Okay, I sat back and grinned smugly when Carrie Prejean’s sex tape went public. I think it highlighted her often-overlooked skankiness. And when Governor Sanford told the world he was going to work on his marriage, despite the woman in Argentina being his ‘soul mate’, I had to almost feel sorry for him. How stupid could he be? I mean, what was the dimwit thinking?
But John Edwards, you have totally crossed the line. (Actually, I think it was quite a number of lines you crossed over.) Your wife is battling a devastating form of cancer and you frickin’ have an affair. You want to be president, so you sire a child out-of-wedlock to increase your chances. (The child can’t vote for 18 years, you dumbfuck! And I wouldn’t count on him to vote for you anyway!) And you have it videoed!
I am outraged. As much as anything, I am mad at myself for having supported you in the past. But face it dude, from the gutter to you ain’t up! (I borrowed that from a classic old song.) Just because you are a political big-wig with nice hair doesn’t mean you get to have sex with everyone you want. Didn’t you learn anything from the Clinton years?
But this gives me an idea for a very profitable venture: an epic porn film starring Carrie and John. A little something for everyone! I’ve got to run, I need to write the script for my new project.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Celebrating 121 Years of Sisterhood.
Quite an accomplishment for a couple of young women like you!!!
And thank god you have maintained your sense of style!!!
Happy Birthday, dear sisters!!!
The Competition Warms Up
January 24, 2009
Dear Mr. & Mrs. Holiday Inn,
Bedwarmer Extraordinaire: yes, that is I. If you want your hotel to be swankier than the competition, you need the best bedwarmer money can buy. Excusez-moi, mais c’est moi.
Don’t be fooled by other self-proclaimed ‘bedwarmers’. They are inferior Brand X. I’ve seen your last applicants, Max and Trixie, at work. Your guests will be chilled by their very presence. I am the bedwarmer you are looking for.
I don’t come cheap, but the best seldom does. Just know that I am worth the investment.
Send me your best offer.
Warm regards,
Ralph
Saturday, January 23, 2010
From MSN.com:
"International hotel chain Holiday Inn is offering a trial human bed-warming service at three hotels in Britain this month."
I know, I know, I’m a little freaked out by it, too. Some dude in a suit lays in your bed so that it is all toasty when you come to bed. There are a lot of sick and twisted directions I could go with this story, but, as always, I will go the wholesome and mature route.
I’ve got a couple of incredible bed warmers, and they may not know it yet, but they are out there on the job market.
I know, I know, I’m a little freaked out by it, too. Some dude in a suit lays in your bed so that it is all toasty when you come to bed. There are a lot of sick and twisted directions I could go with this story, but, as always, I will go the wholesome and mature route.
I’ve got a couple of incredible bed warmers, and they may not know it yet, but they are out there on the job market.
January 23, 2010
Dear Sir or Madam,
Please allow us to introduce ourselves. The large, king-sized bed warmer is Trixie, and the smaller, personal warmer is Max. As a team we are capable of warming more beds per hour that the average Joe. Add to that our natural snuggleability and I’m sure that you will see what a valuable addition we could be to your team at Holiday Inn.
As the foremost in our field, we do expect our compensation package would allow us to maintain the lifestyle to which we have become accustomed. We would expect our generous salary to be deposited directly into our Swiss bank accounts, paid leave, insurance, sick pay, a retirement plan and all the treats we can eat.
Please respond at your earliest convenience.
Your future employees,
Trixie and Max
Friday, January 22, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
O'Brien
Conan O'Brien accepted $45million to quit his job.
I told my boss that he could save $2.5million by offering me a scant $42.5 million to walk away from my job.
I hate to lower my standards like that, but in these difficult financial times, I, too, will make sacrifices for the good of the order.
I told my boss that he could save $2.5million by offering me a scant $42.5 million to walk away from my job.
I hate to lower my standards like that, but in these difficult financial times, I, too, will make sacrifices for the good of the order.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
They must be hilarious!
I came across these old comics I clipped years ago.
I think the "Cats With Hands" goes back to my days in Eugene. I guess I've been weird for quite a while now.
