November 19, 2009

A favorite revisited

It's been a couple of years since I posted pictures of the lovely Michelle Ryan. This is due in large part to The Bionic Woman having fallen afoul of the last writers' strike. In any event, she looks even hotter now, if that's possible.

Okay, I lie: it is possible. Click on images to embiggen.



If I were single, younger, richer and much, much more handsome, I still wouldn't have a snowball's chance in Hell with her. But hey, she'd be the most physically awesome woman to turn me down/kick me in the nuts so, you know, I'd have that goin' for me.

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Holiday greetings

It's once again that time of year when I repost stale holiday humor. Expect this to continue, more or less, through the end of the year.

Due to the ever-increasing cost of postage, and my decreasing ability to write legibly, here is my card to cover every holiday of the rest of our lives.


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Old. old joke (repost) UPDATED

Laura- in the comments- typed an alternate ending to this tale:

Love it. I emailed your link to a couple of friends and one responded -

I suggest this as a more appropriate ending:

Of course, being a Democrat, his actions were too little, too late. While he had stuck his finger in the air gauging public opinion and had his Chief of Staff commission countless polls, the Anu'udrians had been busy. So what if they had to enter the earth's atmosphere illegally? There was plenty of precedent to believe that the Dems would try to put them on the voter rolls rather than expel them, so they forged on with their diabolical scheme. They had successfully borked Harris by linking him to Sarah Palin, so his demise was a mere technicality. As their ship hurtled through space towards the blue planet, their leader gave the command and the second lithium fusion missle streaked towards America's capital city. At that precise moment, the President gazed through the bulletproof glass of the Oval Office and was terrified at the realization that the flame streaking towards him was the tail of the missile. "Shit," he said to himself, "the Republicans were right. Why was I such a wimp?" A moment later he was pulverized as Anu'udrian weapon found its target. The American experiment was over. The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave was now an ashheap, having fallen to the enemy because Congress and the President did not have the cojones to do the right thing but preferred instead to cave to the radical left who insisted that we could indeed buy the world a Coke and sing Kumbaya in perfect harmony.

I replied:

Sarah Palin unexpectedly rose from the ashheap like a phoenix, wielding a strange weapon cobbled together from spare snowmobile parts by a team of Alaskans in a fit of patriotic ingenuity when they'd seen what a pantywaist the President was*. The ghost of Ronald Reagan appeared, glowing with the hope and optimism he had not just talked about in soaring rhetoric, but backed up by acting as though he actually believed America was worth defending. "You can do it, Sarah! No arsenal or no weapon in the arsenals of the world is so formidable as the will and moral courage of free men and women. They counted on America to be passive. They counted wrong.** "

Sarah's jaw set, she aimed carefully, and with a quick prayer, pulled the trigger. The weapon emitted a beam of light that vaporized the Anu'udrian ship. The rest of the Anu'udrian fleet collectively wet their pants and flew home at Warp 9, leaving a beacon orbiting Earth that proclaimed, "Don't screw with these people. They'll mess you up. Seriously."

Palin was elected President by popular acclaim, and although Washington remained a slag heap thanks to the lithium fusion missile, nobody really missed it.

*The Brit press really has called him President Pantywaist. Truth is stranger than fiction, eh?
**actual Reagan quotes. Well, except the Sarah part.

I really need to update my blogroll. There are too many people that aren't on there, and there are a few that need to be deleted, as the blogs in question, much the Norwegian Blue, are apparently pining for the fjords. However, Blogrolling's clickable links now add craptastic ad lines at the top. I don't decry them trying to make money, but I frakking hate that ugly little widget. So now I'm relegated to building my blogroll again. From scratch. That thought pleases me about as much as drinking a warm gin and finding a hair in it.

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What he said

From the fertile keyboard of Instapunk:

But here's what I don't get. Hating Sarah Palin. That's my whole point here. Think about it. Who do you have to be to hate Sarah Palin?

And through my general skittishness and protectiveness, I'm perceiving this as a major-league, big-time question. If you're a woman, you hate her because she's beautiful, famous, happily married, a devoted mother, and strong enough to endure an unending media assault indistinguishable for all intents and purposes from gang rape? Really? You hate her? WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? What I know for sure: I don't ever want to be in your bed or have you in any part of my life. You're a cunt.

If you're a man, you hate her because she's beautiful, famous, happily married, a devoted mother, and strong enough to endure an unending media assault indistinguishable for all intents and purposes from gang rape? Really? You hate her? WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? What I know for sure: I don't want you as a friend, an in-law, a colleague, a business acquaintance, or even the stranger sitting next to me on a barstool. If I knew you felt that way, I would never return even a business phone call, let alone shake your hand in a corporate conference room or play you a game of 8-ball in a local tavern. You're a worthless prick and probably a violent mysogynist suffering from -- what do they call it now? -- erectile dysfunction. No wonder we're all about 'texting' now. ED = PC. But a limp dick is a limp dick and infinitely more pitiful for being a partisan cause.

