Hahahahaha! QOTMFD!

Overheard around town:

Teen girl:
"Well if God wanted us to fly, he would have given us wings."

Teen boy:
"So wait ... God wants me to masturbate?"

TG Look of incredulous disgust spreading over her face:
"What?"

TB:
"Well otherwise why'd he make my arms long enough to reach my dick?"

Quote of the Day #349

And it's from "E!" network, fer FSM's sake--The gut-spilling, wrenching void of celebrity goss and toss.

"The truth, no matter how uncomfortable, is never too much information."

It's the last sentence of a surprisingly deep blog post that must have been handed out to E!'s headline writers without notification that this was a genuine piece of thoughtful opinion.

The headline is "Mackenzie Phillips Is Not Oversharing!" The headline is a damn-near-slight to a woman who seems to be determined to unburden herself publicly of some of the most asocial revelations anyone could put themselves through. Money quote:

We don't want to hear it. Any of it.

And that might be the ickiest thing of all.

My feeling when a semi-celeb comes out with revelations like this is that you do need to look for the motive. But while Phillips has been doing the talk-show circuit, she could have done that by simply asserting that Papa John had beaten her, or something less ... icky.

A Thought Occurs

A friend posted a link wishing that "track pants were sexy, Mondays were fun, and guys were simple."

And I thought "Pardon?"

How many guys do you know who'll spend an hour getting ready for a night out, then collapse in tears because "I'm a mess!"?

How many guys do you know who own twelve pairs of shoes, and not one "walking" pair?

How many guys ever looked into the eyes of a woman they're in bed with and said "Honey--Are you sure this is a good idea?"

As a metaphor for trying to understand the nature of women, one should first acquire five jigsaw puzzles. Now remove ten percent of the pieces from each and throw the remainder through the laundry. Place all pices in a basket with large holes, shake it up. Now put on a blindfold and oven mitts and try to assemble a picture.

Guys are simple. It's dealing with the other half of humanity that makes us prime candidates for therapy.

More Conservative Economic Genius

Not content with having deliberately and with malicious, venial, stupidity aforethought spiked the Canadian nuclear medicine industry, increased wait times four-fold or so, and bankrupted the country unto at least 2014, my Conservative government decided to announce yet another delightful "What-the-₤µ©λ-are-you-playing-at-you-@$$#013s?" moment this week.

Because once you've done such a wonderful number on the economy already, why not top the $#17 sundae with a rancid cherry and kneecap the tourist industry?

Tourism is a huge part of Canada's economy. People like to come and see things like pristine lakes, airy mountains, and green trees, often because many of these people come from places where such are in short supply, often due to a history of short-sighted, near-criminal, cripplingly stupid and often conservative governments; Like ours.

So during a recession, when the industry has already taken a number of kicks to the collective crotch (new US passport requirements, "staycations", et al.), the smart thing to do is:

A) Demote a minister who funded a gay pride parade for $400K (in complete accordance with her mandate and economic sense) which contributes million$ to the Greater Toronto Area.

B) Introduce new, more stringent travel requirements such as, oh I dunno, how 'bout a visa requirment for Czechs and Mexicans? Preferably without prior notice, so that no-one can prepare for the new rules.

If you're an idiot, and a Conservative Party Minister (but I repeat myself), you do both.

The article says that Mexico was the number-one refugee claimant nation. But if Mr. Harper hadn't chosen to allow staffing levels to fall through attrition, or at least had hired replacement workers on a one-for-one basis, at Citizenship and Immigration Canada, the backlog wouldn't have been a problem.

Besides, the Cons ₤µ©λed over ALL immigrants a year or two back by rewriting the rules so that if your claim simply doesn't make it off the pile, you have to go to the foot of the queue and start again.

(Unless you're a doctor. Then we'll poach you from some third-world hellhole that desperately needs you, and put you to work in the grossly understaffed world of public transportation at minimum wage, but hey--You'll be living in the greatest ... Well, the secon- ... Um ... Hang on a mo' ... the, ah yes, seventeeth greatest country in the world!)

The changes also made it possible to jump the queue. Whatever the faults of the old system, it was at least fair. But of course "fairness" is one of those words the Conservative party has to grab a dictionary on hearing, along with "compassion" and "empathy".

There is really nothing more to say than "When the hell are you going to pull the ₤µ©λing trigger Mr. Ignatieff? Would tomorrow work for you? 'Cos I'm busy today, but I could spare the time to vote these turkeys off while I wait for my local hospital to scrounge up some isotopes so I can rejoin the wait list for a test or two.

We are living under the single stupidest, single worst, uniquely damaging government of Canada in the history of the country. Only Mulroney could ever have claimed to have ₤µ©λed us over more and worse. And he was a Conservative too.

