File under: Easy Seasonal Potshot.

The caption possibilities are endless really. (Have at it in the comments if you like.)

Enjoy the holiday. And be thankful you are not a turkey.

I was through with it before you knew what to do with it...

As a friend of mine was kind enough to point out, today I'm officially "mind-numbingly old. Old old old old old old old." The upshot? What are you stupid? There is no upshot. So Happy Birthday to me. Now good luck getting the above image and this song out of your head...

do be do be do unto others

This picture was snapped by Mr. Xavier and Splodey Girl en route to NYC.

Looks like The Word gets around.
(or they used the Church Sign Generator)

you give me, promises, promises. you knew you'd never keeeeeep.

Look, I wanted to say something about our b-day party, but I just don't remember it, okay? All I have to go on are the three pictures I found on my camera, each more disturbing than the last. Evidently if you drink enough your face becomes inexplicably pixilated, and you grow large, green hands. Thus:

It's pretty fucking frightening. No? Well, I'm done with the drinking right after Thanksgiving. No, Christmas, New years. New Years.

no sleep and run-and-gun make jill a dull blogger.

You disappear on a shoot with a crazy charismatic self-help guru, and before you know it someone's stepped in and started dissin' your friends. I'd have something clever to say if a precedent had been set, and were I not still hung-over from Saturday.

I'll be back Thursday. Oh, and with stories! Think pop-up book for dyslexic sycophants with Tourettes. Or clouds. I hear thinking clouds is good.

letter to Prince Charles:

Your Royal Highness, Sir,

Forgive me for being blunt, but you're going about this buggering mess all wrong. Attempting to control the media, trying to hide the truth by blocking newspapers from hitting the stands? Wrong and wrong...trust me, before you know it Hello! will have your WC wired, and the Guardian will be leaping out of your mum's pantry while your fetching your nightly choco-bickey. Your wish to avoid them has only, and will only bring more pressure upon you to address the (shhhh) 'incident'. But I have a suggestion that may turn all of this unwanted attention to your advantage.

Tell the world your gay. Oh I don't care if you are actually gay, or bi, or whatever, just TELL the world you're are gay, and proud, and feel truly free and whole and good for the first time in your life. Think about it Charles, you can parlay this whole mess into the best thing that's happened to The Crown in a hundred years.

With all respect Sir, no one likes you. No one ever has. You are the saddest excuse for a prince the world has ever known. You are odd, cold, you don't photograph well, and you're boring. As a matter of fact none of your accomplishments, from your military service to your diplomatic efforts, have ever endeared you to your people. I bet even your Mum likes Andrew better. And with good reason. He's got pizzaz, a wry smile, he's dated porn stars. But you? It seems like you can't make a favorable impression on anybody, your life thus-far has been a senseless conundrum...unless your gay.

I can feel you shudder at the implication, thoughts of "What would become of the Monarchy? What would my Royal Subjects think of me?" I can't say what they'd think, but I can tell you what you would hear; A unison cry of "Oh!" bellowing forth from the Lake District to Brighton as everyone --the whole of the country-- would finally put the pieces together. The shyness, the introverted behavior, the long, long voluntary stints in the Navy, the arranged marriage to the totally hot and much beloved Diana, your ditching her for a platonic existence with a mannish, horse-faced childhood chum, your impeccable (I must admit) taste in menswear, and finally, buggering your valet. You see, being gay is really the only plausable explaination.

It's not the fourteenth century Charles, you live in a progressive, modern country that can handle a gay future king. Do the one thing that will save the last bit of respect the world has for the Royals. Speak proudly of your dirty man-love! You just may be surprised at how warmly you are received (ahem).

Sincerely,
A Concerned American

Worried about that murder you tried to cover up?

Well, do I have great news! As long as you say you killed the person in self-defense (like, oh... you blew your elderly neighbor's head off during a 'struggle' for a gun), the court says it's no problem to mutilate the corpse, dump it in a bay, and flee the state. No harm, no foul! It's A-O-K!* And don't worry, the jury promises to ignore how your first wife mysteriously disappeared, and how afterward you fled to Texas disguised as a mute female in an attempt to evade all those nagging questions about it, or the 38,000 you like to carry around in your trunk during a Sunday drive (bond-jumping indeed). The defense will even blame your most recent flight on some nosey NY bitch district attorney who's still trying to find out who killed your first wife. What's her deal anyway? You've moved on right? Why can't she?

*invalid defense for anyone whose parents do NOT own Times Square and are richer than God, people of color, and naturalized citizens.

Keats got nothing over my server stats report

Today's top query words, in the exact order they appear:

time, your stick of butter
on, in
isn't love always
other?

crosswalk tiger
extra shooters
are cliffnote neurotics

a fuck rapper
not listed

Too close to home

From Maud, her (and my) worst nightmare: Mom finds out about Blog.

I don't know if my mom has found this blog yet, but she admitted to hunting down Maud's blog (horrifying, and true). She even phoned me to gloat about it, adding the threat, "It's only a matter of time before I figure out which of her links is you." So far she has guessed that I am a hit song, an old hag, and a muse; which, beyond being the greatest compliments I've received to date, illustrates my mother's unique ability to use wishful thinking as a means of constructing a reality.

