I got a Rock.

What color is your soul painted? Grey Your soul is painted the color grey, which embodies the characteristics of elegance, humility, respect, reverence, stability, subtlety, wisdom, strong emotions, balance, and cancellation. Grey falls under the element of Water, and symbolizes the moon, tide, ebb and flow. Click Here to Take This Quiz

Quizzes and Personality Tests

On the brutally honest personality test? I got boring.
I am the Charlie Brown of Blogs.

Tee hee. I find myself a wee bit more colorful in person, but I AM quiet and understated by choice, and I DO like grey. Um, hello, Grey on grey, trimed in Dark Grey. Nice Blog.

Dear Daniel-

Your haircut sucks ass.

If you were not so busy trying to get your suck-ass hair to follow the traditional comb over pattern favored by middle aged men in the seventies, you might have heard me when I told you I had an EXCHANGE. Your temper-tantrum sighing fit and repeatedly asking me if I had a reciept was not endearing in the least. If you had left your stupid "edgy" hair alone while greeting me, perhaps made eye contact, or even (gasp) attempted something close to conversation, you might have had MORE time to play with your hair at the end of the transaction, instead of having to call for a manager to void out your fuck up.
I don't have the patience for girls playing with their locks while I am trying to conduct business, and my experiences with male grooming in the service industry lately almost make me appreciate the time and attention you spent on your hair.

Oh, but that's right, your haircut sucks ass. Big hairy donkey balls, boy.

Just like your customer service.

cc: Border's Bookstore.

Zippers, and Kidneys, and Houses, Oh My!

House hunting, on a teeny budget, with terrible credit.

Still a middle class white girl who'd like to keep her children away from gangs, meth, roaches, and freeway underpasses.

I've looked at some funkadelic houses in the last few days. The things that are in my budget are all three bedrooms made out of one bedroom houses. I'm not sure I'm ready to put Big O in a bedroom that is not technically attached to the house. I answered an ad for a 2 and 1/3 bedroom house. That one was detached, too. I saw another one that had, if I'm not mistaken, plywood counter top in one spot.

Is it bad that I'm considering the plywood one? I asked the landlord if he'd mind if I tiled it, since I'm kind of crafty, and he said he wouldn't mind at all. I will have to clarify that I expect materials to be shaved off of the rent.
Can we talk about rent? Sweet lord tiny baby Jesus. I'm too old and fat to sell my eggs, so I'm going to have to sell a kidney.

Wait! Can't you regenerate your liver if you donate part of it? How long does that take to regrow, and can I just have 'em put a zipper in so we can do it again when it grows back? I thinks the Honey's is pickled...Big o is a fine strapping boy, though. We could probably get two or three runs from his liver...

I'll keep you guys updated. But if you know anyone shopping for a kidney...

***************************

Okay, I've tried being respectful, and I can't take it any more!

Look down.

WTF is WRONG with Chesty Puller's forehead?

Did they photoshop two pictures together?

FRRRRReaky.

Wednesday Hero

This Weeks Solider Was Suggested By Robert

Lt. General Lewis B. "Chesty" Puller
June 26, 1898 - October 11, 1971


Lieutenant General Lewis B. "Chesty" Puller was a colorful veteran of the Korean War, four World War II campaigns, and expeditionary service in China, Nicaragua, and Haiti. He is the only Marine to win the Navy Cross five times for heroism and gallantry in combat earing him the distinction of being the most decorated Marine in the history of the USMC.

A Marine officer and enlisted man for 37 years, General Puller served at sea or overseas for all but ten of those years, including a hitch as commander of the "Horse Marines" in China. Excluding medals from foreign governments, he won a total of 14 personal decorations in combat, plus a long list of campaign medals, unit citation ribbons and other awards. In addition to the Navy Crosses, the highest honor the Navy can bestow, he holds its Army equivalent, the Distinguished Service Cross. A list of his awards can be found here.

Born 26 June 1898, at West Point, Virginia, the general attended Virginia Military Institute until enlisting in the Marine Corps in August 1918. He was appointed a Marine Reserve second lieutenant 16 June 1919, but due to force reductions after World War I, was placed on inactive duty ten days later. He rejoined the Marines as an enlisted man to serve with the Gendarmerie d'Haiti, a military force in that country under a treaty with the United States. Most of its officers were U. S. Marines, while its enlisted personnel were Haitians.