Co-incidence? I think not.

I hate these clowns and their bankrupt pathalogy of an ideology more every day. I hope Harper ends his days in a refrigerator box. Or possibly as a 230-lb Native inmate's prison bitch.

Is there one thing, a single thing, ANYthing, they've managed to do right?

Note for Conservative Party members and other humour-challenged persons. I don't REALLY want Harper to end his days in an appliance box, nor as a big-ass prison inmate's girlfriend (unless he wants to be--Prison can apparently do that to some guys, and I think there's a good chance he and Muldoon might end up there). A simple slow fade into the ignominy he deserves and the designation of "Worst. PM. Thus. Far" will suffice (I'd say "Worst. PM. Evar", but the unfortunate possibility that another Conservative government might get in before he dies still exists, however remote).

This is what Liberals and other thinking types call "hyperbole". Do feel free to look it up, won't you?

Does that Budget Report Come With Assless Chaps?

Conservatives are well known for a sort of voyeuristic prurience when it comes to sex. Now it turns out that this is their economic policy too:

For example, it's well known that while decrying sex and all things sexually positive, the "family values" types tend to enjoy their lesiure time at adultery, borderline pederasty, prostitution, anonymous gay encounters, and similar purportedly lib'rul pursuits. While especially true in the US, there is much such in Canada as well. Then they like to pretend it just ain't so.

In Canada, with regard to the economy, the Conservative Government is behaving exactly like a 17-year-old boy with a purity ring* trying to talk his likewise be-ringed girlfriend into a little back-door action.

Canada to Young Stephen Harper:
"I don't know ... I mean, it looks like it might be uncomfortable."

Young Stephen Harper to Canada:
"Oh come on, honey ... It's really not that big. In fact it doesn't even exist."

Canda:
"You're wrong--I can see it, and it looks scary."

SH: "What ... This ol' thing? Naw, it's just a little bump. You'll even enjoy it."

C: "But I'm afraid it's going to hurt!"

SH: "Well it might hurt, just a little, going in. But you'll enjoy it--it's a wonderful opportunity. Hell, in 2012 it'll be nothing but fantastic."

C: "Look, we need a little lubrication at least."

SH: "No we don't!"

C: "Are you nuts? Look at the size of that thing. It's big enough to wreck General Motors!"

SH: "Oh, okay, if you insist. Crybaby."

C: "OW! Sweet Jesus! It's big, really big, and it hurts! You never told me it'd be this bad."

SH: "Well, uh ... I didn't know. Yeah, that's it ..."

Office of the Parliamentary Budget Officer: "Um, Master Harper ... You knew. You clearly knew. But you've been lying about it for at least a year. Sorry, sir, it's my job to call bullshit on you."

SH: Uh, okay. I lied then, but I wasn't really lying ... and if I was it was Ignatieff's fault, or the Previous Liberal Government's ...

Und so weiter.



Note:
*A purity ring is a ring, often inscribed with the name "Jesus" which is supposed to indicate a comittment to chastity until marriage. In fact, at least fifty percent of such "pledged" virgins fall by the wayside, possibly not including the ones who get married out of desperation and divorce later, and particularly not including the ones who eat/blow each other and have anal sex to "preserve" their virginity. As Dan Savage says: "I've been prserving the $#17 out of my boyfriend's virginity for 14 years now!"

In fact, as I see it, purity rings should be a reliable indicator of a teenage girl who's into Saddlebacking. Which is why Christian Conservatives love them, I guess.

Update: I tried to find the video, but it's "Restricted for people in your region". One comedian commented on the topic of a 16-year-old who wanted to wear her virginity bling in school:
"I say if she wants to wear a ring that signifies that she's not having sex--Let her get married like everyone else!"

QOTD #52: "Are you a man or a mouse?" "What's the difference?"

From the CBC's Quirks and Quarks science program. Which is under double threat: First, it's a CBC production, and since PM Harpo hates the CBC their funding's been jeopardized by ferocious budget cuts. Secondly, it's about science. And it's hard to find anything the Reform--Sorry, I mean Alliance--Nope, sorry, wrong again ... Conservative Party of Canada hates more than science.

How much so? PM Harper once referred to global warming as "a socialist plot." He's fired the Science Advisor and replaced the position with a panel of industry wonks. His Minister for Science is a chiropractor who doesn't believe in evolution.

So when Conservatives refer to the "cutting edge," they mean flint.

Anyway, today's quote:

So it suggests that humans, at least the young males we've studied thus far ... the brain responds to events, like aggression, or sex, in a way that's not much different from the mouse brain.

Find the whole broadcast here.

In context: Researchers took young dudes and showed them three films: One contained footage of a hockey fight. One contained images of a computer performing some task, and one contained footage of scantily clad young ladies (another strike in the eyes of the Harperites--they disapprove of scantily clad young ladies. At least publicly-funded ones).

