, and some give out just regular old VISA gift cards which really can be used anywhere.

So anyway, This Person has recently taken a shine to a small gaming house near where they live, frequenting the place several times a week. Upon one such occasion, This Person discovered a machine that was in essence, broken. If you put in $20 and play a few nickel spins, then hit 'cash out' you would receive somewhere in the neighborhood of $50. Put in $50 and get back $120 or so. The only consistent multiplier was that you consistently got back more than you put in. Sometimes a little more than double, sometimes a little less. Now a cautious person might charge their card up a few hundred bucks, quickly cash out for some VISA gift cards, and then go get themselves a big fat fucking steak dinner along with a half a dozen martinis. At least that's what I'd do. But This Person was not cautious. Instead, This Person accumulated over $7,000 onto their card.

And while we could not consider This Person to be cautious, This Person does consider themselves to be somewhat sneaky. They realize that walking right up to the front and cashing out all seven large would be quite the attention getter and bring much unwanted scrutiny; another person there that fateful day tried the same thing and his $2,000 'prize' was denied. So what This Person did was claim to have lost their card, thus getting a replacement. And over the span of the past week or so, This Person has been returning to the gaming place, inserting their original super-charged card and pulling off -- say $200 or so -- into a machine and playing for a half an hour or so, before cashing out onto the new empty card and bringing that card up front to "collect their winnings." This Person has been successful in pulling out, eh $1,000 or so using this process. Yet, realizing the going in slow, This Person asked to enlist my help in extracting the money more quickly. The clever plan was I'd go in and sign up for a card, sit next to This Person and after inserting their super charged card into my machine... hey what do you know, we both got lucky! After all, it is essentially, free money.

And I don't want a motherfucking thing to do with it. Screw the moral implications, who gives a fuck about that? This Person sees themselves as taking advantage of a computer error; I see it as grand motherfucking larceny. Because at some point, management realized they had a broken machine and fixed it. They also know who played that machine and who cashed out from that machine, since all your play is tracked via the little computer card. Thus they know everyone who cashed out fraudulent payouts on that machine. They may not know right now, they may not know until the end of the month or maybe the end of the year; but they're gonna know. And they're not just going to let tens of thousands of dollars just ride off into the sunset, at least not in this economy. Not to mention, every time This Person walks in the door, not only does This Person always leave a winner, but so does everyone else? How long until that fairy tale ends? When when it does it's not going to be, "...and they lived happily ever after," it's going to be, "...do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?" Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck that.

I don't see it as a matter of *if* This Person gets clipped, I see it as a matter of *when* This Person gets clipped. And I can't work from jail, motherfucker, so I'm steering clear of this one.

Okay, let's talk 99 Bricks. At first I thought I was the Kumo-D because I managed to break the 400 mark and scored a 425. Then Eric sent in this 480, which I wasn't going to count because the image was cropped -- yep, I'd disqualify him on a technicality just so I can stay in the lead. You bet your ass I would. But unfortunately Jim came along and made that a moot point by scoring a 485. So they you have it Jim, you're the man to beat.

soooooo, when you're drag racing, should you keep your rear axle? yes? no?

hey ladies? live in louisville? looking to get your kitty 'licked and groomed'? look no further.

allyoucaneat - faultyfloatationdevice - notahappypuppy - shelovestheprescious - theloveofagoodwoman

I Hate You Don Coscarelli. I Hate You So Much.