I think the "Cats With Hands" goes back to my days in Eugene. I guess I've been weird for quite a while now.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
I Had a Dream.
(Note: if you are expecting something socially relevant with deep meaning, à la Martin Luther King, Jr., move on. You will be sadly disappointed. For the rest of you, get a bucket of popcorn and read on.)
Much of the dream has, of course, vanished into the night, but I do remember some key highlights and learned some valuable lessons. The basis of the dream was that Richard and I were getting married (again or whatever – as I say, some details are lost.) Speaking of lost, somewhere between our hotel room on Capitol Hill and Alki Beach in West Seattle, where the ceremony and reception was suppose to be held, we took a wrong turn. Richard was driving, I was the navigator and there were hundreds of cars following us. Why is it that the navigator always takes the brunt of the blame when there is a wrong turn? I think the pilot should bear some of the responsibility. But no, Richard was too busy counting the orange traffic cones to notice the “Welcome to Colorado” sign. Everyone was mad at me, and me alone.
Some of the other lessons I ascertained will be very helpful to many of you.
First of all, Jane, that flapper dress you were wearing looked great on you. The 1920’s was definitely your decade. But lose the foot long, solid silver cigarette holder you were flaunting. It’s dangerous (you could put an eye out with that thing) and everyone was wondering exactly what you were smoking.
And Karla, we are all tickled pink that you’ve found a new interest, with great possibilities for future employment, but we just aren’t sure that becoming a licensed GNAT (Genuine Native American Tracker) is the right career move for you. Realistically, after you put your ear to the ground it took you too long to stand back up again for any of the data you gathered to have any real value, (the buffalo herd had moved) and some of your less-kind siblings were making crass comments about your buckskin miniskirt. Frankly, I’m concerned that it borders on racial insensitivity and is fraught with stereotypes.
For all of you, you might want ask some key questions before booking a room at a hotel that you aren’t familiar with. “Do you have any problems with packs of wild dogs wandering the halls?” is a question I will always ask in the future. And you might want to determine, in advance, if you need to bring your own light bulbs. And lamps. And electric generator.
Oh, and if you are planning to get married at “Wendy’s Wild World of Weddings” in Colorado Springs, CO, I would strongly suggest that you make reservations first, or you may end up in the employee break room with a security guard reciting the Gettysburg Address. (On the bright side, he was wearing a snazzy uniform and he had a gun, so he kept the ceremony organized and moved it along at a crisp tempo!)
Another key point: we don’t have a cousin Constance who is married to Guido, the owner of ‘Guido’s Fine Cement Overshoes’ down on the waterfront. But don’t argue with them. If they want Coney Dogs, get them Coney Dogs.
But really, everyone had a grand time. I think I’ll go into wedding planning when (and if) I grow up!
Much of the dream has, of course, vanished into the night, but I do remember some key highlights and learned some valuable lessons. The basis of the dream was that Richard and I were getting married (again or whatever – as I say, some details are lost.) Speaking of lost, somewhere between our hotel room on Capitol Hill and Alki Beach in West Seattle, where the ceremony and reception was suppose to be held, we took a wrong turn. Richard was driving, I was the navigator and there were hundreds of cars following us. Why is it that the navigator always takes the brunt of the blame when there is a wrong turn? I think the pilot should bear some of the responsibility. But no, Richard was too busy counting the orange traffic cones to notice the “Welcome to Colorado” sign. Everyone was mad at me, and me alone.
Some of the other lessons I ascertained will be very helpful to many of you.
First of all, Jane, that flapper dress you were wearing looked great on you. The 1920’s was definitely your decade. But lose the foot long, solid silver cigarette holder you were flaunting. It’s dangerous (you could put an eye out with that thing) and everyone was wondering exactly what you were smoking.
And Karla, we are all tickled pink that you’ve found a new interest, with great possibilities for future employment, but we just aren’t sure that becoming a licensed GNAT (Genuine Native American Tracker) is the right career move for you. Realistically, after you put your ear to the ground it took you too long to stand back up again for any of the data you gathered to have any real value, (the buffalo herd had moved) and some of your less-kind siblings were making crass comments about your buckskin miniskirt. Frankly, I’m concerned that it borders on racial insensitivity and is fraught with stereotypes.