So what Metro wants to know is: Where can I sign up to be a lab mouse? Think about it: One-third hockey, one-third boring computer stuff, one-third scantily-clad young ladies ...

Just like my life, with more of the good stuff.

@Google News: I Have Just One Question

--Who the flaming, frying, flying, fiddle-eye ₤µ©λ is Natasha Richardson?

Okay, she falled down go boom, bumped her head. I sympathize. But she seems to have taken over Google news, and I'm sorry, no actress deserves the attention she's getting. I mean, she fell on the friggin' bunny hill. Me, I'd be plurry embarrassed about that.

It looks as though she has a concussion. Big whoop--we're wetting our collective pants about this why?

Yesterday I saw a story entitled "Head injuries can turn deadly" or some such godawful drivel. Naturally the first ten words contained the name "Richardson" twice.

Forgive me if I think there's more important $#17 going on. As far as I know, there were at least three possible concussions in the NHL last night, and none of them are even in hospital.

And look at the stuff that gets shoved down the page because of it:

As cuts to our science programs and the marginalization of science continue under the Conservative "Feel-better-through-ignorance" program, Canada's science minister gives a firm, clear, answer to the question "Do you believe in evolution?"

That firm clear answer, however, is "I refuse to answer questions about my religion."

The problem isn't Goodyear's religion. The problem is that the Conservative Party of Canada neither likes nor understands science or scientists. And that's why, in the digital age, Canadians are cutting down trees and digging big ₤µ©λing holes in order to sell their country by the ounce, barrel, and board-foot to nations that'll sell it back to them as plastic, integrated circuits, and futons.

Evolution only has to do with religion if you're one of a particularly blockheaded and narrow-minded selection of Christian sects. I mean, even the Pope believes that evolution is the working meachanism by which his hairy thunderer keeps the biological world on its toes.

A science minister should have a stock pat answer for that question and be able to give it on cue as easily as Pavlov's dogs answered their bell. To fail to do so suggests either cluelessness unbecoming a government hack--I mean minister--or religious rigidity unbecoming anyone in charge of science.

Speaking of the Pope: He just gets better and better. He's defended the excommunication of people who helped secure a d&c for a nine-year old rape victim. He has allowed people who to this day believe the Holocaust is a hoax to wrap themselves in the authority of the Catholic Church--to speak with spiritual authority on major issues.

And this week, pushed to the mid-page by Natasha whosit's boo-boo, the Pope said that condoms aren't the solution to AIDS in Africa (a reasonable sentiment, and one I agree with [the two are not always the same]).

However, the Pope added the secret ingredient "radioactive stupid" to his stance when he said condoms may make the AIDS epidemic in Africa worse.

And it's amazing, with a few well-chosen words the Pope manages to go from a straightforward, well-understood, meaningful position, to a bucketload of stupidinium.

I mean, does he really believe that the few miserable and precious inches of ground we have gained in the struggle to keep this disease from killing half a continent are all due to husbands keeping their peckers in their pants, wives keeping their skirts down, and prayer? Honestly?

Meanwhile, Washington DC struggles with its own AIDS epidemic. Newsworthy, were it not for the eagerness with which we're apparently pursuing Mme Richardson. And I'll lay a pint to a prawn that she'll be "looking pale and tired, but happy" as she thanks "all her supporters and well-wishers" as she leaves the hospital. Unlike, say, any number of Washington AIDS patients.

Meanwhile:

Up to 1,000 Gambian villagers have been abducted by "witch doctors" to secret detention centres and forced to drink potions, a human rights group says. [...] The London-based rights group said the witch hunters, said to be from neighbouring Guinea, were invited into Gambia after the death of the president's aunt earlier this year was blamed on witchcraft.

Kate Allen, Amnesty's UK director, said hundreds of Gambians have fled to neighbouring Senegal for safety after seeing their villages attacked.

Somewhere out there, the African Union is presumably warming up the Pope-signal.

But hey, husband Liam Neeson has apparently flown to Natasha's side, so as day three of the Natasha Richardson Concussion Watch draws to a lunchtime, stand by for more agonizing detail.

But first a word from our sponsor!

*Sober second thought (AKA ass-covering). Perhaps I've misread this and Miss Richardson's injury is more than a common or garden-variety concussion. I still don't feel that the story deserves more column inches than real, important $#17 that's going down, right now, in the world.

Just When You Thought it Was Safe to Go Back Into the Inbox

I went back to the inbox yesterday. Thought it would all be over, that things might have settled down.

Not quite.

