I've never jumped out of a plane either. Honestly, I don't know if I'm scared neccesarily; but I'm just not too jazzed up about it.

Given blood. Now that's something that approaches fear. I hate going to the doctor, because I'm terrified that they're going to recommend I undergo some horrible procedure involving needles, narcotics, and a sledgehammer. The wife's a nurse, so she loves these gory-ass shows on DiscoveryHealth that show live operations and shit. Makes me want to ralph.

Joined the mile high club. But I don't think I'd really enjoy it all that much, because at 6'4 I have a hard enough time just pissing in the damn lavatory; let alone getting in there with someone else and dirtyin' them up.

Been so drunk that I pissed/shit the bed. I mean, who does that?

And since I missed Smut Thursday yesterday, here's an article on the social history of the blowjob. There's a Jenelle joke in there somewhere, but I just can't seem to put it together.

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ItÂ’s worth noting that during the American Revolution, many colonists remained loyal to the British. IÂ’m not talking about a few either, IÂ’m talking between twenty and thirty percent. In addition, when the war was over, at least 70,000 of those losers left the country, most to Canada, but some to British colonies in the Caribbean and the England.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Against the insidious wiles of foreign influence, (I conjure you to believe me fellow citizens) the jealousy of a free people ought to be constantly awake; since history and experience prove that foreign influence is one of the most baneful foes of Republican Government.

........... George Washington, Farewell Address, September 19, 1796

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 12:24 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I have never jumped out of a plane. My wife was big on it for a while, “You have to try it!” she said. “It’s incredible.” Sorry. Not going to happen. I’m ascared of that and I won’t change my mind no mater how many people try to convince me.

I have never ridden a horse. IÂ’m not afraid, on the contrary, I think it would be great, but somehow the opportunity never came about.

I have never eaten turnips or rhubarb. IÂ’m not sure theyÂ’re even real things.

On a somewhat related note, I eschew cream sauces.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 12:02 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Every once in a while I come across something that makes me laugh until my stomach hurts. It's usually at someone else's expense, but hey, at least I'm honest.

Allow me to introduce you to Mariah, a young girl terrified of pickles. This chick fears pickles like little kids fear the bogey man. I love when she runs screaming from the pickle factory.

Somehow I think there are deeper issues here.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 03:44 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I donÂ’t know if I believe in luck or not, but this week has been full of bad juju for me.

Yesterday after work I noticed my mailbox is falling down from wood rot and I can’t abide shit like that—another thing to fix. Then there was a power outage. Last night I was awaked from my slumber first by thunder, then a siren and finally a scared child. When I don’t sleep well I’m cranky. I’ll leave out the rest of the list but trust me; this is the work of the evil eye. Too many little things going wrong.

Today I began to take precautions. I donÂ’t wear jewelry except for the wedding band and a watch, but I found what I was looking for in the safe at the back of my closet. An old family heirloom. IÂ’m wearing it today, well hidden under my shirt so as not to arouse suspicion. The evil doer shall be repaid in the same coin, seven fold.

Of course all this can probably be chalked up to my obsessive compulsive tendencies, paranoia and a host of yet undiagnosed mental illnesses that IÂ’m sure I harbor. IÂ’m one of those people that locks a door, drives 300 miles and then starts to question whether or not I locked the door.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 11:39 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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I just read this article about how people have fewer friends now than they did twenty years ago.

“Nearly a quarter of people surveyed said they had "zero" close friends with whom to discuss personal matters.”

I don’t discuss “personal matters” with friends. That’s why I have friends. I suspect that if I started calling them up and bellyaching all the time I would be a royal pain in the ass.

Yes, part of that is me being facetious, but there’s a lot of truth to it. I really don’t have many friends. I have, perhaps, six, close friends. Most of them I have known for over twenty years. I have a close friend that I met in kindergarten that I still talk to a lot—a guy that can be depended on in case of nuclear winter or other highly dramatic events where it’s kill or be killed.

I’ve had a lot of acquaintances over the years. I guess I still do, but it’s not really the same. I was one of those people who knew “everybody” but I was never foolish enough to think most people were my friends. And once you leave high school and start working your way through the world you have a tendency to cut people loose.

