The Monk Bought Lunch

monk's horoscope returns with the regularity of halley's comet

Born on this day: You probably can't read yet.

Aries: Ay-REEZ! What is up? Come here, gimme some skin! Whoops! Sucka! Naw, I'm just kiddin'. We're friends right? We cool? Here, high five. Psyche! Haha! Naw, come here, I'm just kiddin'.
Taurus: You will spend the hours of midnight to 4 am on a Saturday arguing online with other MetaFiltrites (MetaFilterians?) about whether a link to a website devoted to Tesla's pants deserves an FPP, whatever that is.
Gemini: Repeat after me: Jam bands are not my friend. Jam bands are not my friend.
Cancer: You will be annoyed by a buddy with a new catch phrase.
Leo : You will abuse your position as Cuddle Lifeguard.
Virgo: Virgo Mortensen? Ha!
Libra: Okay, so Leo is a lion, Taurus is a bull, Libra is- what? No. Really? Libra is scales? So, let me get this straight- your sign is an appliance. Dude. Sorry. That's like getting the iron in Monopoly.
Scorpio: You weren't really killed in that explosion and will one day return to Port Charles to exact revenge on Faison for kidnapping Anna.
Sagittarius : You will be best known for hosting America's Funniest Home Videarius.
Capricorn: Don't give me any of your crapricorn.
Aquarius: I think you'd better read this.
Pisces: You will drop it as if it were hot.

i like the enchiladas and the teriyaki too...

...I even like the chicken if the sauce is not too blue.
(via Vidiot)

my name is monk and I'm six years old

...and that's why I will be giggling about this Yahoo! headline for quite some time.

bene dicta

In a beleagured world plagued with poverty, war, terrorism, disease, corruption, reality tv, "TomKat", Coke Zero vs. Pepsi One, where can we look for a ray of hope? Who will hold out an answer to the suffering hordes? One man, one holy man steps forth and declares:
"A vacation would be nice, hmmm?".

a long way from the crystal cathedral

We've had a very violent summer in the Flower City, to the point where the local news last night ran an absurd story, the gist if which was that there were no violent crimes comitted Friday or Saturday, and authorities are trying to figure out why.
I sat and watched with my mouth hanging open, wondering if I was suffering from heat stroke and this was all a hallucination. But no, they were actually reporting that mysteriously, no one was murdered in Rochester over the last two days!
I thought "gee, I think I'd wait more than two days to start trumpeting a break in the violence, but then I am not an idiot and am therefore unqualified to work for a local news outlet. They're going to feel kind of silly if someone gets killed today or tomorrow".
Sure enough.
Of course the victim's name causes me to wonder if the cops are considering God a suspect. It could be that Oral couldn't come up with the 8 million they'd agreed on and God was finally getting around to "calling him home", as promised.

may I suggest 'brown bunny'?

Note to reporters Johnston and Stevenson: If you aspire to Woodward-and-Bernstein status, you're going to have to come up with something catchier than "the person who was briefed on the matter".

late-nite talk show monologue joke, 'the president doesn't like black people' edition

The president once again did not attend this year's NAACP conference, choosing instead to attend something called the Indiana Black Expo, where, upon arriving, he was overheard saying "Speech? I thought I was here to pick one out!".
*fiddle with ear, straighten tie, rock back and forth on heels*
When we come back, I'll ogle some scantily clad but mentally retarded starlet!

my plea

I seem to remember that we used to have this thing, called embarrassment. This was a feeling one had when one behaved in a regrettable fashion. What made that behavior regrettable could vary- it went against societal standards of morality or propriety, or it caused a concussion.
The thing about embarrassment is that it depends on an audience. This is why people traditionally behave differently when they're by themselves.
Lately it seems that embarrassment has gone by the wayside (and where the hell is the wayside?). I hate to even mention Tom Cruise, as I'm sure we all became sick to death of him a good long time ago, but I wouldn't be surprised if, on his next talk show appearance, he comes out in his underwear dancing to Bob Seger. The fact that he can argue that there's no such thing as a chemical imbalance while providing a spectacular example to the contrary every chance he gets says to me that there is no such thing as embarrassment in Mr. Cruise's bag of tricks. And I should be embarrassed to have written that sentence, but hey, case in point.
And he's not the only one- Brooke Shields wouldn't have made such an easy target for Mr. Cruise had she not been so eager to announce to the world her post-partum depression. Look, I'm not advocating shame here. There's no need to be ashamed of mental illness, I'm just saying, to paraphrase Otis Redding:
"Try a little embarrassment!"
There's not being ashamed, and then there's trumpeting from the rooftops, "I, formerly bland public figure, would like to announce that a large family of bats have just signed a renewable lease on my beautiful penthouse apartment of a belfry! I will now proceed to hop around all 'Early Daffy Duck' like! Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo!"
Why does this concern me, you may well ask. Well, it's selfish, really. See, I occasionally do the stage comedy thing,and comedy kinda depends on a category of behavior that embarrasses people.
It just won't do for me to be onstage in rainbow afro wig and tutu, singing "Camptown Races" and fucking a pumpkin, if the audience is thinking "Big deal, the weatherman did that on the five o'clock news tonight!".
So,please, let's bring back embarrassment. I and the pumpkin would really appreciate it.

he's dyin' up there!

Those of you who regularly read Monk (self-deprecating remark about how low that number is should go here) may have noticed a certain fixation on the White House Press Briefings and their ringleader Scott McClellan. Whatshisface over at Hooterville or whatever it's called seems cautiously bouyed by the "irrational exuberance" displayed of late by the White House Press Corp.I am also encouraged that the journalistic testicles seem to have finally descended- better late than never, I guess.
A couple of my favorite moments from yesterday's Pressed Bleating:

Q Do you regret putting yourself out on a limb, Scott?

Q Do you regret putting yourself so far out on a limb when you don't know the facts?

and:
Q Does the White House have a credibility problem?

Q It's not my job to have a constructive dialogue, Scott. Sorry.

Owie! Did that mean reporter give youa booboo, Scooter? If things keep up this way, those in the front rows in the briefing room might think about wearing plastic bags a la Gallagher performances and keeping their eyes peeled for a particularly bulky manila envelope under Skeeter Muskeeter's arm.

that's mighty bigamy

I just have one question for Karl Rove:
Just how many wives did you think Joseph Wilson had?
I mean, it's Joseph Wilson we're talking about here, not Joseph Smith.

there's unrest in the forest...

"If you've ever lusted after a German shepherd, own a harem of Care Bears, or consider yourself a reincarnated unicorn, you don't qualify," barks spokesfurry Squee Rat. "Burned Furs are furries who are tired of being associated with lunatics."

Squee Rat doesn't want to be associated with lunatics. Squee. Rat.

Ms. Rat goes on to explain the proper way to comport oneself at a furry convention:

Well first of all you get shown to your own private hole in the skirting board... then you put the mouse skin on... then you scurry into the main room, and perhaps take a run in the wheel.

( Furry link via #1HS)

we'll be climbing both mount kilamanjaros...

MR. McCLELLAN: All right, good afternoon, everybody. I've got Faryar Shirzad, our Sherpa for the G8 here with me. He will do a quick summary of what to expect ahead of us, and then we'll be here for whatever questions you have.

Sherpa? They do know what kind of summit this is, right?