For all of you, you might want ask some key questions before booking a room at a hotel that you aren’t familiar with. “Do you have any problems with packs of wild dogs wandering the halls?” is a question I will always ask in the future. And you might want to determine, in advance, if you need to bring your own light bulbs. And lamps. And electric generator.
Oh, and if you are planning to get married at “Wendy’s Wild World of Weddings” in Colorado Springs, CO, I would strongly suggest that you make reservations first, or you may end up in the employee break room with a security guard reciting the Gettysburg Address. (On the bright side, he was wearing a snazzy uniform and he had a gun, so he kept the ceremony organized and moved it along at a crisp tempo!)
Another key point: we don’t have a cousin Constance who is married to Guido, the owner of ‘Guido’s Fine Cement Overshoes’ down on the waterfront. But don’t argue with them. If they want Coney Dogs, get them Coney Dogs.
But really, everyone had a grand time. I think I’ll go into wedding planning when (and if) I grow up!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Planning the Vacation.
Some details are finalized. We have an apartment in Avignon from July 10 to July 17. We’ll spend Bastille Day on the edge of Provence and Languedoc.
We have found an IcelandAir flight from Portland to Paris that meets our needs, as cheaply as can be expected. We will spend two days and one night in Iceland. Then fly to Paris and spend a week there and then to Avignon for a week. After that a couple of night in Carcassonne and Lourdes, and then, sadly, return home.
I offered to make the flight reservations tonight, but Richard asked that I hold off until he was available. And I quote, “Shannon won’t be in Reykjavik or Paris to pick us up at 3AM. Let me be there when you make the reservations, OK?”
So tomorrow we will finalize the flight plans.
I’m going to Iceland! WOO!!!!!
We have found an IcelandAir flight from Portland to Paris that meets our needs, as cheaply as can be expected. We will spend two days and one night in Iceland. Then fly to Paris and spend a week there and then to Avignon for a week. After that a couple of night in Carcassonne and Lourdes, and then, sadly, return home.
I offered to make the flight reservations tonight, but Richard asked that I hold off until he was available. And I quote, “Shannon won’t be in Reykjavik or Paris to pick us up at 3AM. Let me be there when you make the reservations, OK?”
So tomorrow we will finalize the flight plans.
I’m going to Iceland! WOO!!!!!
Médecins Sans Frontière
Click on the little picture above, and you will miraculously be swept away to the MSF donation page.
(Yes, I am very proud of myself. The link actually works!)
Monday, January 11, 2010
With Honor for Miep Gies
Miep, you have always been a hero of mine. You will always be a hero of mine.Farewell, great woman. The world is made lesser by your passing.
(I stole the picture from some news website somewhere. I'm sure they will be suing me for copyright infringement soon. But, damn it folks, it's Miep!)
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Random Notes for the Betterment of Physical Therapy.
I have been in Physical Therapy for four long, horrific days, and as such feel that I am uniquely and abundantly qualified to critique the entire industry and in particular some of the outdated business principles that seem to be rampant in the Physical Therapy community. The gloves are coming off.
Let’s start with the title, “Physical Therapy”. Don’t you think that it is just a tad wordy and difficult to spell; a bit over the top for the hoi polloi? Add to that, the obvious confusion between Physical Therapy and Psychotherapy and the average Joe is utterly confused. (The confusion has nothing to do with his six-pack.) He can’t spell it, he can’t pronounce it and he has no idea if Physical Therapy is actually going to relieve the pain or merely assign blame for the hurt. There is a lot of energy wasted because of the obfuscate terminology used, and we all know that wasted energy is bad for the environment. So, Physical Therapy is bad for the planet. It’s time to come up with a shortened and more broadly understood term to represent and define the industry. Do it for the Polar Bears, please.