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November 17, 2009

How to cook a turkey

Reposted from last year.

This has been making its way around the Internet since 1500 B.C., even though the first computer still hadn't been manufactured yet. However, if there's one thing that you can count on me for, it's recycling the stalest holiday humor you've ever seen between now and the New Year.

Step 1: Go buy a turkey

Step 2: Take a drink of whiskey, scotch, or JD

Step 3: Put turkey in the oven

Step 4: Take another 2 drinks of whiskey

Step 5: Set the degree at 375 ovens

Step 6: Take 3 more whiskeys of drink

Step 7: Turn oven the on

Step 8: Take 4 whisks of drinky

Step 9: Turk the bastey

Step 10: Whiskey another bottle of get

Step 11: Stick a turkey in the thermometer

Step 12: Glass yourself a pour of whiskey

Step 13: Bake the whiskey for 4 hours

Step 14: Take the oven out of the turkey

Step 15: Take the oven out of the turkey

Step 16: Floor the turkey up off the pick

Step 17: Turk the carvey

Step 18: Get yourself another scottle of botch

Step 19: Tet the sable and pour yourself a glass of turkey(Ed. note: this didn't used to be possible)

Step 20: Bless the saying, pass and eat out

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A special Thanksgiving Day message

Reposted from last year. 'Tis the season and all that jazz.

piece of me.jpg

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It is to laugh

Courtesy of the lovely and talented Mary Katharine Ham comes a link to this special news report:


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November 13, 2009

Better than the original

Far be it from me to say anything negative about the ample charms Christina Hendricks displays weekly on Mad Men. However, I have to say that the following series reboot surpasses the original:

Milk Men - A Mad Men Parody

There's only one thing missing: no one smokes milk. I'm just saying.

Thanks to Neal Boortz for the find.

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November 12, 2009

I don't do Nyquil but...

Nyquil makes me want to bark. Frankly, that's not a good trade-off to make for the "sniffling, sneezing, coughing, stuff head-fever-so-you-can-rest" medicine. However, I know that many people swear by, rather than at, the stuff, so here's how to make your own.

n place of Acetaminophen (pain and fever reliever), Dextromethorphan HBr (cough suppressant), and Doxylamine succinate (sleep aid) we used green chile, ginger, citric acid and booze -- all herbal, if subtler, forms of the chemical stuff. A couple shots, errr, doses, of the stuff is perfect for sitting on the couch in a sweatshirt and sweating out your germs. Take that Big Pharma!

2 cups fresh mint leaves
1 cup water
1 cup agave nectar (sugar, honey work)
1 small ginger bulb
1 lemon
1 tsp. extra virgin olive oil
1 Tbs. roasted green chile
2 shots Pastis
2 shots Southern Comfort

1. Start off making a mint simple syrup. Pluck 35-40 mint leaves off their stems, this should yield about 2 cups of mint. Roughly chop half the mint (set half aside for later use) and add to a saucepot with 1 cup of water. Bring to a boil and let simmer for about 5-8 minutes. Remove from heat and strain the leaves out. Put just the mint tea back on a medium heat and wait until back to a full boil. Add agave nectar, mixing, and let cook 1 minute before removing. Set aside to cool.

2. Ready your other veggies for the blender. First peel the ginger and slice into matchsticks. Next, zest your lemon, place the zest into a small dish and cover with 1 tsp. of good quality olive oil.

3. Toss the ginger, green chile and remaining cup of fresh mint to the blender. Add lemon juice. Finally add half the mint syrup, setting the rest aside for garnish. Pulse thoroughly for up to a minute. (Note: If you do not have the luxury of having authentic green chile, try subbing in a roasted jalapeño. Remove the seeds and use half in place of green chile.)

4. Strain the mixture into a bowl. Use a spoon to slush it around, allowing it to pass through the sieve or fine mesh strainer. Now you have the fresh juice part of your elixer! Taste it with a spoon, if it seems too tart or spicy, add more mint syrup one teaspoon at a time.

5. Mix. The basic proportion is one-part juice to one-part pastis to one-part whiskey. For a single dose: measure out a tablespoon of each into a cocktail shaker. Add a teaspoon of lemon zest oil. Complete with 3 ice cubes and shake fervently. Pour into a shot glass or desert wine snifter.

Tip of the blog to Lifehacker.

If it tastes at all like the original, maggots everyone will be committing suicide rather than be forced to gag over it. However, have at it if you're so inclined.

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November 10, 2009

We have a winner

And for once it's me!

Oh sure, Rodney Dill would win pretty much every week if he weren't running the darned thing (he wins most weeks over at Wizbang), but I'll take my meager victory in this week's caption contest.

Here's the photo:


And here was my caption:

First: physics geek – A band consisting of Chicago area voters gathered for a jam session.