After almost five years in Haiti, where he saw frequent action against the Caco rebels, Puller returned in March 1924 to the United States. He was commissioned a Marine second lieutenant that same month, and during the next two years, served at the Marine Barracks, Norfolk, Virginia, completed the Basic School at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and served with the 10th Marine Regiment at Quantico, Virginia.

In July of 1926, Puller embarked for a two-year tour of duty at the Marine Barracks, Pearl Harbor. Returning in June 1928, he served in San Diego, California, until he joined the Nicaraguan National Guard Detachment that December. After winning his first Navy Cross in Nicaragua, he returned to the United States in July 1931 to enter the Company Officers Course at the Army Infantry School, Fort Benning, Georgia. He completed the course in June 1932 and returned to Nicaragua the following month to begin the tour of duty that brought him a second Navy Cross.

In January 1933, Puller left Nicaragua for the United States. A month later he sailed from San Francisco to join the Marine Detachment of the American Legation at Peiping, China. There, in addition to other duties, he commanded the famed "Horse Marines." Without coming back to the United States, he began a tour of sea duty in USS AUGUSTA of the Asiatic Fleet. In June 1936 he returned to the United States to become an instructor in the Basic School at Philadelphia. He left there in May 1939 to serve another year as commander of the AUGUSTA's Marine Detachment, and from that cruiser, joined the 4th Marine Regiment at Shanghai, China, in May 1940.

After serving as a battalion executive and commanding officer with the 4th Marines, Puller sailed for the United States in August 1941. In September, he took command of the 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, 1st Marine Division, at Camp Lejeune. That Regiment was detached from the 1st Division in March 1942 and the following month, as part of the 3rd Marine Brigade, sailed for the Pacific theater. The 7th Regiment rejoined the 1st Marine Division in September 1942, and Puller, still commanding its 1st Battalion, went on to win his third Navy Cross at Guadalcanal.

The action that brought him that medal occurred on the night of October 24-25 1942. For a desperate three hours his battalion, stretched over a mile-long front, was the only defense between vital Henderson Airfield and a regiment of seasoned Japanese troops. In pouring jungle rain the Japanese smashed repeatedly at his thin line, as General Puller moved up and down its length to encourage his men and direct the defense. After reinforcements arrived, he commanded the augmented force until late the next afternoon. The defending Marines suffered less than 70 casualties in the engagement while 1400 of the enemy were killed and 17 truckloads of Japanese equipment were recovered by the Americans.

After Guadalcanal, Puller became executive officer of the 7th Marines. He was fighting in that capacity when he won his fourth Navy Cross at Cape Gloucester in January 1944. There, when the commanders of the two battalions were wounded, he took over their units and moved through heavy machine-gun and mortar fire to reorganize them for attack, then led them in taking a strongly fortified enemy position.

In February 1944, Puller took command of the 1st Marines at Cape Gloucester. After leading that regiment for the remainder of the campaign, he sailed with it for the Russell Islands in April 1944. He went on to command it at Peleliu in September and October 1944. He returned to the United States in November 1944, named executive officer of the Infantry Training Regiment at Camp Lejeune in January 1945, and took command of that regiment the next month.

In August 1946, Puller became Director of the 8th Marine Corps Reserve District, with headquarters at New Orleans, Louisiana. After that assignment, he commanded the Marine Barracks at Pearl Harbor until August 1950, when he arrived at Camp Pendleton, California, to re-establish and take command of the 1st Marines, the same regiment he had led at Cape Gloucester and Peleliu.

Landing with the 1st Marines at Inchon, Korea, in September 1950, he continued to head that regiment until January 1951, when he was promoted to brigadier general and named Assistant Commander of the 1st Marine Division. That May he returned to Camp Pendleton to command the newly reactivated 3rd Marine Division in January 1952. After that, he was assistant at division commander until he took over the Troop Training Unit, Pacific, at Coronado, California, that June. He was promoted to major general in September 1953, and in July 1954, assumed command of the 2nd Marine Division at Camp Lejeune. Despite his illness, he retained that command until February 1955, when he was appointed Deputy Camp Commander. He served in that capacity until August, when he entered the U. S. Naval Hospital at Camp Lejeune prior to retirement.