I have previously received mail for other variations of "Metro" such as "M. Etro," "Me_Tro," etc. from such diverse groups as a veterinarian (the type of animal involved is as yet unknown, but goes by the name of "Blinky"), a school board, and the Boy Scouts of America. Who would definitely not approve of my latest inbox find.

The first was innocuous enough: An art gallery invite consisting of a postcard-sized scan of a drawing that might have been done in tenth grade art class. Even down to the two nude ladies holding hands.

I don't know much about art, but I like looking at nude ladies, so I was going to RSVP when I noticed that the invite was for a) a Friday night some long time gone and b) a gallery in New York City. Lacking a TARDIS, I was forced to decline.

The next item was *sound the trumpets* a job offer. As I am unemployed, I paged through the mental file labelled "Jobs I Have Applied For". It's a thinnish file--professional writing work doesn't lend itself to the descriptor "job" too often, really--And contains nowhere the nomenclature "project co-ordinator." That's Mme's line of country.

However, Missoula, MT isn't impossibly far away, and for a while I considered following up and attempting the interview. But they wouldn't actually have hired me, and if they had it's doubtless that M Etro might have been peeved. So I returned it with a polite note hoping they could find the actual candidate, but if they needed some communications work done that my word processor is at their disposal.

The third item of mail, also intended for someone else, was an invitation to "Dance Bitch." It was from a person who is apparently an actor, with at least one production film to his credit, said movie being called Swishbucklers, set for release this year. While the IMDB page gives no useful information, the list of "If you enjoyed this title, our database also recommends" movies includes "Clones Gone Wild" and "Johnny, Are You Queer?" This actor is named Billy Francesca.

Enclosed was this picture. I believe Mmlle Francesca is the person in the middle.



I considered attending, but it appears to be in San Francisco, and while I could arrive there fashionably late in the Lear, my sequined thong won't be back from the cleaners.

Quel dommage, darlings ...

What? Are you kidding? I'm an actor, dammit! It is my bounden duty to attend functions at which I might attract the attention of Hollywood producers. Which, admittedly seems unlikely given the picture.

Unless Hollywood producers are into bears.

Dick Pics? Lemme Help You With That, Mr. Johnson

So I have a gmail account, as some of you may know. And today I went to check it, as, y'know, you do, right?

And found myself the inadvertent focus of a love triangle, or so it seems.

First off, because the address is fairly common, I get a lot of mail that seems to have been misdirected or mis-addressed to "Metr0" or "met.ro" etc. etc.

In this instance, someone named, for arguments' sake, "Johnson" at somemail dot com has apparently sent to "Rapartist34" at someothermail dot com, pictures of himself. For reasons equally unfathomable, person two has sent them to another address which closely approximates mine.

The first set, in message one, are fairly benign. A black male having dinner with a pretty woman, a couple of plain-jane pics of said black male ...

It's the next two that are ... um, interesting. It seems as though the person depicted has become very excited. It's hard to be certain it's the same guy--the camera's on the bathroom floor--but that would be the logical conclusion, no?

The third leaves absolutely no question as to exactly how excited said dude is.

So, having taken some time to think about all the permutations of why I appear to be receiving nude photos of person unknown A courtesy of person unknown B, I composed the following response:

Dear guys:

If you're going to send pictures of your dick to people, please check the address first. For all you know you could have sent this to your own mother! What would she be thinking right now?

"Mmmm ... sonny boy looks good with his boxers off ..."
"My boy--hung even bigger than his daddy!"
"Wait'll I tell the girls at bridge!"
"I'm so glad he's found a nice boy to show his dick to ..."

Come on guys. I'm all for internet porn, but at least have some professionalism! Speaking of which--You really need to work on your camera angles. That thing looks no bigger than about six inches, and are you sure that's the impression you're trying to give here? Oh, and a word of advice: for this kind of work you really need better lighting too--Surely you can find a bathroom with track lighting somewhere? I could hardly read your tattoo.

Which was mis-spelt by the way. I'll leave it to you to figure out whether it's "My hart," "belongs," or "dady."

All the best with your future photography. To increase your public profile I've created a whole new MySpace page in your name and will faithfully post all the pics there. Since I don't know whose email to enter on registering, I'll use one for the "main" and one for the "secondary" addresses.

But don't worry. I'll make sure I get those addresses right. Which unfortunately does not guarantee that some goober won't accidentally send you his dick pics through sheer carelessness, lack of attention, and lack of consideration.

Yours, sincerely, etc.

Metro

So Here's One of My Major Issues With Teh Church

The Roman Catholic Church has the potential to be a force for good. I really believe that. But then their agents go and do stupid $#17 like this.

A girl is abused by her stepfather and conceives twins in a uterus that could not contain either.

The logical outcome of allowing this pregnancy to proceed is pain and death for the girl, and the death of both kids.