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November 05, 2009

Unless your heart is stone, this will make you weep a little

Frankly, I couldn't categorize this story found via Ace, so I shoved it into my catch all "errata". Actually, I put it there because my vision was blurry after reading the article and I knew that "errata" was at the bottom of the list. Anyway.

Short version: A little girl is diagnosed with inoperable brain cancer and dies about a year later. Since then, her parents have been finding notes she wrote and stashed all around the house, such as this:


My little girl writes me notes like this all the time. It's beyond sweet and makes my heart swell with joy. I cannot imagine how much it would hurt me if something were to happen to her, nor can I imagine my reaction to finding notes like that. I'll guess that they would make me cry and smile at the same time.

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A new twist on removing a cork

I've opened beer bottles using my hand and the edge of a table. I've ruined a cheap Swiss Army knife knockoff using the tinfoil corkscrew to open a wine bottle. And I've even pushed the cork down into the bottle just so that I could get to the grape. However, I've never in my entire life opened a bottle of wine with my shoe:

Kudos to Lifehacker for finding this gem.

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Jay Stephenson of Stop the ACLU interviews Misha, someone who I've been reading since blogging was still in its infancy. I almost didn't recognize the Emperor's tone, because a few choice Anglo-Saxon invectives were missing from the text.

I keed, I keed. Misha's always a worthy ready, but I really enjoy when he gets his dander up. I get that this interview wasn't really the venue for that.

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November 04, 2009

Old. old joke (repost)

Think of a repost as a rerun of an episode of a much beloved television series. Or not. Whatever.

I first saw this on rec.humor eons ago. Not exactly sure what made me think of it, but I couldn't resist posting it.

By the way, don't take too seriously the "it's real" part.

Tandem Writing Assignment

The following is a true story received from an English professor.

You know that book "Men are from Mars, Women from Venus"? Well, here's a prime example of that. This assignment was actually turned in by two of my English students: Rebecca (last name deleted) and Gary (last name deleted).

First, the Assignment:

English 44A
Creative Writing
Prof. Miller

In-Class Assignment for Wednesday:
Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. One of you will then write the first paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth.

Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached.

And now, the Assignment as submitted by Rebecca & Gary:

Rebecca starts:

At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The camomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked camomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So camomile was out of the question.


Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far...". But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.


He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel." Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth -- when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.


Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through Congress had left earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion which vaporized Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's blow 'em out of the sky!"


This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.


Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium.





My guess is that they have 5 children now.

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My geeky past paid off for once

Rodney Dill graciously awarded me first place in a recent caption contest. Of course, that's only because I didn't have to compete against Rodney Dill, but I'll take what I can get.

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October 29, 2009


I just checked my Sitemeter log, something that I rarely do because it's freakishly depressing. I noticed the average number of visits was way up - for me- and I checked the past seven days. Turns out that my traffic tripled on Saturday? WTF?! I didn't actually post anything over the weekend. Hmm. Maybe that's the secret for me. Anyway, since I don't pay for the Sitemeter premium service, I have no idea what drove people my way this past weekend. If I knew, I'd do it again.

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You'll pry my hot shower from my cold dead hands

The subject line above fully encapsulates my thoughts on this piece of idiocy linked by the Puppy Blender:


So to stop the Earth from burning up in a CO2 induced conflagration, I should

  • Unbirth my children
  • Eat my pets
  • Stop taking hot showers
  • Stop eating meat
  • Replace my sub-compact with an even smaller piece of crap that costs more than twice as much as my current vehicle and is likely to need replacement before it passes the 100k mileage mark.

Is that about right? If I do all these things, Gaia will love me and showers blessings on me and mine?

Let's get one thing clear: Gaia is worth whatever I can extract from her wrinkled, rocky hide, and not one thing more.

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October 26, 2009

From the wayback machine

I give you the classic Bambi Meets Godzilla:

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October 21, 2009

I'm a criminal

A guy in my state is up making coffee in his own kitchen at 5:30 a.m. in the buff, but hey, it's his house. Anyway, a woman and her daughter were traipsing across his lawn at that time [ed. note: WTF?] and saw him sans clothes in his own house. So the cops are called. Do they arrest the trespassers/peeping Thomasinas? No, of course not. They arrested the guy for being naked in his house. In their words, "He wanted to be seen."

So it's possible that this guy will get convicted, pay a $2000 fine and spend up to a year in jail. He might even have to register as a sex offender. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with this picture?

Posted by: Physics Geek at 02:42 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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From your keyboard to God's eyes

TMQ, as is its wont, slides into topics other than football and Gregg Easterbrook makes the following observation:

Seniors as a group are the best-off segment of American society. Multimillion-dollar bonuses to bungling bankers are more outrageous than a $250 check, but the total expense of the latter is greater, while in both cases, government is taxing the less-well-off, or borrowing from the young, to hand a giveaway to a politically connected lobbying block. Our new president must learn to pronounce the word "no," or liberalism will be discredited for a generation.

Posted by: Physics Geek at 11:47 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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