The guy who always drank too much in college and was “a blast to hang out with” sometimes turns out to be a pain in the ass alcoholic in later years. There comes a time between high school and age thirty where people are forced to become responsible adults, earn a wage and stop playing quarters every night. And it has been my experience that a certain percentage of these guys never make the cut. They are failures as men. They either cannot or will not provide for their young families or stay locked in a time warp forever and expect you to do the same.

I had a very close friend that never grew up. First it was funny. Then it was a pain in the ass. Before long it was sad and eventually it became dangerous. I was forced to set him adrift with a hard kick in the ass. Many people are faced with betrayal from friends, be it in the form of girlfriend stealing or cash theft. Some people make the transition from friend to giant sponge.

I have never slept with a girl that friend was dating, though I was accused of it constantly. I did sleep with a girl who had a serious boyfriend but I didnÂ’t know the guy except to maybe nod at if I saw him at a party. ItÂ’s an interesting story actually because she took advantage of me when I was buzzed and then started making appointments with me to have sex and itÂ’s a long story but she would get off on me going into the bar she and her boyfriend worked at and talking dirty to me while the boyfriend was close by. Both she and the boyfriend were annoying and stupid and I extracted myself from the whole sordid affair when she attempted to give me a hand job while I was sitting at the bar and her boyfriend was across bartending two feet away.

But IÂ’ve gotten off topic if there ever was one.

I read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil yesterday. ItÂ’s one of those books everyone has read but me. I liked it a lot, probably due to the setting. IÂ’m a sucker for Savannah. Definitely a city with feel all itÂ’s own.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:40 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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I canÂ’t believe companies are actually doing this.

One in five companies let's you take your pet to work?

LetÂ’s face it; most people canÂ’t take care of themselves let alone their pets. I love animals but I donÂ’t need a petting zoo down at the office. I donÂ’t want to smell dog while IÂ’m negotiating and I donÂ’t want to hear barking when IÂ’m on the phone. I may not want to pet someoneÂ’s dog that hasnÂ’t had a bath in weeks.

Just because you know how to train and care for animals doesnÂ’t mean everyone does. HowÂ’d you like to walk into the building and have some dog start humping your leg? What if the animals donÂ’t get along well with others? What happens when your dog jumps on me and starts scratching at my expensive suit?

The problems are endless and people have allergies and all kinds of shit can go wrong. And I'm not even addressing people bringing howler monkies and gibbons.

The policy has drawbacks, she conceded. "I'm talking to you in the bathroom because I don't want my dogs to start barking and interrupting our conversation," she said from her home office in Cape Coral, Florida. "They can get a little loud."

Yeah. IÂ’ll start making my calls from the shitter. I canÂ’t spend enough time in a small room while people are taking dumps. Maybe IÂ’ll move my desk in there full time, huh?

Idiots.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 12:14 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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How hard can it be to cancel an AOL account?

One man's frustrating call, caught on tape, resounds in the blogosphere

This is absolutely incredible. IÂ’m not surprised at all, but it still leaves me incensed. A guy tries to cancel his AOL but it plays out like heÂ’s trying to leave the Church of Scientology. Unfortunately for AO-hell, the guy recorded the conversation.

You really need to read the transcript of the call because itÂ’s priceless.

“I think I could've put up with everything, but at the point when he asked to speak to my father, I came very close to losing it at that point,” said 30-year-old Ferrari.

Actually, I think the call itself is out there somewhere but IÂ’m way too lazy.

Meanwhile, AOL goes crazy when the guy posts this and sends him an apology telling him how sorry they are and how that should never happen. You know what happens next:

To put this claim to the test, CNBC reporter Matt Lefkowitz called again. Here is a rough transcript:

CNBC: I want to cancel my AOL account.

He was promptly disconnected.

He tried again.

CNBC: I need to cancel my AOL account. I never really use it. ... Well, if I can cancel it anytime, why can't I cancel it now? Can I just cancel my account?

It took him 45 minutes to finally get his account canceled.

Maybe they share a building with the scientologists.

Update

Here's a better transcript

***Update***

Here's the blog, which has a clip from him on the today show.

***Update***

Here's the audio

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 10:06 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Whenever the Germans accumulate in large numbers you have to be careful. It must be something in the blood.