Doctors save one of those lives by performing a simple procedure, an abortion, availble in strongly Catholic Brazil only in cases of a) rape, and b) threat to the life of the mother, both conditions the girl met.

The reaction of The Roman Catholic Stupid-to-the-nth-Power-for-Christ Archbishop in the area? Excommunicate everyone involved. Cut them off from their spiritual support when they made what should have been an easy choice: To save a life.

And why? Because "life is sacred." Just not, apparently, the lives of nine-year-old rape victims.

Yeah, she was nine. Didn't I mention that?

(Sings) Happy Monkey to You, Happy Monkey to You ...

It's Darwin Day! Old Charlie would have been two hundred years old today. One wonders what he'd be saying were he still alive today.

Possibly "Why is it so dark in here?" Or "Why am I in this box?"

I was directed to this item via Pharyngula. However, it looks better in its native environment, which is Seed. Make sure to watch it all. The beginning is wondrous, but all the really exciting stuff is packed into the last few parti-seconds.

However, Darwin's birthday is a time to reflect upon how far we've come; and how far we have yet to go. From the Wall Street Journal (which I hardly ever read since the Murdoch acquisition):

It would make sense to try to predict the actions of the multitudes by assuming that each individual would act in the interest of his (or her) own selfish genes.
In reality, we often don't. [. . .] At the micro-level, we'll drive across town to save $25 on a $100 microwave, but not to save the same $25 on a $1,000 flat-screen TV, showing both that we are blind to the cost of our own labor, and confused about the fact that money is an absolute rather than relative commodity.

The average American watches three to four hours of television a day, which does nothing for our "reproductive fitness" or even for our happiness [. . .] We procrastinate on important projects until we have too little time to complete them properly ...

Um, just realized I have to finish a project that was due yesterday ... Seriously, go read that editorial.

Ah, just had to add. There's one glaring error in that editorial:

We allow consumers access to credit cards, for example, because we assume (despite ample evidence to the contrary) that they will be smart enough to balance their short-term needs as consumers with their long-term capacity to maintain a fiscally sensible reality.

No. Credit-card companies push credit cards on consumers precisely because of the mountain of evidence to the contrary. It's one reason barter and lay-away are making comebacks.

This Sort of Thing Must Be Stopped!

I know you'd hardly expect me to complain about political correctness run amok. But the East Sussex council of Lewes has gone too far:

Several months ago, Lewes District Council in East Sussex tried to address the problem of inadvertent place-name titillation by saying that “street names which could give offense” would no longer be allowed on new roads.

“Avoid aesthetically unsuitable names,” like Gaswork Road, the council decreed. Also, avoid “names capable of deliberate misinterpretation,” like Hoare Road, Typple Avenue, Quare Street and Corfe Close.

(What is wrong with Corfe Close, you might ask? The guidelines mention the hypothetical residents of No. 4, with their unfortunate hypothetical address, “4 Corfe Close.” To find the naughty meaning, you have to repeat the first two words rapidly many times, preferably in the presence of your fifth-grade classmates.)

All free speech proponents should speak up to defend the right of Britons to name places such as "Butt Hole Road".

Canadians should beware: It is not long ago that someone suggested the scenic and thriving towns of Dildo, Newfoundland and Shag Harbour, Nova Scotia, should vanish from Canadian maps.

Aussies also must be on their guard against this sort of thing. I used to have a picture of a friend, a black friend, standing by a sign on Fraser Island that read: "Black Butt Forest". Need I draw you a picture? The original has been lost, alas, to posterity.

Town councils should be prevented from preventing this sort of harmless fun.

"I do have a cause though. It is obscenity.
--I'm for it."
--Tom Lehrer

On Birth

Which seems to happen to everybody sooner or later.

Amanda of A Bit Part in Your Life is having a baby. Real soon, apparently. And she's a touch nervous:

I get it, everyone that has a child had to get that child out of them--but it's only now that I'm really starting to get what that means. I'm going to have to do this. And soon. I can't put it off for three years like my wisdom-teeth extractions.

As a male, I feel that to venture comment on this it to risk defenestration. So let me instead write about a person who was a significant figure in the years of my young adulthood. I have taken the rare step of using the true names of the principles involved, as I have lost touch with them and wouldn't mind knowing where they're at these days, if indeed they're still alive.


Her name was Mama Morel, or as near as dammit. She was married to an Air Force sargeant who I believe was a refrigeration tech. She had a young son, Kenny, and a middle daughter whose name presently escapes me.

Her eldest daughter was "Bernie". Bernie joined the Forces a year or two after I did, which was how I came to meet her mother.

(I inject here a note of satisfying self-flattery when I say that my then-best-buddy Dave cornered me that night in the mess and asked me point-blank to leave her alone because he was mad for her. Already I was cultivating a reputation that would mystify the hell out of me for decades.)