In 1966, General Puller requested to return to active duty to serve in Vietnam, but was turned down because of his age. He died 11 October 1971 in Hampton, Virginia, after a long illness. He was 73.

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. To find out more about Wednesday Hero, you can go here.


I often type my own little addition to these posts, marked as mine by the color green. I wish this could be a BIG addendum. In the years that I worked at the bookstore, I sold many biographies about this heroic man. Then one day another heroic Puller wrote a book. It was Chesty Puller's son, Lewis. He was a man who had a superhero for a father, who went to Vietnam, and was nearly killed by a landmine. He lost both legs and much of his hands. He was really conflicted about what had happened to him and his book won the Pulitzer prize. I was saddened to hear of his suicide in the early 90's. His family understands why his name is not on the Vietnam wall, but they feel that he died as a direct result of Vietnam.

The reason I bring him up is that there are several efforts to streamline the benefits process for disabled soldiers, efforts to make benefits automatic instead of having to fill out thirty one page applications about why an amputee vet might deserve a little help from the government he sacrificed a limb for. There was a story on NPR about it today. Find out what your congressman is doing to make sure these things happen. Regardless of your opinion on this war, these men and women deserve everything we can afford to give. Probably more than that. I highly recommend following
Charles' links. There are stories there that will give you screaming fits.

(I can't believe I wasted my 400th post on Northern California's hippie/meth/trash population)

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig

I went home for my vacation. It was interesting.

Everyone has a religion up there. That religion may be traditional steeple and stained glass, it may be ecology, it may be meth.


You know what, I am teetering on the razor's edge of the poverty line, so I should not judge. But even at my lowest, my kids were clean and dressed. I cannot get over how many babies were clothed in diapers and dirt. The crappy cars also had drivers with ciggies dangling, men without their shirts, women in the least amount of clothes possible. It's HOT there-- one hundred and twenty is not at all unusual, and there is no gentle delta breeze to counter balance it. We were driving around without A/C--but EEEEW, our sh*t was covered up!!!



I miss my parents, I miss the hills and I miss the river.



Redneck/White Trash/Crank fiends? Not so much.

**************************
Editorial postscript here: I'm not sayin' don't let your babies run around in nothin' but their nappies--that's a joy you really only get below four and after eighty four. But if you are clearly GOING somewhere, knowing full well the kids will be getting out of the car or going IN somewhere, put some clothes on them.

That is all.

flying fish rainbow

flying fish rainbow
Originally uploaded by hialoakapua.

I found this picture on Flickr, and I love it. I would hang that up in my house, and it would make me happy. Seriously. Sometimes Watercolors just GET to me, and simple gets to me much more than busy frenetic stuff.

I was originally looking for a picture to go with a pithy post about the children's book, "The Rainbow Fish."

I bought a mobile of the fish from this book before Big O was born. Oh.My.God. My son loved that mobile. CRSE, maybe you can tell me if it's bad that my son's first word he used with any regularity was not mama or dada, it was FISSSSS. Fisss. He loved those sparkly fish. I bought a board book version at the same time, and yeah, I get that it's about how good it feels to share, and giving is good.

I get that.

But it leaves me with the feeling that the rainbow fish bought friends. I hated that book. The mobile is long gone, but Little O just found the book and we read it, and ten years later, I still hate that book.

But MAN, do I love this picture!

Sunday quiz (just one)

Because Gretty rocks.

Your Score: Longcat

71% Affectionate, 48% Excitable, 40% Hungry

Protector of truth.

Slayer of darkness.

Loooooong.

Longcat may seem like just a regular lengthy cat, but he is, in fact, looong. For proof, observe the longpic.

It is prophesized that Longcat and his archnemesis Tacgnol will battle for supremacy on Caturday. The outcome will change the face of the world, and indeed the very fabric of lolcatdom, forever.

Be grateful that the test has chosen you, and only you, to have this title.

To see all possible results, checka dis.