HereÂ’s the interesting part:

“Cologne’s police chief confirmed that the incidents had been sparked by a group of known German football hooligans who were drinking in the Kulisse bar on the Café Alter Markt. Klaus Steffenhagen told The Times: “Our spotters recognised 30 category C football hooligans, some from Cologne and some from other parts of Germany.”

Spotters recognized thirty “category C” hooligans? Have they so many hooligans that they have them categorized? And not only do they have a shitload of hooligans, obviously of varying degrees, but they can recognize thirty of them in a crowd!

Do these people list “Hooligan” as their occupation on tax returns and whatnot? Yeah, I do like to use the word hooligan, so sue me. It’s because I’m fascinated. I wonder where the “category A” hooligans hang out?

***Shank's Update***

An explanation of the hoologan rating system.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:41 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Jennifer Aniston has been on my list for about ten years. This morning I finally got a look at her ass. Scroll down past the Ryan Seacrest gay debate and you canÂ’t miss it. ItÂ’s a clip from The Break-up.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 07:03 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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The other day I posted my feelings about New Orleans, which can be found here. A guy named Jaime from New Orleans took issue with what I had to say and left a comment, more of a post actually, about the situation down there.

I found it to be an eye-opener in many ways. ItÂ’s so well executed that IÂ’m posting it here because I think it needs to be read. IÂ’m not going to put it italics as itÂ’s too distracting for a long a piece, but here it is verbatim:

"I would venture a guess that you never left the French Quarter? You are talking a 10 X 10 block area give or take. I lived in Chicago for 3 years. I know all about Downtown and Michigan Ave. but I can’t tell you a thing about Evanston or most of the rest of the area. People from all over the world come here to “party”. It has been a few years now but I have had my own late nights in the French Quarter. I have seen what you are talking about. If you were here for Mardi Gras, Superbowl, Jazz Fest or southern decadence it was most likely a bit worse than normal. For the most part – that is not us…. It’s tourists. They come here and think of the French Quarter as some kind of adult Disneyland – they do things they would never do at home. I used to work in the convention industry and one time I had dinner with a production team from out of town and was walking them back to their hotel. On Bourbon St. there were some girls up on a balcony lifting their shirts for beads and drawing quite a crowd. On of the head honchos said “you people are just crazy down here”. I gave him a look and said “It’s August, those girls are from Michigan or Virginia or some other place like that – they are not from New Orleans.” We made a bet; I asked and won $10 bucks – easy money. The answer was Georgia. It is not fair to look at the quarter and think of us that way. It’s like visiting Graceland and thinking you know all about Memphis.

The other problem with your thinking is that right now we are not an American city. We are a shell of what used to be a city in what is evidently, by many, not actually considered to be part of America (I don’t understand that but it comes off that way too many times). Most of the houses are still unoccupied – many people have never returned and most of the residents that have come back live someplace other than where they were a year ago. We have what amounts to 120 square miles of urban ghost town the likes of which have never been seen before, anywhere. I saw Colin Powell make a speech this month at the dedication of the National WWII museum / awards ceremony for some standout 1st responders. During his keynote he said that he had seen many types of distruction before. He has been through a lot of war zones and has seen several major disaster sites (his last official visit overseas was Indonesia after the tsunami’s). Just like every one else he had closely followed the coverage of Katrina on television. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for what he had just seen while touring the devistation within his own country. That was a few weeks ago, more than 9 months after the levee’s broke. To get back to my point – this is a little different than dealing with crime in an American city for a number of reasons.

You say “we’re not talking about stealing anymore…” but we are. Looting is called burglary again but it is still looting. One of my in-law’s neighbors in Lakeview has been killing himself trying to get his house into shape so his wife and kids could return home once the school year ended. He had finally finished and the day before the move he discovered there was no water. A quick inspection revealed that his entire plumbing system had been stolen for the copper pipes. That’s another deduction from insurance and at least another month without his family and who’s to say it won’t happen again. As fast as people can get appliances delivered they are being stolen. Another big thing is stealing the architectural details that make New Orleans unique. Shutters, pocket doors, mantles, crown molding, decorative ironwork, gingerbread details and other such things are vanishing right before our eyes. You can’t sell the shutters for much but they cost over $300 each to replace. Vultures (many from out of town) are picking us to pieces and it has to stop so we can move on.