First off, the situation in which I envisioned meeting Bruce Campbell would be like, and what it was actually like, were two different things. That's not to say I was disappointed -- hardly -- it just wasn't what I expected. Never having been to the Landmark Theatre in Cambridge before, I guess what I was seeing in my head was a scene out of Forrest Gump; where Jenny was singing nude behind the guitar in front of a crowd of 20 or 30 people. Not that I didn't want to see Bruce naked and playing guitar per say, but just that's what I imagined the size of the theatre and the crowd would be like. I hope that doesn't sound too homoerotic. But when I got to the theatre and picked up my tickets, I quickly realized it was a regular sized movie theatre. Bruce had originally planned on doing a Q&A after the two evening shows, one at 7:00pm and the other at 9:45pm. I'm glad I was smart enough to buy tickets in advance, because by the time we showed up at 6:30 to get good seats for the 7:00pm showing, it was already sold out. As was the 9:45, and the 7:30 that was hastily added to the schedule to accommodate the unexpectedly large crowds. In fact, the only tickets on sale were for a fourth showing the following day, also added last minute. So I guess I was glad for Bruce that the interest in meeting him and seeing the premiere of his new film was more than the corporate ghouls had expected. That was cool.

Inside the theatre me and the four guys I went with -- myself and Mike being the two biggest Campbell fans among us -- sat among the other, oh I dunno, 250 odd people or so. We got there early enough to grab seats smack dab in the middle of the fucking theatre, and the crowd quickly packed in around us. Honestly, I was shocked at how strong the turnout was. I pulled my flask from my back pocket and after dumping some Jack Daniels into my $10 small Coke, passed my flask down the line. It returned a minute later as dry as the Sahara Desert; thanks you fuckers. All around me were people chit chatting about meeting Bruce. Excitement was in the air, baby! And right before they dimmed the lights to start the movie, a theatre employee announced that Bruce would indeed be making an appearance after the film for some Q&A; but he wouldn't be singing any autographs. I was a little bummed, but Flaherty warned me of this ahead of time after he read it on one of the websites. Foiled was my plan for a stick of Old Spice and a Sharpie marker. Anyway, down go the lights and we start the flick.

How was it? Dude, it's a fucking Bruce Campbell film. Of course it was awesome! And it was cheesy! Dare I say, deliciously cheesy. Bruce was given ample opportunities for his stinging one liners, becomes the reluctant hero, kills the bad guy, and nails the girl. All in all it was exactly what I expected, which is to say, it was fucking awesome. If you're a Bruce Campbell fan, you simply can not miss this film. Go see it no matter where it's showing. Sell your ipod, sell your mother, take a cab, sell your soul. Do whatever it takes. Just get there. I don't want to spoil it for any of you, just trust me when I say you won't be disappointed.

After the flick ended and the lights came on, of course everyone's head was on a swivel looking for the man with the strong jaw to step forward and make our lives worth living. And to the roar of the crowd, he did. I couldn't believe it. I was sitting in the same theatre. As Bruce Fucking Campbell. He wore a dark jacket over blue jeans, and had glasses on. This last part kind of threw me for a bit since you never see him with glasses in any of his roles. But as soon as he spoke, I knew it was Him. Bruce Fucking Campbell. I immediately regretted choosing seats in the middle of the theatre which on one hand, afforded me the opportunity to really enjoy the movie, but the guys in the front row really knew what they were doing. Movie be damned, Bruce was actually standing in arm's reach of them. I also realized that despite how cool it is, my cameraphone sucks cock in low light conditions.

Bruce went through a little what's what on the movie; where it was filmed, how he picked the cast, how he came up with the idea. And then the moment we were all waiting for -- he opened up for question! And you know what, not a single hand at first. I think everyone else was just as dumb struck as I was to be in the presence of his Greatness. But after a few silent seconds, a hand shot up and we were rolling. Question after question fired off like machine gun fire, bouncing from one side of the packed theatre to the other. I had a question, but like a giddy schoolgirl, was too shy to ask it. I mean fuck, he might actually call on me and then what the fuck would I do! But as Bruce handled each question with lighthearted humor, questions about an Army of Darkness sequel, and film school, and Sam Raimi, and his cameo experiences... I began to realize that I would never forgive myself if I didn't ask. And so I did. As Bruce was finishing one particularly long winded question, everyone else's hands slowly came down because they got tired of holding them up. Not me baby, not me. My arm stayed as long and erect as when I was a kid watching Madonna's "Open Your Heart To Me" video. And it paid off.