Link: The Which Lolcat Are You? Test written by GumOtaku on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

...And We're Back.

the scandal of the starving baby
Originally uploaded by Djuliet.

Fabulous vacation, surgery went okay, sucktastick return, a sixty day notice stuck on the door and realtor bringing someone through TODAY. UGH. More later.

But Ash had her bebe, and she looks adorable! Go see!

Sunday quizzez

76%The Movie Quiz

FilmCritic.com - Movie Reviews

I thought I'd do better on that one...

What Your Latte Says About You

You don't treat yourself very often. You find that indulging doesn't jibe with your very disciplined life. You are a very serious person. You don't have time for silly antics. You have a good deal of energy, but you pace yourself. You never burn out too fast. You're addicted to caffeine. There's no denying it. You are responsible, mature, and truly an adult. You're occasionally playful, but you find it hard to be carefree. You are deep and thoughtful, but you are never withdrawn.

What Does Your Latte Say About You?

See, I would say I treat myself a little too often.

What kind of pirate am I? You decide!
You can also view a breakdown of results or put one of these on your own page!
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey

If I suck at being a pirate, does that mean I don't get to join the flying spaghetti monster after I die?

Can we talk?

The Dick Cheney Memorial Thanksgiving Sweet Potato
Originally uploaded by mrwaterslide.

Two items today--

Does anyone else have craptastic dial up and use AOL?

When I venture to read a news story from AOL, there are always comments at the bottom, and they are always apalling. They are spewing venom, or bagging on the previous commentor's spelling or assumed nationality. Why have comments there at all? Isn't that what you start a blog for? It's full of crazies, man.

Speaking of a big box of crazy, my Wednesday Hero posts are a pre fab service provided by a lovely individual who does them free of charge. I appreciate this. From time to time I wander through the WH blogroll to visit other people honoring our troops and those that suppport them. The other day I came across someone bagging on the LiveEarth (wasn't that it?) concerts and how bad THEY were for the environment, even IF she believed in global warming, which she didn't. HUH?
I haven't watched An Inconvenient Truth, I have yet to see a single Michael Moore movie, but who DOESN'T think global warming is for real, anymore? I had just assumed it was politicians not wanting to admit it, so they wouldn't have to support any proactive measures. There are still people who don't think it's happening? Are these the same people who claim the Holocaust was faked? I don't go on people's blogs and attack their positions, but I was dying to ask her some questions.

Dorky moments...

So I thought and thought about what story to share, and the one that kept popping up is totally inappropriate for a dork post. Someday I will reveal the shame of the sheep named Jenny, but I'm not ready to do that yet (Best Jen, you hush.)

But I will give you two stories from my tiny Hanford, California Bookstore.

Ours was the closest bookstore to the Naval base in Lemoore. We saw a lot of sailors. My store's good numbers were due in no small part to the pretty and friendly girls I hired to staff my store. We loved them and they loved us and there were certain boys we adored. Best Jen still remembers the super tight faded jeans of (James?) Heidi. They were something--so were his eyes... hmmmm....

right. back to it.

One day we got a couple of lovely Australian fellows. When I say lovely, I mean they looked like volleyball gods. We wanted them hot and sweaty and showing those dimples, and hmm? oh. right. Love God number one was trying to find a book for his Navy host, and asked us to look up the "pair of one." I was sooo happy to be helping him, and I searched frantically for his book. No luck. I was looking it up in books in print, even, which back in the day was--literally-- a set of huge books listing every book in print. It finally dawned on my lust-fogged brain to get him to spell the author.

It turned out that he was looking for "The Power of One" by Bruce Courtenay, a book I had sold a thousand times. I was just so ga-ga over him that I hadn't taken his accent into account for anything but it's lust-inducing qualities.

I was beet red.

Now I'll share a dork moment from my ex husband that I found endearing at the time.

I have always been baby crazy. So when a charming family came into the bookstore, with a moon faced baby in a bonnet, I played with that baby all night. The two older boys were well behaved at eight and four, and the parents were nice enough. That night we re-arranged the entire store, and the next day, this guy kept coming into the store, looking at everything and nothing, and then leaving. Best Jen finally told me she thought he was going to ask me out. I looked up and watched as he picked up a book from the shelf and pretended to read it while listening to us do our schtick, and laughing at all of our jokes. He was standing in what, the day before had been science fiction, but thanks to the shuffle, was now romance. I asked him if he had read anything else by that author, and he looked down at the book he was holding in curiosity which turned to horror.