And while I’m on a roll, has anyone in the Physical Therapy industrial machine ever heard of ‘instant gratification’. I hate to sound bitter and vindictive, but I drag my sorry old ass into your office, plop down a wad of cash (or proof of insurance, as the case may be) and you hand me a list of exercises to do, tell me to come back in a week to “see if I’m any better” and send me on my way. Excuse me, but I just gave you a cash infusion. Why am I the one who has work to do? Shouldn’t you have some machine that does the exercises for me and gives me the pain-free benefits immediately? If Physical Therapy is so all-fired beneficial, why did I leave your office in as much pain as I entered 45 minutes earlier? Have you ever heard of drugs? Drugs can be used to alleviate pain, by either numbing every body part below the neck, or every body part above the neck. The choice would have been yours, but the relief would have been mine.
Oh, and while we’re at it, a touch of realism wouldn’t hurt Physical Therapy one bit. I was given a list of 60 different moves to make twice a day and was told it would take 10 minutes each day. Getting down on the ground and back up (which is required for all of these sweet exercises), requires fourteen minutes of my time, and most of my energy. And you want me to do it twice a day. Do the math, folks. I’m nearing a half hour and haven’t done even one of the moves yet. And that cute-silver-ball-that-is-just-slightly-larger-than-the-cab-of-my-pick-up that you sent home with me? “Great Saint toy”, that’s all I can say.
I do hate to admit it, but when all is said and done, Physical Therapy actually seems to be working. There are just a couple of rough edges that need to be honed, and it could be a respectable industry.
Let’s start with the title, “Physical Therapy”. Don’t you think that it is just a tad wordy and difficult to spell; a bit over the top for the hoi polloi? Add to that, the obvious confusion between Physical Therapy and Psychotherapy and the average Joe is utterly confused. (The confusion has nothing to do with his six-pack.) He can’t spell it, he can’t pronounce it and he has no idea if Physical Therapy is actually going to relieve the pain or merely assign blame for the hurt. There is a lot of energy wasted because of the obfuscate terminology used, and we all know that wasted energy is bad for the environment. So, Physical Therapy is bad for the planet. It’s time to come up with a shortened and more broadly understood term to represent and define the industry. Do it for the Polar Bears, please.
And while I’m on a roll, has anyone in the Physical Therapy industrial machine ever heard of ‘instant gratification’. I hate to sound bitter and vindictive, but I drag my sorry old ass into your office, plop down a wad of cash (or proof of insurance, as the case may be) and you hand me a list of exercises to do, tell me to come back in a week to “see if I’m any better” and send me on my way. Excuse me, but I just gave you a cash infusion. Why am I the one who has work to do? Shouldn’t you have some machine that does the exercises for me and gives me the pain-free benefits immediately? If Physical Therapy is so all-fired beneficial, why did I leave your office in as much pain as I entered 45 minutes earlier? Have you ever heard of drugs? Drugs can be used to alleviate pain, by either numbing every body part below the neck, or every body part above the neck. The choice would have been yours, but the relief would have been mine.
Oh, and while we’re at it, a touch of realism wouldn’t hurt Physical Therapy one bit. I was given a list of 60 different moves to make twice a day and was told it would take 10 minutes each day. Getting down on the ground and back up (which is required for all of these sweet exercises), requires fourteen minutes of my time, and most of my energy. And you want me to do it twice a day. Do the math, folks. I’m nearing a half hour and haven’t done even one of the moves yet. And that cute-silver-ball-that-is-just-slightly-larger-than-the-cab-of-my-pick-up that you sent home with me? “Great Saint toy”, that’s all I can say.
I do hate to admit it, but when all is said and done, Physical Therapy actually seems to be working. There are just a couple of rough edges that need to be honed, and it could be a respectable industry.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
My first visit to the Physical Therapist.
I expected a quick cure; half hour appointment, and violà, pain free.
He seemed like an affable chap. He chatted with me for a short time to try and make me feel comfortable, asking about work, family and the holidays. Then he slowly crept into what I now call ‘physical therapy chatter’.
“So, Mac, how long has your back been giving you problems?”
“It’s been since summer. Started off gradually, but it has slowly gotten worse and worse, so here I am.”
“Was there a tragic automobile accident, with death and dismemberment involved, that started your problems?”
“No, um… no accident. No death. No dismemberment. Just for some reason it started to hurt.”
“Old age,” he muttered as he wrote some notes in his folder.