So Mom? If you're reading this?...welcome. And don't worry. Although I have mentioned a few things here and there about abandonment and alcoholism, a mother's gun-wielding, daughter-molesting, heroin addict boyfriends, spending more of my childhood in the back rooms of bars than in school, or leaving home at 16 because my coked-addled folks demanded we live underneath the dining table so "The Man" couldn't photograph us from the invisible (due to cloaking, of course) helicopters outside --I'm not talking about you. Heavens no. It's called creative non-fiction. You take a grain of truth and create a story from it, you change people's names and write under a pseudonym, like Antigeist. This is just a private, anonymous diary in which I occasionally (*wink*) make things up. It's not a biography, I would never, for example, mention your name, your status as a well-respected, widely known player in the entertainment industry, or point readers to your website, or your thousands of print, television, and radio interviews. I honor your privacy too much to do that. I mean, did you read that Mommy Dearest book? Man, did THAT make her mom look bad.

And her mom was just a bitchy narcissist.

Little voice

In honor of Veteran's Day, I'd like to thank Jessica Lynch for having the guts to tell the world how the military used her, spun her story into a justification of the war; and then commend her for having the smarts to do so in such a manner, it appeared she was only trying to give credit to where and to whom it was due. Thank you Jessica.

Missed his calling as Press Secretary

*telephone ring*
Landlord:(thick Russian accent) Hullo?
Me: Oh, Hi. This is K & G, in 1A? We don't have any heat.
LL: Yes, heat is on.
Me: I can assure you the heat is NOT on, it's freezing in here.
LL: Yes it is, Keyspan come and fixed it.
Me: I don't think they fixed it. The heat went on that day, the day they came, but it hasn't gone on since.
LL: No, they sent me bill for fixing, heat is now on.
Me: I don't think you understand, the heat came on when the repairman was here, but it shut off later that day...I'm trying to tell you it hasn't come back on again since October the 22nd.
LL: Well maybe it's not so cold enough for heat to go on.
Me: It's thirty six degrees outside.
LL: Outside. But inside...? It has to be cold inside for heat to come on.
Me: (stifling a rage) It's cold enough inside, right now it's just under sixty degrees in this building.
LL: What's the thermostat set on?
Me: 80
LL: 80?! I can't pay so tenants can walk around like summer!
Me: It wasn't always on eighty, we turned it up all the way to see if it would make the heat go on. The point is that the boiler is not coming on at all.
LL: Your problem is I think maybe you need put thermostat down to 65.
Me: How will that make the boiler go on?
LL: Boiler will go on when it is cold enough.
Me: It IS cold enough, I just said it's not even sixty. Even if the thermostat was set to 65 the boiler should have fired already.
LL: Yes. You set to 65, when it gets cold enough heat will come on. How to make you understand?
Me: How to make me?.....I don't think you understand what the problem is. No matter how cold it gets the heater never, ever goes on.
LL: Yes, cold outside. When it's cold enough inside, heat will go on. I have to go now, I don't have time to explain so many things.
Me: But...
LL: (click.)

i think therefore I anthropomorphize

A very hip, very pretty, very disturbed by my behavior couple just caught me growling "Ohhhh, pooo-tay-to, pooo-tay-to, poo-tay-toooooo" into a big pile of russets at the green grocer. Which is something that may happen to you if you watch this short film.

Friday linky goodness, or, "I got nothin' for ya."

First, Monk's got a horoscope for you if you'll bring Monk his pipe and slippers.

Then go find out if you know your 80's lyrics. [via Vidiot.]
(warning for you work-n-surfers, the quiz is long, make sure you keep some worky-thingon your desktop.)

I'm actually ashamed of how well I did on the quiz. I tried to console myself with the fact that I was a teen in the 80's, and popular music is unavoidable no matter the era (C'mon...tell me you don't know at least the chorus to "Oops, I did it again"), but there's really no excuse for pulling those b-side Whitesnake lyrics out of my ass, is there?

Or, if you prefer, you could go take this EQ test,which, I came to discover, is NOT about gauging whether or not you know how to use a fader, or if you could answer the parametric Hi-Mid vs. the sweepable Low-Mid controversy --the damn thing is all about if you know how to hold your horses for a freaking second. So yeah, I failed that one miserably, but since it made me think about my days as a soundman I felt a lot more punk rock and forgave myself for acing the stupid 80's lyric thing. [sidebar: counter intuitive, yes, but reading this dong resin post will give you the answer to one of the questions]

Speaking of punk rock, someone go tell Jonmc that dentists can still use cocaine as an anesthetic. It might put a different spin on his current oral care woes.

Or go to Bitch Panic and learn how to cook chinese.

Or, and this is a toughie, go read this article which will leave you completely befuddled as to what the fuck the "incident" in question is, but will answer for once and all the origin of Scott McClellan's press briefing style.

Have a nice weekend.

My second ingredient is vinegar.