Bruce Fucking Campbell. Called on me. And again I found myself in a situation where my mind raced through two hours worth of deep thinking in a matter of mere milliseconds. Oh Jesus Christ, what if he thinks my question is stupid? What if everyone laughs at me? What if I talk too fast and jumble my words? What if I go mute? Maybe I should try and look smart by asking a two-parter? Where's the nearest liquor store to refill my flask? Do I stand up? What the fuck do I do? But in the end my question came out loud and clear, and I didn't jumble my words like a fucking moron. I asked Bruce if there was any truth to the rumor that Ron Perlman would be taking over his role as Elvis in the Bubba Hotep sequel, Bubba Nostferatu. My answer was bittersweet. On one hand, well, Bruce Fucking Campbell was talking to me. Yet on the other, he gave me the answer that I had most feared; yes it was true. Bruce explained that he and the director Don Coscarelli couldn't come to term son the script, and thus Bruce bowed out of the project. Hands shot up again and he moved on to next question. I didn't know what to do. I just sat there. I couldn't believe it. Bruce Fucking Campbell spoke. To me.

A little on down the line of questions, some fucking ass clown asked Bruce why he thought he was never chosen for roles in A-rated movies, but could only get B-rated roles. Bruce politely told him to shut the fuck up, much to the delight of the crowd who both cheered and booed the embarrassed question asker. Also as a side note, Bruce's love interest in My Name Is Bruce is played by Grace Thorsen, and she looks so-so in the movie, but she was there in person and when Bruce called her up to field some questions? I've got three words for you: Hubba. Fucking. Hubba.

The Q&A lasted about half an hour and could have gone on for much longer, but Bruce had to make an appearance in the other theatre to speak to the 7:30 crowd. Everyone graciously gave Bruce a roaring standing ovation as he and Grace Thorsen made their way up from the front of the theatre. As I clapped so hard my hands hurt, I quickly realized that Bruce would be walking right past me. Well, not really right past me, as there were a few people in my way. Mainly Flahety, Frank and Mike. And as Bruce was about ten or fifteen feet from my row, I decided to go for it. I threw an elbow into Flaherty's rib cage so quickly I heard him gasp, and leaned in hard into Frank's shoulder, causing him to stumble backwards into his seat. "Get the fuck out of my way, or I'll fucking kill you," I whispered loud enough for them to hear, and yet not loud enough to alarm Bruce who was only a few steps away. Yes, the Bourbon was strong in me. I didn't have to push past Mike because he already had the same idea as I did and had already began clearing a path. And as Bruce made his way up the aisle and past my row; my hand shot out like that erect Madonna penis again. "I love you Bruce," I shouted, but I don't know for sure if he heard me over the noise of the crowd. And looking back, I can't say that I really gave Bruce any choice because I was kind of in his way, but he quickly shook my hand with a hastened smile and continued past me towards the exit. I couldn't believe it. Bruce Fucking Campbell. Shook my hand.

Be it known that November 7, 2008 is and forever will be the greatest day of my life. I left the theatre that night determined to either step in front of a cab, or at the very least, throw myself in front of an oncoming T train. I mean what the fuck, how could my life get any better than this? And if it wasn't so close to LBEH, I probably would stepped right off the Kendell Square T platform and onto that rushing squealing hunk of rolling steel. But as I sat there, I reasoned that since so many folks are counting on me for airplane tickets home, ending things right then and there wouldn't be fair to them. But what about my hand? Sure I could never wash it again, but eventually I'd have to touch a door or plate or something and forever ruin it's Bruceness. And so I did the next best thing. To the horror and dismay of my friends -- I swear on my mother's grave -- I shoved my hand down my pants and cradled my cock for a few seconds. I couldn't believe it. Bruce Fucking Campbell. Gave me a handjob.

Oh, and I forget what the last game challenge was before I went up north, so fuck it. Try and build a tower taller than me, in 99 Bricks, which is a cross between Tetris and Jenga. I'm going to go admire my cock for a while.

one hundred movie spoliers in just five short minutes. spoiler alert, duh.

check out 1600 pennsylvania avenue on google maps. no, not that one, the other one(s).

if you can make it past the change/believe blah-blah intro, here's a pretty neat back to the future spoof.