“Now, Mac, this is extremely important, so pay attention. Do you have any continence issues?”
I must have turned ashen. My mouth dropped open.
“Come on, old man. Control issues of the bladder or bowel? Don’t lie to me. I will find out the truth.”
“Umm… huh?”
“Do you wet or soil yourself? It isn’t that tough of a question.”
“Well, sometimes if I’ve had Mexican or Thai food I have to run to the bathroom… but, what the hell does this have to do with my back?”
“If you knew that, you wouldn’t be here,” he said with an evil grin. “Tell you what, do me a favor and try to touch your toes.”
I was so proud of myself. I bent over and touched my toes like I was a teenager again. Twelve minutes later, when I approached a position that could be vaguely classified as upright, the physical therapist finally stopped laughing.
“Mac, would you mind doing that again after I get the video camera out? That could have made us a bundle on ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos’”.
I did my best stern look. I wanted to shout out, “No way!”, but I knew if I opened my mouth I would let out a blood curdling scream. So, I just looked stern. Very stern.
Apparently he got the message. The physical therapist (who I’m sure has a name, but I have blocked that out of my memory) just shook his head. “Could have made some bucks, old man. But if you’re retirement is secure, then no problem. Don’t worry about me.”
He sulked around the room for a few minutes, looking hurt and defeated. Then I saw a sick smile cross his face. “Now Mac, I am going to put you in some positions that may be uncomfortable, but it is important to thoroughly diagnose your problem. I promise that I’ll be as gentle as possible.”
I should have known by the gleam in his eyes. I should have run as fast as my stubby little legs would have carried me. Seven minutes later, as the heel of my left foot was imbedded in my mouth, effectively muffling my screams, and the ball of my right foot was rubbing my left shoulder, the physical therapist asked, “Does that hurt?”
My mind raced. “Does that hurt? Does that hurt? Is the Pope Catholic? Is it cold in Antarctica in July? Does NCAA football need a playoff system?” But all that came out was “MMMPPPHHH!!!”
“I’ll take that as ‘a little’”.
So it went. I left with humiliating exercises to do, like the “Scared Cat/Fat Cow”, the “Ball Butt Lift” and my personal favorite, the “Hunting Dog Pointing at Pheasant”.
Quick cure my ass. Give me drugs!
He seemed like an affable chap. He chatted with me for a short time to try and make me feel comfortable, asking about work, family and the holidays. Then he slowly crept into what I now call ‘physical therapy chatter’.
“So, Mac, how long has your back been giving you problems?”
“It’s been since summer. Started off gradually, but it has slowly gotten worse and worse, so here I am.”
“Was there a tragic automobile accident, with death and dismemberment involved, that started your problems?”
“No, um… no accident. No death. No dismemberment. Just for some reason it started to hurt.”
“Old age,” he muttered as he wrote some notes in his folder.
“Now, Mac, this is extremely important, so pay attention. Do you have any continence issues?”
I must have turned ashen. My mouth dropped open.
“Come on, old man. Control issues of the bladder or bowel? Don’t lie to me. I will find out the truth.”
“Umm… huh?”
“Do you wet or soil yourself? It isn’t that tough of a question.”
“Well, sometimes if I’ve had Mexican or Thai food I have to run to the bathroom… but, what the hell does this have to do with my back?”
“If you knew that, you wouldn’t be here,” he said with an evil grin. “Tell you what, do me a favor and try to touch your toes.”
I was so proud of myself. I bent over and touched my toes like I was a teenager again. Twelve minutes later, when I approached a position that could be vaguely classified as upright, the physical therapist finally stopped laughing.
“Mac, would you mind doing that again after I get the video camera out? That could have made us a bundle on ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos’”.
I did my best stern look. I wanted to shout out, “No way!”, but I knew if I opened my mouth I would let out a blood curdling scream. So, I just looked stern. Very stern.
Apparently he got the message. The physical therapist (who I’m sure has a name, but I have blocked that out of my memory) just shook his head. “Could have made some bucks, old man. But if you’re retirement is secure, then no problem. Don’t worry about me.”