Well, Bush signed the bill, and added "I don't know what the fuss is about, Dad and I don't give our prize-winning springer-spaniel bitches any say on when and how they reproduce, and they're like, worth something."

Interesting. William Saletan over at Slate is of the opinion Dean got a bum rap over the Confederate flag controversy. He argues that Dean "has used this line all year" and that the questioner Tuesday, and now the public, are simply pouncing on him because he's become a frontrunner. The rest of the news media that support Dean have reduced the statement to a few measly words taken out of context, adding up to a harmless faux pas.

I call bullshit on that. I don't think Dean is a bigot, and I honestly believe his intent was to reach out to poor, white southern voters, but at what cost? Insulting, offending, and alienating everyone else, southern African-Americans in particular? To say that it was incredibly poor judgment on Dean's part is an understatement and neglects the larger issue. For him to proudly announce that he wants to be "the candidate for guys with Confederate flags in their pickup trucks" means he either has no idea about the historical use, and true implications of displaying that flag, or he just doesn't care. Either way his attempt to reach out to racists is appalling. As much as I think pulling the Nazi card is a cheap shot politically, I had to agree with Sharpton when he said "...you cannot reach out to people waving a racist flag and say that you want to be their candidate. Imagine if I said that I wanted to be the candidate of people with helmets and swastikas. That is not a big tent strategy."

Let's be honest, had it been the Republican frontrunner, myself and my fellow liberal Democrats would be demanding his head. Rightly so. And although I understand the desire to defend Dean, and I believe he should have the opportunity to explain himself, a huge fucking apology is in order here.

You look like a monkey...and you smell like one too.

Go on over to Monk's place and give him a nice, hard spanking. Why? Today is his birthday and well, he's kinda 'into' that sort of thing if you get my drift.

(Or you can choose to wait to do it in person. I hear he's dragging said hiney to NYC weekend after next to stalk my girlfriends attend G and my Big Birthday Bash, location TBA)

Mommy...what does this red button do?

Evidently the Republican National Committee is trying to put the kibosh on CBS's biopic miniseries 'The Reagans':

Though no one at the RNC had seen 'The Reagans,' the letter [they sent to CBS] insisted that either a panel of Reagan pals and historians screen the project before broadcast for "historical accuracy" or the network run a disclaimer crawl at the bottom of the screen every 10 minutes during the movie, advising viewers that "the program is a fictional portrayal of the Reagans and the Reagan Presidency, and they should not consider it to be historically accurate. . . .

"It would be reassuring to know that the program in its entirety . . . had been subject to review for accuracy.

To be fair, the RNC simply want to make sure quotes attributed to Reagan erroneously such as, "They that live in sin shall die in sin" in reference to victims of AIDS, are replaced with his actual words, which in this case were: "maybe the Lord brought down this plague" because "illicit sex is against the Ten Commandments."

I, for one, applaud and support the RNC's desire to make the miniseries 'historically accurate', if for no other reason than to watch their golden boy be hoist by his own petard.

Happy Guy Fawkes Eve!

Also known as election day, the day of damage control and lesser of evils and waiting for poll results to find out how many human and civil rights, social programs, and basic freedoms will be stolen from you in the night. Oh, and Democracy in action and all that.

If the canvassers who have approached me over the past few days are any indication of the potential outcome of today's elections, I have little hope. Specifically because each one was either a reactionary or under-informed, and a fellow Democrat, and exactly what we don't need right now. I'm trying to pretend my experiences were a fluke but I'm dubious.

For instance, Sunday I received a phone call from the DNC, a voice said : "Hello. Can we count on you to vote 'no' on unpartisan elections, on proposition 3?"
"On unpartisan elections? Don't you mean non-partisan?" I asked. He stammered, ruffled papers.
"Oh, yes, non-partisan." I figured he was probably tired, it was an honest mistake. However when I told him I was glad he called because I was still a little unclear about Question 3 and asked if he could provide me with a bit more information about it, he answered, "So can we count on your support against unpartisan elections?"
"Nonpartisan." I said.
"Yes." He answered.
"Well I'd still like to..."
"Thanks for your support and have a good evening." I wasn't expecting to be blown off by my own party. Evidently I'm not the only one to have this experience.

Anyway, get out there and vote kiddies, along partisan lines, or unpartisan lines, as is your right.

Neurotics of the world, unite and take over...

What's up with me? Glad you asked. I'm sitting here feeling bad that I didn't link to something my friend asked me not to link to because she can't stand to be the center of attention, something everyone else has since linked to making my not linking look like I'm the shit friend who isn't supportive of said friend's endeavors, or like I DON'T CARE and stuff which puts me in the position of either a) ignoring her request and become a dirty late-linker who appears to be the last to know (but at least gives my g-friend much deserved props) while potentially pissing her off or b) not linking and coming off like a big poop with issues about the success of my friends.

This blog etiquette shit is a bitch let me tell you. Enough to turn me off reading the online version of today's New York Magazine. That I'm enjoying. That you should, perhaps, go take a look at for no particular reason at all.