Well, everyone else is doing those "get to know you" surveys, so why not follow them right off the cliff?

WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Not really. I have the same middle name as my mom and I've been through several last names (mom's issues, not mine!).

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
Right before I took my boards. Mainly because I was sure someone was going to sabotage my chances of passing. And because, in my fragile mental state, when hubby mentioned my car was dirty, I was sure he hated me. Yeah, girls are a little nuts.

DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
Nope. But it's better than some. There is a girl at the bar I work at that dots all her "i's" with hearts. It really annoys me for some reason.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Salami. Hard salami. None of that soft Genoa crap. I like the hard salami...

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Do my farting, spilling, setting the house on fire husband and vomit machine cat count?

IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
I guess it depends if that other person was clincially insane as well. But yeah, I guess so.

DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
No, I pretty much just come out with both guns blazing. Hence the nickname "pretty bitch."

DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Nope. The docs got them when I was 3. This medical fact prompted my little bro to ask me "can you still play tonsil hockey?" My my, how much 4 year olds know!

WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Uhmm, I'm all talk. I'm always like "yeah, lets dooo-etttt" and then I puss out at the last minute. Plus, I work in a place where people regularly come in with all sorts of nasty head wounds and all I can think is "wow, it must have been fun until the rope snaped." (not the bar, a hospital)

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
I think my favorite is something like Lucky Charms or another sickly sweet kids cereal. However, I have only Kashi in my cupboard. Because I'm giving in to the societal pressure to not be disgustingly obese.

DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Nope. But then again, I really only wear flip-flops. I have at least 10 pairs. On rare sneaker wearing occasions, I just kick them off.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Physically, not really. I can carry a few cases of beer and move kegs, but not much beyond that. I'm working on it. But mentally, I'm...okay, I'm mediocre. Me and Freud have some work to do.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Eady's mint chocolate chip with rainbow sprinkles. I'm 5 years old again-such an easier time.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
I think their overall appearance. Are they all punk or thung? I think it comes from working at the bar and having to make quick judgements about the people that come in. Or I'm a judgemental bitch.

RED OR PINK?
Pink...like the bing on your cherry...

WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
My feet. They are huge! They are really wide and I have pudgy toes. I can also spread said toes into a fan, monkey style. The peeps at the bar call me "frodo toes."

WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
My JaJa. He was my granddaddy (JaJa is polish for grandfather). He was cool-always gave me candy corn and told me when "the neverending story" was coming on HBO.

WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
No shoes, just pink boy cut shorts. I just got out of bed.

WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Ham and cheese sammich, tortillia chips with hummus, and fruit salad.

WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
ER re-runs. They are like my crack.

IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
I've always thought this is a weird question. Like "if you could be any food, what would you be?" Gee, if I wanted someone to eat me, I'd like to be a burrito so they shit fire on my way out. But I guess if I had to choose, it would be Jungle Green. It sounds like a ferocious color, but it's actually a bright, happy green.

FAVORITE SMELLS?
My hubby's cologne, freshly bathed babies, fresh cut roses, ripe strawberries, the ocean, outside right before a thunderstorm hits.

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
My brother in law; we had him on speaker phone and were hammering out trip details.

FAVORITE SPORTS?
Buffalo Bills Football. Is there any other sport?

HAIR COLOR?
Brown

EYE COLOR?
Varying shades of green. Sometimes brightened by the shade of eyeshadow or color of my shirt.

DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No. I have great vision. I'm supposed to wear reading glasses but I don't. Probably related to reading under the covers with a flashlight when I was a kid.

FAVORITE FOOD?
Hummus, filet mignon (medium rare), corn on the cob (grilled), crab legs, scallops, salad.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
I like scary movies, but lately all the "scary" ones turn into "how gruesome can death be" flix. I want to be scared, not puke up my popcorn. So I got to go with happy endings. They may be so sappy sweet I get cavities, but at least I'm not voming orville redenbacher.

LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Pirates of the Carribean: The End of the World. Three and a half hours but it was great!

WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Green bathrobe. Like I said, just got up.

SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer. My tan is much better, though I could do without the humidity. I like the snow, but I've never been much for frostbite.

HUGS OR KISSES?
Kisses. But not the wet sloppy kind. Unless their from a cute doggie.

FAVORITE DESSERT?
Chocolate anything. And creme brulee.

MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
To flowers and candles.

LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Slapping my leg with your manhood.

WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
I have several going right now. The Weatherman is one, the other is Emergency Nursing, 1998 version. A textbook, but still interesting. I'm kind of a geek.

WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
It's a dell pad that came with the puter. A corner is cut off because my cat used to chew on it and it was all bumpy and my mouse got stuck on it.

WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Last Comic Standing and a Dateline broadcast about Il Mostro, an italian serial killer. Last comic was hilarious, dateline disturbing. A great night of television!

FAVORITE SOUND?
Babies giggling, waves crashing on the beach, the doctor saying "your tests came back negative".

ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles. End of discussion.

WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Paris when I was 12. It was awesome. I could buy wine and they didn't even blink! Of course, I was terrified when I was going through customs on the way back.

DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Yes and it has caused people to remark "Wow, your husband must really love you!"

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Buffalo, NY

WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Everyone. These are hokey but a good time killer!

Posted by: Singultus at 11:20 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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From the Spinster, because I love doing these little questionnaire things.

more...

Posted by: shank at 10:09 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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From the Spinster. I had a dream about her last night.

WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
I was named after my grandfather. ItÂ’s a complicated naming tradition that goes back centuries. It starts to get messy after the third son and second daughter.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
I donÂ’t know. Maybe the Tony Romo incident.

DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
I block print and even that is illegible.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Prosciutto. After that, most other salt cured meats.

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
I do.

IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Yes. I make no demands of people. I am an island.

DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
IÂ’m more of a cynic.

DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Yes. I’ve never even met anyone who had them out. I think that who “get your tonsils out” thing is an urban myth.

WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
I donÂ’t see the point. The risk vs. reward factor is horribly warped. Adventure is never fun while itÂ’s actually happening.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Frosted mini wheats.

DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
For sneakers, no, but I untie them before I put them back on. I wear loafers a lot—no laces. I dislike people who call sneakers tennis shoes. How many people who wear sneakers play tennis? A very small percentage I’ll reckon.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Strong like a horse. I dislike hard labor, but I can hump heavy shit all day long if need be. If you mean gym strong, I donÂ’t know.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
I canÂ’t get that excited about ice cream. Chocolate? I do like when the cone gets all soggy with from the ice cream near the end though. One of lifeÂ’s small pleasures. IÂ’m also a fan of the waffle/ice cream sandwich.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
If their eyes are dead or alive. Some people look like the lights are on but nobodyÂ’s home, other people have expressive eyesÂ… it looks like somethingÂ’s going on in there.

RED OR PINK?
Green.

WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
I cab be picky and critical.

WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Charles Bukowski.

WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Kacki shorts. No shoes.

WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Cornflakes.

WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
OliverÂ’s Army.

IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
I dislike crayons. I dislike waxy stuff.

FAVORITE SMELLS?
Napalm? Actually, I like the smell of steaks cooking, new cars, fine leather, a baseball glove, and a woman wearing this. And the smell of Hawaiian Tropic gives me instant wood.

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
It was a business call.

FAVORITE SPORTS?
Football. Beach volleyball. Football.

HAIR COLOR?
Dark brown.

EYE COLOR?
Hazel. I donÂ’t even know if thatÂ’s a color, but thatÂ’s what IÂ’m told.

DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No.

FAVORITE FOOD?
Pizza, calzones, fois gras, rabbit, venison, bouillabaisse, steaks.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
IÂ’m a big fan of historical fare, when done right. And thrillers.

LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Oddly enough, Pleasantville.

WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Grey pocket T.

SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer. I like everything about it.

HUGS OR KISSES?
I prefer licks.

FAVORITE DESSERT?
Chocolate mousse.

MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
To genital caresses.

LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
To teeth on penis.

WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
The Pathfinder. James Fennimore Cooper.

WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
Crumbs.

WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Hells Kitchen. God, how I love that show. Screaming, insultingÂ…

FAVORITE SOUND?
A turbo kicking in.

ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles, but I dearly love the Stones too.

WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
China.

DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
I have this move that ends with a swirl. Actually, I have a gift for music and languages.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
NYC

WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, but I donÂ’t think heÂ’s a reader.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:43 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Global Warming = Cats Getting Lots of Ass

I gotta call shenanigans on this tripe. Cats balling other cats with abandon is not a function of global warming so much as it's a function of cat owners not following the advice of Bob Barker.