He sulked around the room for a few minutes, looking hurt and defeated. Then I saw a sick smile cross his face. “Now Mac, I am going to put you in some positions that may be uncomfortable, but it is important to thoroughly diagnose your problem. I promise that I’ll be as gentle as possible.”
I should have known by the gleam in his eyes. I should have run as fast as my stubby little legs would have carried me. Seven minutes later, as the heel of my left foot was imbedded in my mouth, effectively muffling my screams, and the ball of my right foot was rubbing my left shoulder, the physical therapist asked, “Does that hurt?”
My mind raced. “Does that hurt? Does that hurt? Is the Pope Catholic? Is it cold in Antarctica in July? Does NCAA football need a playoff system?” But all that came out was “MMMPPPHHH!!!”
“I’ll take that as ‘a little’”.
So it went. I left with humiliating exercises to do, like the “Scared Cat/Fat Cow”, the “Ball Butt Lift” and my personal favorite, the “Hunting Dog Pointing at Pheasant”.
Quick cure my ass. Give me drugs!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
If the early indicators are accurate…
…2010 is going to suck the big one!
Let’s start the decade with freezing rain: not region wide freezing rain, but locality specific freezing rain. Or, as the weatherperson on some Portland channel said, “It’s going to be a pretty good day out there across the entire broadcast area, except for the Upper Hood River Valley, where they are will continue to get freezing rain, apparently until hell freezes over. Face it, if you live in Odell or Parkdale, you’re going to have one absolutely miserable day!”
The camera panned to the incredibly pert and not unattractive anchor. “Those stupid bastards, you’d think they’d learn. Why in hell don’t they move to someplace less hostile?” she said with a plastic grin.
Oh, in case any of you are unaware, freezing rain is slick. Butts of a certain age don’t bounce when they hit the asphalt. They splat.
Okay, so 1/1/10 is going to be one of those inside days. Richard and I bought ourselves a brand-spanking new VCR/DVD player for Christmas. It was time for me to hook it up. Piece of cake, as they say.
Forty-five minutes later, Richard comes into the living room to find me sitting on the floor with seven remotes strewn in front of me. There are enough cables connecting the VCR/DVD to the TV and the satellite box to satisfy even the most hardcore bondage disciple’s fetish. Sadly we no longer had TV reception. There were tears streaming down my cheeks.
Fortunately, Richard was able to re-establish a connection with the XPSISMTARDS satellite system and saved the day. Just in time for…
… me to go blank. The next five hours of the day are blocked from my memory. I can’t explain it. I just know that by evening I had a bitter taste in my mouth and an intense dislike for anything to do with the state of Ohio.
Umm… QUACK, QUACK
Let’s start the decade with freezing rain: not region wide freezing rain, but locality specific freezing rain. Or, as the weatherperson on some Portland channel said, “It’s going to be a pretty good day out there across the entire broadcast area, except for the Upper Hood River Valley, where they are will continue to get freezing rain, apparently until hell freezes over. Face it, if you live in Odell or Parkdale, you’re going to have one absolutely miserable day!”
The camera panned to the incredibly pert and not unattractive anchor. “Those stupid bastards, you’d think they’d learn. Why in hell don’t they move to someplace less hostile?” she said with a plastic grin.
Oh, in case any of you are unaware, freezing rain is slick. Butts of a certain age don’t bounce when they hit the asphalt. They splat.
Okay, so 1/1/10 is going to be one of those inside days. Richard and I bought ourselves a brand-spanking new VCR/DVD player for Christmas. It was time for me to hook it up. Piece of cake, as they say.
Forty-five minutes later, Richard comes into the living room to find me sitting on the floor with seven remotes strewn in front of me. There are enough cables connecting the VCR/DVD to the TV and the satellite box to satisfy even the most hardcore bondage disciple’s fetish. Sadly we no longer had TV reception. There were tears streaming down my cheeks.
Fortunately, Richard was able to re-establish a connection with the XPSISMTARDS satellite system and saved the day. Just in time for…
… me to go blank. The next five hours of the day are blocked from my memory. I can’t explain it. I just know that by evening I had a bitter taste in my mouth and an intense dislike for anything to do with the state of Ohio.
Umm… QUACK, QUACK
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