Okay, Let's Bring Em Home 2008.

Veteran's Day was yesterday, and with it comes the turning of the leaves, the stuffing of the turkeys... and me with my red, white and blue hand out, asking for donations for this year's Let's Bring Em Home campaign. For those of you new to the site (or living under a rock for the past eight years) LBEH started following the Sept 11th attacks back in 2001. it has continued every year since then, each with greater success that the last. What we do is collect donations from the public and with those funds, go out and purchase plane tickets for our nations military members so they can fly home and be with their families over the Christmas holiday. LBEH has absolutely nothing to do with supporting or opposing the war, or our President, or our new President Elect. It's got to do with supporting the men and women who put boots on the ground all over the world, standing in harms way, spending time away from their families so that we may spend time with ours.

This year LBEH is funded the same as it was the first year -- 100% on individual donations. In fact, I'd like to take a minute and extend a personal thank you to Jim and Chrissy Rollyson of Katy Texas, who last year wrote us a check for $10,000! But don't be daunted, don't think that if you can't send a thousand dollar check, then it's not worth sending anything. Nothing could be further from the truth. Sure, every once in a while we get a large donation -- and I'm tremendously grateful when we do -- but the vast majority of the $75,000 we received in 2007 came in $10 and $20 at a time. Every little bit helps. Every little bit helps -- no amount is too small -- or hey, too large for that matter! I know the economy has a lot of us in a pinch this year. Gas prices are finally coming down from their record highs. Home foreclosures are at unprecedented levels. Unemployment rates are the highest in the last fourteen years. Retirement funds are shriveling. Who has money to give to a stranger? Well, quite frankly, I'm hoping you do. As always, your deduction is 100% tax deductible, meaning you can help a soldier and fight back against the tax man, all in the same fell swoop! Also, don't forget -- if you have enough frequent flier miles to warrant a free round trip airfare, we can put those miles to good use, too!

For the past two months, I've been receiving LBEH ticket inquiries from both military personnel and their families; "Hey when are we going to open up for requests?" I keep telling these brave souls, "Not yet. Not yet," trying to hold them off until our traditional start date, Veterans Day. Well, yesterday was it and we opened the flood gates to international ticket requests first, since they're the most expensive and require the most prep work. Within the first ten hours we had over two dozen requests and had to put additional tickets on hold while we catch up. Right around the corner, we'll be opening up to domestic ticket requests as well. What do I tell these folks? That America has forgotten about them? That our support is fair weathered and since milk is more expensive than it was back in 2001, they're on their own? I can't say that. I won't say that. So do us all a favor and let's show these troops that our gratitude doesn't ebb and flow with public opinion. That yes, we still value them and the sacrifices they make on our behalf. They give us the gift of freedom, is allowing them to celebrate Christmas with their loved ones too much to ask?

five sickening habits of mainstream websites. of which i am guilty of zero, but i'm not really mainstream, eh?

ladies and gentlemen, if you don't want to believe me, then i ask you to believe judge judy.

all hail the mighty commodore 64... 100 games in 10 minutes. no "m.u.l.e." though.

Happy Veterans Day.

BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
A PROCLAMATION

Whereas it has long been our customs to commemorate November 11, the anniversary of the ending of World War I, by paying tribute to the heroes of that tragic struggle and by rededicating ourselves to the cause of peace; and;

Whereas in the intervening years the United States has been involved in two other great military conflicts, which have added millions of veterans living and dead to the honor rolls of this Nation; and;

Whereas the Congress passed a concurrent resolution on June 4, 1926 (44 Stat. 1982), calling for the observance of November 11 with appropriate ceremonies, and later provided in an act approved May 13, 1938 (52 Stat. 351) , that the eleventh of November should be a legal holiday and should be known as Armistice Day; and;

Whereas, in order to expand the significance of that commemoration and in order that a grateful Nation might pay appropriate homage to