Mama's family originated from some hick hill town in Appalachian Ontario so far back in the holler that "the hoot owls trod the hens." And the uncles trod the nieces and nephews, the daddies trod the daughters and sons, and ... well you get the grisly picture.

From such humble origins Mama naturally turned up pregnant at 15. Her mother waved the Bible at her and told her she'd suffer the torments of Hell for her sins, or summat like that.

So at 15, scared and alone, Mama found herself in hospital having her first labour pains. She was, I think, determined that her baby should at least be born in a hospital.

As the pains laid on, Mama shrieked and caterwauled, fearing that she herself might part and rip in two, disgorging an untidy heap of intestines and offal onto the tile floors. Having no information other than her mother's curses and gloating, she was sure, she felt, to die in agony for her "crime."

Just then the woman in the bed next to her pulled back the curtain between the beds and glared at her.

"Do you mind trying to keep it down?" she said fiercely.
"But, ... I'm having a baby!" the terrified girl shrieked.
"Yeah. So am I!" replied the intruder "Quit advertising or the rest of them will be wanting one too!"

"And the pain went away," Mama, now roughly three hundred pounds and in her mid-forties, told me around the smoke-hazed, coffee-ringed table in her trailer, "And I never had any trouble giving birth since."

This is just one little story. It utterly fails to encompass what Mama meant to me. I have taken liberties with the specific quotes--What did you expect? The story was told to me some twenty years ago. But Mama was a queen and her life and experience are worth passing on, I feel.

I hope she's still out there. But I doubt it. She was a big woman who smoked a lot and had a rough history. But part of her is in me. I owe her a lot. And I hope I do her memory justice.

One way I try to do that is by passing this story on to nervous mothers-to-be. I don't know if it does them any good, but a person is alive as long as their name is spoken.

A Thought on Unemployment

So here I am lounging about in my pyjamas, sipping orange juice and reading the news. I mean, there's really no difference between me and Hugh Hefner at this point, save for about fifty years, $80 million, and about a hundred nude ladies running around my house.

Applications from nude ladies will be gratefully considered.

Did You Know You're Loathesome? Here's Why

Via Pharyngula

The Buffalo Beast's annual list of the 50 Most Loathesome People has been published. And guess who made the list?

Update: Turns out Metro managed an honourable mention for failing to provide the proper link. all fixed. Thanks are due to silverstar for pointing that out.

That's right: At number 43, it's YOU.

Charges: You think it’s your patriotic duty to spend money you don’t have on crap you don’t need. You think Hillary lost because of sexism, when it’s actually because she’s just a bad liar. You think Iraq is better off now than before we invaded, and don’t understand why they’re so ungrateful. You think Tim Russert was a great journalist. You’re hopping mad about an auto industry bailout that cost a squirt of piss compared to a Wall Street heist of galactic dimensions, due to a housing crash you somehow have blamed on minorities. It took you six years to figure out what a tool Bush is, but you think Obama will make it all better. You deem it hunky dory that we conduct national policy debates via 8-second clips from “The View.” You think God zapped humans into existence a few thousand years ago, although your appendix and wisdom teeth disagree. You like watching vicious assholes insult each other on TV. You support gun rights, because firing one gives you a chubby. You cuddle falsehoods and resent enlightenment. You think the fact that 43% of whites could stomach voting for an incredibly charismatic and eloquent light-skinned black guy who was raised by white people means racism is over. You think progressive taxation is socialism. 1 in 100 of you are in jail, and you think it should be more. You are shallow, inconsiderate, afraid, brand-conscious, sedentary, and totally self-obsessed. You are American.

Exhibit A: You’re more upset by Miley Cyrus’s glamour shots than the fact that you are a grown adult who is upset about Miley Cyrus.

Sentence: Invaded and occupied by Canada; all military units busy overseas without enough fuel to get back.

Well while I disagree with applying this to more than the McCain/Palin voting bloc of the population, I think the sentence presents an elegant solution.

Wait a second though. If the sentence is carried out, Americans would be overwhelmed by nombre quarante:

40. Free Credit Report.com guy

Charges: OK, he’s actually French-Canadian, but he invades America’s headspace every day. It’s bad enough that we have to see this albino smurf lip-sync some ad man’s grating jingles of financial woe fifty times a day. It’s bad enough that these ditties, as calculatedly infectious as bio-weapons, bounce around our skulls like a .22 caliber bullet. But the kicker is that this culture parasite and his “band” are hawking a scam. That’s right; freecreditreport.com isn’t free—in fact, it’s 15 bucks a month after the week-long “trial period.”