Sometimes, that HoverRound just ain't got enough balls.
Apparently, it's so boring in Paw Paw, Michigan (who woulda thunk it?) that wheelchair-bound guys are riding around mounted to the front grilles of passing trucks. Yee-Haw! I love how the dude isn't even phased; "It was quite a ride." That, my friends, is the statement of a repeat offender.

Paris Hilton, the human punchline.
Paris, probably the most widely despised criminal in recent history, has been sent home due to 'medical issues' after serving only 5 days of her (reduced) sentance of 23. Al Sharpton is all up in arms about racial and economic favoritism. Al, let's be honest here bro, exactly what in the hell did you think was going to happen? You can't honestly tell me you're suprised by this turn of events. Personally, I'm intensely curious about this generic 'medical problem'. Are we talking about simple Blackberry Withdrawal? Or the existing condition of, how do I say this, Chronic and Incapacitating Mental 'Lethargy' that Paris seems to suffer from? Or could it be that she just got the crap beat out of her so bad that she had to go home. My professional medical opinion is that a bar of soap and a tube sock would probably do considerable damage to someone who weighs in at roughly six and a half pounds.

Posted by: shank at 11:41 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Why I hate lawyers; reason number 56342.

From what I gather, a lawyer in DC was elected to the bench. On his first day he wanted to wear his special pants. I guess that’s like getting a new lunchbox for the first day of school. Unfortunately, the dry cleaners lost his special pants. So in the name of “"mental suffering, inconvenience and discomfort" he’s suing the dry cleaners for $67 million dollars. That must be some pair of pants.

HeÂ’s also suing for ten years of weekend rental cars to take his dry cleaning to another location. I donÂ’t know what thatÂ’s got to do with a lost pair of pants. Regardless, the guy is calling 63 witnesses in the case. They didnÂ’t call 63 witnesses in the fucking Manson trial. If youÂ’re not feeling somewhat nauseous by this point you must be in law school.

According to calculations in the article, $67 million could buy this guy almost 85 thousand pairs of pants at $800 a pop. Apparently, lotÂ’s of people think this is hysterically funny. Except the dry cleaner who broke down in tears during the interview. These poor bastards have been paying legal fees for two years already because of a pair of the special pants.

Eventually the dry cleaners offered him $3,000 which he would not accept. Then he offered $4,000, which was also declined. They then offered this guy $12,000 for the goddamned pants and the guy turned it down.

Apparently, there is a consumer protection law on the books thatÂ’s $1,500 per violation, per day. He also wants $500,000 in emotional damages and $542, 500 in legal fees, even though he is representing himself in court. All because of his special pants.

A couple of weeks after they lost the pants, the dry cleaner found themÂ…matching ticket and everything, but the lawyer/judge claims theyÂ’re not the right ones.

I just don’t see the humor in this. The fact that a judge or lawyer or whatever the hell he is ought to know better than to clog up the courts with this shit. And the worst part is the case hasn’t been thrown out. So, lives of dry cleaner—ruined. Taxpayer money—wasted. The fact that this guy is an officer of the court and has done all this makes me sick.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 10:19 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Got into another fight today over the greatest movie ever made.

Citizen Kane, Gone With the Wind, On the Waterfront, The Godfather, et al.

IÂ’m sorry. There all fine films and everything, but the greatest movie ever made is fucking Borat. ItÂ’s a goddamned masterwork. Anyone who canÂ’t see that is too stupid to debate with.

Case closed.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 03:05 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
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Alerted to a forgotten state ban, Philadelphia authorities have closed at least 16 storefront fortune-tellers.

This is beautiful. And they never saw it coming? I go off on this a few times a year because I canÂ’t believe the nitwits who fall for this shit.

Alerted to an obscure state law banning fortune-telling "for gain or lucre," the city's Department of Licenses and Inspections is closing storefront psychics, astrologers, phrenologists and tarot-card readers who charge money for their services.

I guess it’s cool if you’re not in it for the lucre. Can someone please explain to me why these “psychics” can’t pick red or black in a casino? Why they can’t pick the powerball numbers? Why they can’t pick a winning stock? Why don’t they live in Vegas and sit in the sports book all day? Oh wait, I think I know why. Because they’re crackpots, mental deficients, frauds, swindlers or any combination thereof.