He did, in fact, ask me out, and as I stood there talking to him it dawned on me why he was so familiar. He was the DAD from the nice family the night before. EEEEWWWW. I promptly told him what I thought of him in no uncertain terms and told him to hit the road.
He eventually convinced me that he had been out with his sister and her kids, and I agreed to go out with him.

*********
This has been a very weak post from Jenn Factor 10. I hope to post lots of fabulous pictures from my working vacation next week, up to the blazing heat of Redding to care for my mom after her eye surgery. Actually, my mom is horrifyingly self sufficient, so I'm probably going up to save her from a week of chili and corn from my dad. His entire repertoire consists of chili, corn, and bran buds cereal (Actually, he poaches a mean egg, too.).

Don't forget!

It's Friday the Dorkteenth.

I will post one from work, later.


Just wanted to remind y'all.

Not technically Drunk Blogging

To Go -- fancy and tasty
Originally uploaded by lindes.

I went to a fah-ncy restaurant tonight, to say farewell to a favorite co-worker.
I may have imbibed more than one glass of wine.
Possibly two-threeish?

I never drink anymore.

We'll call this buzz blogging.

I thought it was a french restaurant, it was actually just good food.

I had pan seared ahi tuna with wasabi mashed potatoes.

It was art. A giant gob of green potatoes with four pretty tuna steaks, topped with a big frizzy spray of fried noodles.

This was all on the uber boss' dime, and it was heavenly. But the Honey was stuck with crack donalds while I ate art. I could at least share a little of my bounty.

I was careful to save easily a quarter of my green taters and one entire steak for a to go box. I noticed other people were holding back, so I figured I was golden. The snooty waiter (who also really needed to pluck that unibrow) took my plate without asking if I needed a box, and since it was so clearly a neatly trimmed quarter of a piece of art, I thought ooo-la-laa, I'll get a foil swan, and all will be right with the world.

Did I mention they were clearing to make way for the grand marnier souffle?

HWah-hwah-hoh-haaaa! (that was my cheesy french laugh, phonetically)

I turned just in time to see that dirty mock frenchman plop the evil accountant's seafood alfredo on top of my plate. Smashing my beautiful quarter gob of green wasabi potatoes. Burying my perfectly seared ahi.

AIEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

Okay, I screamed silently in my head, distracted only by the steam burns from my souffle. My foodie soul is still screaming.

Jacques Unibrow killed my aluminium dream.

As my old friend Galen would say,

Fuck the French.

Wednesday Hero

This Weeks Hero Was Suggested By Sunni Kay




Ryan Rahe has been active in the Special Olympics since he was in Middle School. The now 25-year-old has won quite a few medals over the years, but not all of his medals are at his Tennessee home. Some of them have been sent, by Ryan, to soldiers fighting the War On Terror for "good luck".

Jayne Rahe, Ryan's mother, said the idea of sending support to the soldiers in harm's way came about when she and Ryan were talking about news coverage of the war in Iraq. Jayne visited www.anysoldier.com and discovered how she and Ryan could let the men and women in Iraq know their efforts are appreciated.

Ryan, named 2006 Special Olympics Athlete of the Year for the Blount County Sports Hall of Fame, said he felt good when he received the box from the soldiers. He said if he could talk with them face to face, he would say, "Thank you."

The Rahes plan to continue sending care packages to soldiers, including the medals.

"Ryan is a pretty generous fellow," Jayne said. "He doesn't mind giving things to people."

In a letter that Ryan received, Chief Warrant Officer 2 Anthony W. Grillett wrote:
"I and the Battalion can never thank you enough for sending us your medals. They have brought us luck and good fortune, and now as we prepare to deploy home we send them back to you with our eternal gratitude.

That you would send us something so precious is a reflection of your character. As you called us heroes; to me you are the hero. For I believe it is not who you are, or what you are that makes you a hero, it is the ability to give all especially when it is never asked.