Exhibit A: There is a website where you can get a free credit report: It’s called annualcreditreport.com, and it was created in compliance with an act of Congress by the three big credit reporting agencies, Equifax, Experian and TransUnion. Then Experian set up freecreditreport.com, and their suicide-encouraging commercials, to cultivate and benefit from public confusion.

Sentence: Powering Ween’s tour bus with a stationary bicycle.

Go read the list. It's a swipe at demagogues left and right, and those others who are too self-important to see past their own egos.

Consider me The Prisoner. I will not tell you who Number One is. However, perhaps you'd like a clue?

If you want to know why the rest of the world is scared of Americans, consider the fact that after two terms of disastrous rule by a small-minded ignoramus, 46% of us apparently thought the problem was that he wasn’t quite stupid enough.

The conclusion is left as an exercise for the reader.

Peace on Earth, Good Will to All (1)

Except teh gay.

Pope Benedict a day or two ago, in the spirit of the season (which the Catholic church considers its second-most-important, although why the birth of Mithras should rank so highly I know not), made the traditional address to the Curia. In essence he was giving the cardinals their marching orders for the next year.

During this speech, in the spirit of the season, he claimed that:

"The tropical forests do deserve our protection. But man, as a creature, does not deserve any less."

Wow--"Hug a tree, hug a human being--Signed His Holiness Himself."
Which is fine. As far as it goes. But unfortunately it goes rather further. Because that noble sentiment was preceeded by this one:

In his address to the Curia, the Vatican's central administration, he described behaviour beyond traditional heterosexual relations as "a destruction of God's work" and said that the Roman Catholic Church had a duty to "protect man from the destruction of himself".

I have long had an issue with the Church's stance on homosexuality. Essentially, it says that since god created gays, and god can do no wrong, being gay is fine. However, in accordance with the dogma laid down by prior Popes whom said dogma, though not history, claims can also do no wrong beacause they're inspired by teh god, actually engaging in "gay acts" (like hugging, kissing, fondling, licking ... you get the idea) is evil and sinful and will surely lead the practicioner to eternal damnation.

That is, it's just fine to actually be as velvet-tuxedo-with-frilly-shirt-wearingly, drippy-jewelery-dazzling, sequined-thongingly queer as you like. But if you actually prove you're gay (which admittedly no-one wearing the wardrobe described above need do) by kissing another man/woman/other, then you're screwed. Or rather, not; If you take my meaning.

The Pope made these statements while wearing a flowing gown with matcing hat and accessories. And, according to gossip, Prada shoes (And we all know who wears Prada).

However, I'm concerned. As we all know, some trees are self-pollinating, which is just a politically correct mealymouthed liberal word for "bisexual". What happens to Catholics who, out of ignorance or sheer misguidedness, happen to hug a bisexual tree? That's engaging in teh gay behaviour. And whether you're straight or gay, engaging in teh gay behaviour gets you sent to teh hell. Clearly this Pope is misleading God's chosen people.

To be safe, we should probably just continue ripping up rainforests. Sure, a couple of non-homosexuality-optional trees might die, but they'll go straight to heaven, so that's okay.

Although I hear hell is better-decorated, and at this time of year that's important.

Prop 8--The Musical!

Stolen without mercy from Pharyngula.

John C. Reilly's appearance alongside Margaret Cho was enough to convince me this had to be Metroblogged. But my life seems to contain ridiculous amounts of Neil Patrick Harris lately. A houseguest introduced me to Joss Whedon's (director of "Buffy","Angel", "Firefly") writer's strike production: Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.

Oh, and watch for His appearance. You'll know who "He" is when you see Him.

It's Proposition 8--The Musical!

It's sometimes said that Heaven has all the best choreographers (who else would know how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?), but the Devil has all the best tunes.

Humans: Part angel, part devil. Sometimes both in glorious, schlocky harmony.

Phone Sex Operators Talk to You Live!!!

Well, not quite live, I guess ... From Mother Jones comes this photo essay about phone sex operators.

Lest you think it's all fun and games, and laughing at the chumps willing to spend $3.99 a minute to alleviate their desperation and loneliness for another night, help yourself to a free quote:

Just last night I received possibly the most disturbing phone sex call I’d had in a long time.

A caller shot himself with me on the phone.

Things like this always scare me.

My current track record stands at one confession of incestuous sexual abuse, and two other suicides.

Oh, and as I sidle toward a posting on free speech and the law, here's a fine example of what happens when we pervert language.

And another one.

"In the Great Right of an Oppressive Wrong"

With apologies to Robert Browning.

Queen's University is empowering six students to go forth and interrupt conversations with lectures on political correctness.

I'm pretty okay with what is called political correctness. I believe calling something "gay" as a pejorative is both inaccurate and inappropriate. But if some campus stooge came up to me, even in a "non-confrontational manner" to address the misuse of the word in a conversation I was having, I'd laugh at him or her.