Most so-called psychics, he said, "are not little old ladies with kerchiefs on their heads" but clever con artists capable of stealing large sums - even life savings - from grieving or otherwise vulnerable people.

No shit? ThereÂ’s a palm reader on my way home from work and the parking lot is always full.

One guy they interviewed had this to say:

"They're discriminating against Gypsies," he said, although he said he was born and raised in Philadelphia. Finally, he noted that critics "considered that Jesus was a psychic, a fortune-teller, and they crucified him."

I don’t see the parallel. On this one I’m going to have to say…crackpot. No—mental deficient. Hell, I’m not sure.

But there was a time when Will and I told fortunes on our respective blogs. Go ahead; ask us a question about the future. WeÂ’re at your disposal. WeÂ’re okay because weÂ’re not accepting lucre.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 10:57 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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DATELINE: 3/27/2007 - Dykes Against The War Rally, Berkeley, CA

Part I

As much as it felt like that, it was actually an Indigo Girls concert in Norfolk, VA. I can't begin to describe the freakshow that I witnessed last evening. But before I begin, let me just say that I am not the slightest bit homophobic. Or is it lesbophobic? Whatever it is, I'm not. My sister is gay so I automatically get a pass. Plus, my sister is an acceptable lesbian in that she's attractive and has attractive partners that I would sleep with. That's my litmus test for "acceptable lesbians". If I'd sleep with them, they're okay.

The lesbians last night, I wouldn't even call lesbians. It was a Bull Dyke-fest. Big, fat, tattooed, pierced, scary, smelly Bull Dykes. And they were everywhere. I was the most effeminate person in the hall of 1000 people (shut up). At first, the freak-watching was interesting but then it just became obnoxious. Why do women who hate men go out of their way to look so much like us? If they're not big, scary Bull Dykes, they look just like 14 year old boys. With tattoos and face piercings of course. Everyone had either a stud through their eyebrow or through their lip. At one point, just to fit in, I wanted to rip off my shirt and scream, "Look at these, you freaks! One lousy eyebrow piercing??? I got two friggin' nipples mutilated!!" I didn't of course, because that might've caused the big 'Norfolk Lesbian Nipple Riot of '07'.

To be continued...

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 02:49 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
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By now IÂ’m sure everyone has seen the pics of that chick on American Idol that found their way on to the Internet. IÂ’ve seen quite a few of them, including the ones of her posing in a bikini on the WWII Monument. In addition to that display of exceptionally poor judgment and taste, there were some other pics, allegedly of her, giving a hummer to someone. And, of course, a shot of her sitting on the toilet.

One of her friends came out to say that the more graphic shots are not really her. I think I even accept that as the truth. But hereÂ’s the best part from that article:

"It's the way this town is: Everybody knows everything about their friends," said Mark Dillon, 17. "At least half the people in this town have pictures of their friends on the toilet. I've personally seen at least 20. It's only because she's on TV that they're online."

Well, that sounds like quite a town. Somehow, in my long life, I have never seen shots of any of my friends sitting on the toilet. I was always a pretty popular guy too. Maybe itÂ’s just this one particular town where toilet shots are mandatory. After all, this chap says heÂ’s personally seen twenty of his friends in photos of them sitting on a toilet. And heÂ’s only seventeen. Imagine how many toilet shots he will have seen if he lives a long healthy life in that town. Perhaps IÂ’m missing something. Am I the only one not photographing people on the toilet?

And while I have no idea what type of person this girl is, I do take issue with her posing like a pin-up, in a bikini, on the WWII Monument. ThatÂ’s just bad taste. Personally, I like chicks in bikinis, but posing on the WWII Monument is pretty insulting to what that monument stands for.

It doesnÂ’t seem to bother some people, however:

"She's this attractive, talented girl who's also intelligent and knows where she wants to go," Reid said. "I consider her a role model for my daughter."

On a related note:

Her first performance on which viewers could vote, a rendition of Aerosmith's "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing," was roundly panned by the judges.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 11:01 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Read it and not be surprised.

The Tennessee Center for Policy Research, an independent, nonprofit and nonpartisan research organization, issued a press release late Monday:

“Last night, Al Gore’s global-warming documentary, An Inconvenient Truth, collected an Oscar for best documentary feature, but the Tennessee Center for Policy Research has found that Gore deserves a gold statue for hypocrisy.