There is no one to see suspicious activity and report it so it continues. That takes a lot of patrolling – much more than could ever be done by a police force under normal circumstances. That is what the guard has been called in to do. To help safeguard our personal reconstruction - Thank God!

Now, on to violent crime. Along with the many, many good people that have come back we also have the scum. Some are home grown and some are imports but they are here fighting for turf and power in the ever-popular drug trade. Most of the murders are gang bangers killing each other off for an edge in what basically amounts to an open market. All of the lines that had been drawn between gangs were washed away and the age old game has started from scratch. You are right when you say it is tombstone. No city has ever faced 5 or 10 or maybe even 20 rival gangs all in a rebuilding mode at once. Picture what it would be like if all the mafia bosses had to start their “family buisnesses” again from scratch. It would not mean a hit or two – it would be scores of them. That is what we are going through. The members just need an empty house to set up shop (we have plenty of those) and then they just start fighting. . Our police need to concentrate hard on this so it can be stopped before it gathers more momentum.

You say that things are picking back up. It depends on what corner you are talking about. My in-laws live in their trailer about 50% of the time. There is one other person living on their entire block. Another is there most days working on his house – that’s it. No one lives on the block behind them at all. At my mothers the street is empty as well - it still does not have power. We could not store everything we recovered from her house at our place so we have moved some of it back into the gutted part of the house. I will be glad to have the National Guard in the area. It makes me very nervous that my in-law’s live in a ghost town. If someone showed up and tried to hurt them there would be no one around to hear a thing. I will feel better knowing that the guard will be pass by their house a few times a day as well."

Thanks, Jaime. Very well done and point taken. Hats off to you.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 06:41 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Most people are ineffectual by nature. And by ineffectual I mean lazy, lollygagging dullards. It doesnÂ’t take a lot of effort to surpass them. I suspect an hour a day of solid work is all you need to look better than them.

People who call a lot of meetings fall into these categories:

a.) CanÂ’t or wonÂ’t make their own decisions
b.) Believe in decision by committee
c.) Are out of their league intellectually
d.) Are seeking other people to do the heavy lifting

Most people attending meetings are trying not to take on any action items. Your job is to appear busier and smarter than anyone else in the room without talking too much.

Rule #1: Never be early or late to a meeting.

Too early and you look like youÂ’ve got nothing better to do. Also, people could ask questions that if you answered with the room empty become someone elseÂ’s ideas when the room is full. Being late is never a good idea either.

If you stroll in five minutes early carrying a grande latte or whatever the hell those things are you look like your relaxed and at ease—and that’s not good. You need to look like you’re working your ass off, not standing in line for expensive ersatz coffee.

Rule #2: Ask for an agenda.

How important can a meeting be if thereÂ’s no agenda? A lot of people calling meetings donÂ’t publish one and it makes them look idiotic when you ask. After all, youÂ’re busy and have little time for small talk.

Rule #3: Keep looking at your watch

DonÂ’t overdue it, but you have to look like you have responsibilities and deadlines. I walk around looking like the weight of the world is on my shoulders.

Rule #4: Ask the question

“Who’s going to publish the minutes for this meeting?” It’s always the first thing I ask. By asking who will do it you remove yourself from the equation. It’s also a good idea to let the blowhards know that if they commit to something in that room they will be held to it.

Rule #5: Speak up

Important phrases to use at a meeting:

“I think we’re getting off track here.”
“I think that’s beyond the scope of this meeting.”
“Enough with the abstract, let’s talk about what’s practical.”

The idea is to keep this shit moving, because to most people, a meeting is just a place to sit down and bullshit/pontificate/theorize.

Rule #6: Your opinion

One sentence: “The concept is fundamentally sound.” You really can’t go wrong with that one.

If asked for suggestions I usually let other people speak first and watch the reactions they get. I never look directly at the speaker; I watch the face of the highest ranking officer. If someone starts sinking IÂ’ll usually let them kill themselves unless I smell haughtiness, in which case IÂ’ll jump in and really point out their stupidity.

Rule #7: Things you should never say in a meeting

“I’d like to be more involved with this project.”
“I can expedite some of the paperwork.”
“Jane’s tits can’t possibly be real.”