I have several problems with this.

Firstly, I have no idea what they're going to use for censure. Will students get a ticket? A note on their permanent record? A spanking? What if they respond with laughter and verbal abuse?

What if the verbal abuse is politically incorrect? Hell, what if it's accurate?

Secondly, according to the list at that article, one of the things for which a student may be censured (not censored--censured) is "If a student avoids a classmate's birthday party for faith-based reasons."

Look, I'm sure you all know generally where I stand on religion: With one foot on its forehead and one on its belly, swinging away with a shovel. But that's just me. I don't object if someone skips my frigging birthday party to attend services. What are the Kampus Kops going to do when that happens? Drag the offender from the baptismal service to my kegger?

And it makes me wonder. What if a religious fellow described me or my friends as "hellbound?" What if I described him and his congregation as "deluded fools?" Harsh criticisms both, but utterly and descriptively accurate from our respective points of view.

What if I use the phrase "That's so gay" to describe the sequined-thong-based Mardi Gras costume with padded codpiece to be worn by a male friend? What if I know the friend to be homo?


Political correctness is too often maligned. It's important because we think in language, and when we change the language, we may change how people think about the person behind the word. And society should show its approval for non-judgemental language.

But this sort of thing is what gets good ideas and efforts a bad name. You're never going to police teen argot out of their mouths, or out of their heads. They have to come to it gradually, as does a society.

My grandmother referred to East Asians all her life as "Pakis." It was a generic term. In one memorable instance at the provicial museum, as we passed a turbanned commissionaire, she whispered as only an 85-year-old who's stone deaf can declare: "Oo--'ave ye them 'ere?--Pakis?"

The gentleman to whom she referred smiled indulgently. He correctly identified her as one of a generation who didn't know any better, and thus could not be offended.

My parents have learned better.

No-one uses the word "negro" anymore, much less the double-g equivalent. Why? The word seems inoffensive to me, generally (the shorter one, at any rate)--it was the word I grew up using.

It's because society has moved on. As race relations have improved (and they have) over the past fifty years, we've learned that to use those words puts us in a class with baccy-chawin' inbred crackers who can't count to eighteen unless they've got one shoe off. No-one said "Hey--stop using that word," except in fairly rare circumstances (such as changes to government correspondence). And you'll still find it in use in some of the places frequented by baccy-chawin' inbred crackers who can't count to eighteen unless they've got one shoe off.

But mostly, people who used to be described by that word stood were emboldened and encouraged, and said "Well actually, we'd prefer to be called ..."

(Note: I think that politically incorrect language is sometimes also a handy spur to social change. For example, try being a raging, gay-slurring homo-hater when a six-foot-four stevedore in a cocktail dress is singing Judy Garland. You won't use that language again--not until your jaw gets un-wired anyway.)

But mainly, in the end, what's called political correctness isn't about you.

"And if students become uncomfortable when a facilitator calls out someone on an offensive slur, it shouldn't be seen as a bad thing, Mr. Laker said. It means they're forced to think about their choices."

True. And fine. But it should be because the other person you're conversing with says "Hey--that was a dumb thing to say." Not because some prodnose proctor of morals stops you and tells you not to.

Musical Maundering #18.5

I've been surfing many sites where debate on Prop 8, the act that deprived a minority group of a right they had officially been granted, is still raging. Many of the arguments are worse than grotesque. In particular, there's the one saying "Marriage has always been between one man and one woman. Why should we have to change it?"

Aside from the ignorance of history that that statement displays (paging Mr. Joseph Smith), the appropriate response is: "That's exactly why."

Whenever any type of civil rights debate crops up, I remember this tune:

Our Town
Billy cut his hair last night
The cops said he didn't look right
For our town

We sell poultry, eggs and meat,
But your kind don't shop on this street
In our town

And it's a funny thing
It's always been that way
It's never gonna change, I'd say

We'll send money halfway
around the world,
But don't you go
callin' on the girls
In our town

The job is taken, apartment's gone
Must've forgot to take the sign off the lawn
In our town

And it's a funny thing
It's always been that way
It's never gonna change, I'd say

There ain't nothin' wrong with a pretty face
I hope all the girls know their place
In our town

Well, I don't want you to misunderstand, but
You can't have a woman takin' work from a man
In our town

And it's a funny thing
It's always been that way
It's never gonna change, I'd say

Oh don't judge a book by the cover
never meant one thing or another
In our town

All the houses look the same
You see, tradition is the name of the game
In our town

And it's a funny thing
It's always been that way
It's never gonna change, I'd say

`David Wilcox
(The Canadian one)

I don't have a lot of energy right now. I'm really hating work. If I wanted to do data entry I wouldn't be a writer. This grates upon what I like to think of as my soul.