Gore’s mansion, [20-room, eight-bathroom] located in the posh Belle Meade area of Nashville, consumes more electricity every month than the average American household uses in an entire year, according to the Nashville Electric Service (NES).”

This guy consumes more power in a month than most people do all year!

“In his documentary, the former Vice President calls on Americans to conserve energy by reducing electricity consumption at home.

The average household in America consumes 10,656 kilowatt-hours (kWh) per year, according to the Department of Energy. In 2006, Gore devoured nearly 221,000 kWh—more than 20 times the national average.

Last August alone, Gore burned through 22,619 kWh—guzzling more than twice the electricity in one month than an average American family uses in an entire year. As a result of his energy consumption, Gore’s average monthly electric bill topped $1,359.

Since the release of An Inconvenient Truth, GoreÂ’s energy consumption has increased from an average of 16,200 kWh per month in 2005, to 18,400 kWh per month in 2006.

GoreÂ’s extravagant energy use does not stop at his electric bill. Natural gas bills for GoreÂ’s mansion and guest house averaged $1,080 per month last year.

“As the spokesman of choice for the global warming movement, Al Gore has to be willing to walk to walk, not just talk the talk, when it comes to home energy use,” said Tennessee Center for Policy Research President Drew Johnson.

In total, Gore paid nearly $30,000 in combined electricity and natural gas bills for his Nashville estate in 2006.”

What an asshole.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 11:00 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Britney Spears shaved her head.

Seriously, like we didn't see this one coming. Afterall, she's a middle child; and as such is predisposed to being an avid attention whore. So let's all gawk and stare at the crazy person.

5 to 1 her next album sells in packs of 15 as commemorative coasters. Takers?

Posted by: shank at 11:25 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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No matter where I go I am assaulted by media reports regarding Anna Nicole Smith.

First off, I barely know who the hell she is. I think sheÂ’s some broad who married a 90 year old man, obviously for the checkbook. ThatÂ’s about the extent of my knowledge. But judging by the media youÂ’d think she split the fucking atom. Everywhere I turn itÂ’s nothing but news about this woman. Does anyone give a shit?

Please stop the madness.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 07:26 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I gotta tell you, IÂ’m just not buying it.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 06:34 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Yes, it's American Idol season again. You know, I usually don't watch the whole season, but I always tune in for the first few episodes. Maybe it's because I'm evil, and I have a soul that's blacker than sin itself; but at least I know I'm not alone: millions of people are watching with me.

I mean, the beginning is the best part. You get to watch all these people line up, illusions clutched tightly to their tuneless breasts; and sing at the top of their horribly cacophonous lungs. My God, and when they're told they suck; we get to witness one of two events:
1) The condescending insults of industry professionals who shatter said illusion in the immensely public arena of national television, somehow to the surprise of the contestant and/or
2) The determination to cling to said illusion and persist in now obvious and inarguable suckitude.
The whole thing is truly a testament to the hilarious depths to which a person will plunge themselves because, for no reason other than they believe, they believe.

I mean, do parents not tell their kids to 'Quit acting like a moron and grow up' anymore? Thank god my parents said that to me, or I'd probably be in my underwear on that damn show playing a set of LeCruset cookware with a pair of wooden spoons. I sure thought I was good at it as a child, until my parents told me to 'Quit acting like a moron and grow up'.

I mean, I'm sure most of us like the sound of our voice. Who doesn't sing to themselves every now and again, right? But just because I sound like Pavofrickinratti when I'm in the car with the windows rolled up and the stereo at 11, doesn't mean I'm going to get up on stage and start singing show tunes. Here's the thing - if you're really and truly good at some trade or another, then you've probably made money doing it. If you've never been on stage, never performed even at a local bar for tips, then you probably haven't got an infidel's chance in paradise of ever making it past the humiliation of the show's first episode.

In closing, I'll steal a quote:
"Life is hard. But it's harder when you're stupid."

Posted by: shank at 09:10 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Heap on the wood! - the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.

~ Sir Walter Scott

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 05:06 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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This was posted on my original blog, about a hundred years ago. I'm still haunted by this tale--ed.

When I was little kid, maybe four or five years old, my parents did something horrible to me. I still hold a grudge.

