As told in perceived, first person inner-monologue:

• "You bastards ain't gonna be stealin' my bait no more."
• "This rum sure lowers my inhibitions."
• "I don't understand why my ass hurts and burns some mornings."

Labels: link goodness

If you want Whitney, you can have her. Seriously. Is that all it will take for you to call off the jihad and let us run that oil pipeline through Central Asia? We will whack up the petroleum profits with you and allow you free reign to run smack through our inner cities. Compared to meth, we do not mind the heroin so much. We would rather have our kids chasing the dragon in a tenement somewhere and performing oral sex on a balding, middle-aged accountant in an Arby's bathroom for their next fix as opposed to setting up a combustible meth lab in a middle American neighborhood where they could blow up an innocent, blue collar family scraping by on a meager salary provided by the local concrete factory. We could lure Whitney onto a plane filled with cocaine and economically deprived children. Can we send you Bobby Brown, too? He has not given us anything since Don't Be Cruel and his musical future does not look too bright with his constant illegal proclivities and all. We will not even care if you cut his head on Al Jazera as a warning to other Western infidels that you are not be fucked with. Consider it. An offer this good only comes along once in a lifetime.

Labels: open letter, politics, pop culture

The five most obviously drug-fueled television appearances ever. I love me some Crispin Glover on Angel Dust, James Brown full of bourbon (and song) and Richard Pryor in his prime coked to the eyeballs.

Labels: drugs, tomfoolery

Even if I had days to reflect on a metaphor to describe my current career situation it would not be any better than this. Adrift in a small, fiberglass boat in the middle of the ocean with people that do not speak English and subsisting on nothing but rainwater, raw fish and seabirds with only the Bible to read? Yeah, that sounds about right.

Labels: career, data slaughterhouse

Aside from the fringe human population that enjoy slitting hooker's throats and bathing in their blood, most human beings have a deep aversion to killing. This poses a problem when one's job requires them to kill (e.g. soldiers, police officers, CFOs). Conditioning people to kill and deal with the psychological consequences is known as Killology; a lovely neologism coined by Dave Grossman. He even wrote an uplifting book on the matter that I just added it to my Amazon Wish List.

Labels: death, killing

If I could go back to college with the skills I acquired over my professional career, I would be making quality fake IDs and charging desperate underage drinkers $200 a smash for them (I would also be convincing more women to pose nude for me and explain that it was all for artistic purposes). In the mid to late 90s the internet was not as magical as it is today. You couldn't just buy a fake ID with your parent's credit card and have it over-nighted to you in time for weekend tavern revelries. No. Instead you had to pay some asshole stranger that smelled of cigarettes and claimed she was a born again Christian $40 to alter the dates on a good ID with improper fonts and colors and wait two months for it.

Labels: college, crime, tomfoolery

The Chinese have opened the world's first anger bar. Patrons can smash glasses, rant and even hit specially trained employees all while sucking down Tsingtaos. Denver's version of the anger bar occurs every weekend during last call in LoDo. Drunken fools spill out into the streets simultaneously and start shit with each other because they were first in line for a $2 burrito being sold out of a cooler. Or because your fraternity is better than that other homo’s fraternity. Or because you were looking at a guy's shivering slut girlfriend in a mini-skirt, tube top and high heels and it's thirteen degrees below zero outside.

Labels: colorado, drinking, fighting, tomfoolery

• A comprehensive explanation of the sport cricket. In St. Lucia the wife and I encountered some cricket grounds while driving through the countryside. Our guides informed us that while cricket is not a big game on the island, a brand new stadium, Beausejour Ground, was built on the outskirts of Rodney Bay and will host matches of the ICC Cricket World Cup 2007.
  
• Existential Garfield comics. This depressing storyline originally ran the week of October 23, 1989 as a lead up to Halloween. Garfield awakens in the future when the house is abandoned and he no longer exists. Some theorize that the end of this storyline implies that the rest of the "conventional" strips are just fantasies Garfield plays out in his head to delude himself from realizing that he is starving to death in an abandoned house. Here I thought that Garfield was just a shallow husk of commercialism that yielded film abominations staring Jennifer Love Hewitt and plush orange stuffed animals.
  
• Claire Hoffman, staff writer for the LA Times, spends some time with Joe Francis, founder of the Girls Gone Wild empire. Hijinks ensue.

Labels: link goodness, perversion, st.lucia, wife