26 October 2010
25 October 2010
ignorance is. . .umm. . .
Good for you, Sarah Palin. A lesser human might have wilted under the blaze of her own, blinding hypocrisy.
But not you. You're a regular gal who gets paid $100k for a night of speaking. Only in your world could a Tea Party made of mostly old, rich whites bitching about taxes somehow be called a "revolution."
And you keep on:
- Taking shots at the "elite media" while flying through your multi-million-dollar book tour in a Learjet.
- Ranting against "socialized healthcare" even though your own family hopped the border to mooch. . .um. . ."socialized healthcare" from Canada.
- Calling yourself a feminist despite being the furthest possible thing from it.
- Complaining about "gotcha" journalism despite recently having to be told that Africa was not, in fact, a country.
- Lecturing people about abstinence-only education when your teenage daughter is already a single mom.
click here to see the t-shirts
22 October 2010
now this is cool. . er, rather, hot!
These candy apple red cylinders started out life innocently enough as a couple of fire extinguishers. But after they ran out of foam, they got a second life as a pair of speakers.
21 October 2010
the rent is too damned high
The most interesting debater in Kentucky this week was Jimmy McMillan of The Rent Is Too Damn High Party.
McMillan wore black gloves and had a moustache that wound around his head like a ribbon, and a goatee that looked like two little fuzzy gerbils hanging from his chin. He was very, very, very angry. . .particularly about the rents, which he pointed out were too damn high.
After the debate, Sarah Maslin Nir of The New York Times tracked him down in Brooklyn to discover that McMillan’s own personal rent is, according to McMillan. . .zero. His landlords, he said, are “like family. They don’t want me to pay any money at all. I am basically living rent free.”
'Scuse me?
14 October 2010
13 October 2010
the weirdest dream i have ever had,
or
i was so tired i was fried.
This was my dream. Last night.
• • • • •
I was a Captain in the United States Army, stationed as a NATO Liaison Officer/Advisor at a small Russian Military Academy outside Moscow.
At one time we had a visiting dignitary—a Colonel from the USA—who was treated to the finest of Russian hospitality.
He and the other Russian Officers had all sat down in the Mess Hall to a lunch of Chicken, Mashed Potatoes and Gravy, Biscuits and Corn, much to the Colonel’s delight. He ate at a leisurely pace; his hosts enjoyed the time as he regaled them with stories of life in the Southern United States.
Sharply at noon, the Mess staff hustled all of them away from their table—500 or so cadets were due to flood through the doors in moments for the midday meal. The Colonel was beside himself, for he hadn’t finished his meal.
It was shortly after this when I came to meet the Colonel in the Commandant’s office for the first time.
He was livid, in a forceful-with-a-Southern-charm kind of way. He was there to complain about his treatment in the Mess Hall, and I had to act quickly.
The Commandant did not know how this Colonel could not possibly understand that feeding 2,000 cadets in four shifts required clearing the Mess Hall every half hour starting at noon, hence the abrupt end to their otherwise leisurely midday meal. He was embarrassed, but he certainly did not want to receive a lecture on how to run his school and his Mess hall.
I translated the Commandant’s concerns and apologies in the most diplomatic of terms to the Colonel, and explained that no slight or insult was intended by the Russians when they terminated his lunch, fabulous as it was, with all haste and no warning.
I explained in Russian to the Commandant that the Colonel was an American celebrity of sorts, and he must be treated with the utmost care. I told the Commandant exactly who this visiting American was.
The visitor was Colonel Sanders.
• • • • •
This work is Copyrighted ©2010 by boredstiffgeeks.
It may not be reproduced in any manner
without the express written consent of the author.
08 October 2010
for men. . .
share this with the woman you love. . .
with a wink and a smile.
Fall Classes
for Women
at
THE ADULT LEARNING CENTER
REGISTRATION MUST BE COMPLETED
By Tuesday Nov 30, 2010
NOTE: DUE TO THE COMPLEXITY AND DIFFICULTY LEVEL OF THEIR CONTENTS,
CLASSES WILL BE LIMITED TO 8 PARTICIPANTS .
Class 1
Up in Winter, Down in Summer:
How to Adjust a Thermostat
Step by Step, with Slide Presentation.
Meets 4 weeks, Monday and Wednesday for 2 hrs beginning at 7:00 PM..
Class 2
Which Takes More Energy,
Putting the Toilet Seat Down,
or Bitching About It for 3 Hours?
Roundtable Discussion.
Meets 2 weeks, Saturday 12:00 for 2 hours.
Class 3
Is It Possible To Drive Past a Wal-Mart
Without Stopping?
Group Debate.
Meets 4 weeks, Saturday 10:00 PM for 2 hours.
Class 4
Fundamental Differences Between
a Purse and a Suitcase--
with Pictures and Explanations.
Meets Saturdays at 2:00 PM for 3 weeks.
Class 5
Curling Irons:
Can They Levitate and
Fly Into The Bathroom Cabinet?
Examples on Video.
Meets 4 weeks, Tuesday and Thursday for 2 hours beginning At 7:00 PM
Class 6
Learning to Ask Questions
During Commercials and to
Be Quiet During the Program
Help Line and Support Groups.
Meets 4 Weeks, Friday and Sunday 7:00 PM
Class 7
Is it Possible to Take a Bath
Without 14 Different Kinds
of Soaps and Shampoos?
Open Forum.
Monday at 8:00 PM, 2 hours.
Class 8
Health Watch:
They Make Medicine for PMS.
Learn to USE IT!
Three nights--Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 7:00 PM for 2 hours.
Class 9
I Was Wrong and
He Was Right!
Real-Life Testimonials.
Tuesdays at 6:00 PM Location to be determined.
Class 10
How to Parallel Park
In Less Than 20 Minutes
Without Filing an Insurance Claim.
Hands-On Lab.
4 weeks, Saturdays at noon, 2 hours.
Class 11
Learning to Live:
Apply The Brakes Without
Throwing Passengers
Through the Windshield .
Tuesdays at 7:00 PM, location to be determined
Class 12
How to Shop By Yourself.
Meets 4 weeks, Tuesday and Thursday 7:00 to 9:00 PM.
Upon completion of ANY
of the above courses,
diplomas will be issued
to the survivors.
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