It was Christmas morning, circa 1967. I woke up and ran straight to the tree. And what I saw was too good to be true. There was a drum set. A sparkling red drum set. Santa left it for me.

I played those drums all day. It was fantastic. I played through lunch and dinner. I played until it was time to go to bed. I played until I was forced to stop.

The next morning I woke up early and ran straight for the drums, but when I got there the drums were gone. Vanished without a trace. I completely freaked out.

“Where are my drums!” I screamed. “They’re gone!”

My mother was standing over me. I knew something was terribly wrong.

“Santa came and took the drums away last night. He said you were too little to play them, and that he would bring them back when you get older.”

I began to shriek and wail. I cried and cried, while my mother just looked on. I was shocked that Santa would do something like this. It was horribly cruel. It was unjust.

Somehow, over the next ten years, I forgot about the incident.

Then one day I was up in the attic looking for something. I must have been around fifteen at the time. The attic was like a messy museum. To find anything you had to dig and explore, move boxes covered with dust and tightrope walk on the beams so you wouldnÂ’t fall through the ceiling.

I had just moved a box and way in the back something caught my eye. I swept the flashlight beam in that direction. What I saw was astonishing. It was the red drum set.

I climbed back there at great personal risk and retrieved the drums and cymbals. The whole episode came back to me with remarkable clarity. I was very sad. However, my emotion soon turned to anger. I went downstairs and found my parents.

“I can’t believe what you did,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” my mother said.

“I found the drums! I found the goddamned drums from when I was five! Santa took them away, remember?”

“Oh, boy. Here we go,” she said.

“Yes. Here we go indeed. Do you know I thought I imagined all that? I can’t believe the cruelty.”

“Listen,” she said in a calm voice. “You banged away on those things for hours. You were driving us all nuts. It was so loud that we couldn’t have a conversation. The noise was terrible, we had to do something.”

I walked away from the conversation. I have never forgotten that episode. And every Christmas since then I have brought it up to my mother. It was 35 years ago and IÂ’m still pissed off.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 06:55 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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‘Tis the season.

Two days ago I was driving down the road and was passed by a car with flat tire. I did a double take, thinking I must be mistaken, but sure enough the right rear tire was flat and the old bastard just kept cruising on the rim. As if that was not strange enough, this morning I saw another car with a flat, not in the passing lane, but still, driving at about 40 MPH. Not a care in the world.

I went to get a new star for the top of the tree on Saturday and the place was a madhouse, full of insanely rude Christmas shoppers. Carts smashing into people, et al. Those people had murder I their eyes. It’s amazing the number of people who desperately need a lesson in humility—by way of a brutal beating.

Meanwhile the Christmas cards are pouring in and in a way they anger the hell out of me, as itÂ’s a lot of work to pump these things out, and I know that we must diligently reciprocate. At the last minute obscure people always send cards and we need to scurry so we donÂ’t go to hell or whatever. ItÂ’s getting to the point that when I hear Christmas music my natural reaction is to tense up all my muscles like IÂ’m preparing to take a punch in the gut from Mike Tyson.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 05:31 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 251 words, total size 1 kb.

Tomorrow evening IÂ’m expecting a guest. I have never met him, nor have I ever spoken to him on the phone. He will be spending the night and his name is Shank.

This is not a test.

The only thing I havenÂ’t decided is who IÂ’m going to have answer the door and say itÂ’s me. IÂ’m torn between a 400LB black man and a 94 LB Vietnamese guy with womenÂ’s glasses.

Maybe IÂ’ll just do it myself in the nude. Decisions, decisions, decisions.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 07:08 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
Post contains 86 words, total size 1 kb.

From the more great words in print series:

Somewhere in England a guy thought it would be a good idea to try and shoot fireworks out of his ass. The money line:

“He is now recovering in a Sunderland hospital after sustaining internal injuries including a scorched colon.”

A scorched colon. Speechless.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 05:09 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 66 words, total size 1 kb.

I normally donÂ’t post or care about this kind of thing but this is just too good. Britney Spears told her swollen nard bag of a husband that she was divorcing him. Via a text message. The best part, however, is the quote:

“Federline, her former backing dancer, was later seen crouched in a corner crying.”

I guess IÂ’m an ass, but thereÂ’s nothing I enjoy more than seeing something like that in print.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 05:30 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 82 words, total size 1 kb.