Need I elaborate?

Rule #8: What not to wear to a meeting

You never want to look too prosperous. Meetings, and the workplace in general, is not a good place to wear a Rolex. Get the idea?

Rule #9: Act like a professional

Gum chewing, pen twirling and leaning back in your chair are not good ideas. Most importantly, for the love of God, donÂ’t keep scratching you head and your ears. You look like youÂ’ve got fucking lice. I sat through a meeting this morning and watched as two separate people dug at their scalp and their ears with total abandon. I was sooo close to screaming at them.

Rule #10: Navigating shallow water

This really entails a full post. Evaluating the battle lines is crucial. Which faction is stronger or more important plays a key part in your strategy. The outcome of most meetings is predetermined anyway. Rarely do people seek honest council in a conference room. The scene played out is usually to reinforce policy or to put pressure on a group to deliver more. Sometimes itÂ’s pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey or hot potato. WhoÂ’s budget is getting hit with what, whoÂ’s to blame for the Mongolian Cluster in Chicago, etc. ItÂ’s best to determine what the purpose of the meeting really is before you get there.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 02:53 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I went to New Orleans once, about ten years ago. Frankly, I thought it was a seedy shithole. I saw people peeing in alleys in the French Quarter, drunks everywhere and a general disregard human decency.

Let me say that I am not a prude. I enjoy a few drinks. Maybe more than a few on occasion. IÂ’ve been known to visit rowdy establishments, roadhouses and strip joints. And even though I havenÂ’t done those things in quite a few years itÂ’s not because IÂ’m against them, itÂ’s because I outgrew them, more or less. But when I was in New Orleans I saw the worst of the worst. The place was pretty gross.

Then Katrina hit and it was a terrible tragedy. I donated money along with everyone else. Things are picking back up now, but since that fateful event the city is still getting plenty of attention from the media. The result is that people from all over the place are now seeing whatÂ’s always been there.

Now the National Guard has been called in because the fucking place is like 1881 Tombstone, Arizona.

“…five teenagers in an SUV were shot and killed in the city's deadliest attack in at least 11 years. Police said the attack was apparently motivated by drugs or revenge. Also, a man was stabbed to death Sunday night in an argument over beer.”

ItÂ’s hard to believe that that idiot was reelected mayor, but he was. And now he needs to find himself some lawmen because itÂ’s like the wild west.

IÂ’ve been to some wide-open towns before. IÂ’ve partied in places you canÂ’t imagine in both America and overseas, but that place always struck me as being a cesspool. When was the last time the National Guard had to restore order in an American city? Aside from this one? I know what you're going to say. "They don't have as many cops as they used to before the storm." That doesn't mean people have to kill each other. We're not talking about stealing anymore, we're talking about murders.

I’m not one of those people that think NO got what it deserves when that storm hit. I’m not a racist. I’m not a born again—I’m all about debauchery.

I just never liked the place.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:56 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Last week I told my kid IÂ’d get her a little something because her behavior has been so incredibly exemplary lately. Beyond belief, really. Somehow IÂ’ve produced a smart, sweet, quiet kid that never seems to do anything wrong. Very spooky considering my own childhood.

Anyway, on Saturday we went to get her a little something. I still get excited when toy shopping because I still love toys. I was hoping to steer her towards a Lite Brite or something else I could play with.

The first thing you notice in a toy store these days is the complete and utter lack of toy guns. When I was a kid the toy gun aisle was the biggest in the store. I would hang out in that aisle for an hour before making my choice. These days there is no gun aisle and it breaks my heart. And just for the record, even though I played with toy guns throughout my youth, I have never shot anyone with a real gun. That wasnÂ’t asking for it. But I kid. IÂ’m a kidder.

She ended up with some popular little doll figures. I spent an hour trying to get her to change her mind. I stumbled into one aisle that all kinds of games I remembered from my own childhood.

“Look honey, it’s Don’t Spill the Beans!”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a game I used to play when I was your age.”

“I don’t want that. Can we go home now?”

I really wanted it. DonÂ’t Break the Ice was there too and I really wanted them both. After a fruitless attempt at getting her to switch she finally dragged me away. Later that night I told my old lady the story.

“She wasn’t budging from the doll.” I said.

“Don’t Spill the Beans? No shit? You should have gotten it for us! Man, I could really go for a game of that right now.”

This morning she called me at the office about something.

“Are you going anywhere today?” I asked.

“I have to go to Target.”

“You have to get Don’t Spill the Beans!”

“Good idea!”

Hopefully by the time I get home sheÂ’ll have it ready to go. My life is so sad.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 09:13 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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To my wife:

On MotherÂ’s Day, you refused to give me a list, insisting that I come up with gift ideas on my own. You know what torture that is for me. Then this week you ask me for a gift list for FatherÂ’s Day. WTF?

Well, here it is, but youÂ’re going to have to work for it. Decipher the clues to find out what I want. One or two of these is enough, some are expensive.

#1. Some stuff is just not available on iTunes. This album was released in November of 1971 by a band that I enjoy and you donÂ’t. Additional clues: croquet, hogweed.

#2. Small bottle of that cologne that I like.

#3. Another CD (double), same band as above. Released in 1974, deals with a tired mammal in NYC. You really hate this one.

#4. Another CD, same band again. Four CD box set released in 1998 and deals with older material only. Careful, I donÂ’t want the three CD box set.

In other news, Shank apparently went on a sugar and booze bender last night and posted like, fourteen times. And in yet other news, IÂ’m still watching this every fifteen minutes or so and laughing myself into coughing fits.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 07:28 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Wiscounsin, huh?

I think the annoying bastard deserves it.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 06:39 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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This news report from Alabama (go figure) focuses on a group of people who swear they have a leprechaun living in a neighborhood tree.

ItÂ’s got it all. An amateur drawing, crazy peopleÂ…you really have to see it to believe it.

I literally couldn’t stop crying. Don’t miss the classic line, “I want to know where the gold at.”

This has got to be the funniest thing on the web.

***Update***
I can't stop watching this and shaking with laughter.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 07:31 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Ever notice a TV show character completely vanish from a popular show and theyÂ’re never heard from again? I had no idea it had a name, but it does. Chuck Cunningham Syndrome. You can scroll down and see a list of popular shows where this phenomenon took place and little bit about each one.

In more heinous news, thereÂ’s also Cousin Oliver Syndrome. Remember that little bastard? Scroll down and see a list of other shows that played this card to keep the show afloat long after it was clinically dead. I actually shuddered at some of these.

I should hat tip someone here but I honestly canÂ’t remember where I saw it. Probably Dlisted.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 01:34 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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This has been a pet peeve of mine for a long, long time.

There is no such thing as adding “II” to your name. Does everyone understand that?

You’re “Junior.” I’m sorry, but that is a fact. I know that you don’t want to be called junior. You don’t want “Junior” on legal documents. I can understand that. You’re a big strong man. You’re James Theodore Winthorpe II.

But you’re not. And you’re not fooling anyone. Not me, anyway, ‘cause I know how this works. If you have the same exact name as your father you are “Jr.” There’s no such thing as II. Some try to sneak by with 2nd. Pleases stop the bullshit. When the elder dies, you are promoted to “Sr.” Does that help? Because you’re making an ass of yourself trying to pull this off. People are laughing much harder at “II” than they are at “Jr.”

Get used to it, Junior.

Primarily in the U.S.A. (and never in the U.K.), boys who should be styled junior are sometimes incorrectly labeled with the suffix ‘II’, particularly if there is a third or fourth with the same name. Even if a legal title, this is socially incorrect; strictly speaking, ‘II’, pronounced the second, refers to a boy who is named after his grandfather, uncle, or cousin. The suffixes ‘II’, ‘III’, etc. are also correctly written 2nd, 3rd, etc.

More proof that you are an idiot here and here.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 12:55 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I see plenty of bloggers are excited about the World Cup.

If youÂ’re a soccer fan, you probably donÂ’t live in America. If you are a soccer fan living in America: I pity you. If you are a blogger who doesnÂ’t even know how many men you need to field a team, letÂ’s just be honest about it from the get-go. I suspect many bloggers will jump on this bandwagon because itÂ’s the only one on the prairie.

I’m an unabashed soccer detractor. I fear things I don’t understand. If it were up to me, I would beat soccer to death with a stick—like a garter snake on the patio.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 11:36 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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