Your courage to face the challenges required earning those medals and then so freely send them to us here in Iraq will forever make you a hero to me. I will never be able to truly express in words how honored I was when I read the letter from your Mother. It truly humbles me and shows me that what I fight for in our country will always be worth the small sacrifices asked of me. Thank you again."

Sometimes a hero is one who sacrifices everything in their life to help others. And sometimes a hero is one who sacrifices nothing more than their time.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. To find out more about Wednesday Hero, you can go here.

Has anyone noticed that people with the least amount of STUFF are frequently the most generous and sharing when it comes to others?

Caption This Picture!

 

C'mon, people.
I know you're up for it.
Apparently, so was Shark MacGuire.

Waaaah.

Enough whining and crying.

Let's get to the good stuff.

My new favorite time wasting blog?

Come with me as we Judge a Book by it's Cover! We did a lot of this at the bookstore, and this blog is very nostalgic for me. I love the old smutty porn covers. I was tempted to stop at the mexican novels at the flea market today (yep anther trip to the boiling hot flea market, this time the scary one!), because they had some great ones!

My secret love, even though I can't make even a third of them show up on my blog?

The Generator Blog

The fact that I can't get them to show has nothing to do with them, and everything to do with my technopathy. It's only through the blessed wonder buttons at the top of the blogger box that I manage what few pics and links are here. If it doesn't give me an HTML code to cut and paste, I am screwed. Like a phillips head facing a makita, my poor head (or my poor computer) is powerless against the spinning vortex of technology.

Why can't I title anything?

Links:
I've added several blogs that I have been stalking for a while, and then just reverse alphabetized the whole thing, so if you notice that I've stopped visiting for a while, it may be that I have lost you in the shuffle.

Okay, seriously, why can't I title anything?

We've got a whole lot of nothing going on--oh, except that I just got a call from a realtor who is representing my property owner in the sale of my home, would I like to buy it? If I could tack on another bedroom, sure, I'd love to. But my credit sucks ass, and there is no way in hell I'm going to be able to get into anything on this side of town for the bargain rate I'm paying now. Not even to rent.

I do not want to move in with the Honey's mother, as much as I like her. I went down that path with my first marriage, and living with Mama Dina would mean essentially living with all of them. I can't do it.

I don't want to go to the TOUGH side of town--BIg O is NOT prepared for that. Little O's preschool is right before I get on the freeway to go to work. I am beautifully situated, even if my four year old sleeps in our room. I can suck it up for this zip code, but my finances can't. I want to cry.

No one is ever going to believe that I didn't do it on purpose.

I have a thing about public restrooms, and using even the one at work is a last resort. 

 

My back teeth are floating if I'm peeing here.

 

I walked into the loo a few minutes ago and almost considered peeing outside.  Good lord, the STENCH.

 

I held my breath and frantically searched for the OUST which is kept on hand for just such occasions.  Nope.  None.

 

Did what I had to do and was washing my hands when the evil accountant walked in.  She froze in the doorway with a look of horror.  She muttered a faint prayer and managed to look me in the eye. 

 

"I know.  It hit me when I walked in, too, and there isn't any air freshener."

 

You know what? 

 

She is the evil accountant, and I can hold a grudge like nobody's business, but I am a decent human being.

 

I ran to the front of the office and grabbed the tiny air freshener concentrate that is supposed to be on a time release.  I ran back and sprayed two good doses into the bathroom.

 

"I hope this helps."

 

"Anything would," was the reply from the stall.

 

I ran away feeling like my good deed had been done.

 

But as I sit here and the mango scented cloud is emanating from the back, I fear that I forgot just how concentrated that stuff is.

 

She still hasn't come out, and I am afraid we're going to find her unconscious from the toxic blend of sewer mango.

 

**************************

 

Oh thank Dog, she made it out.

 

Wait, are her eyes crossed? 

 

 

It's not Sunday, but I can't pass it up...

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
From the fecund loins of Rum and Monkey.

Need Details?

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
You are Pope Stephen VII ... or possibly VI!

Made Bishop of Agagni by Pope Formosus, you became Pope yourself in 896 by putting your immediate predecessor, Boniface VI, to death. Your reign lasted all of fourteen months. However, you firmly assured your place in history by putting the rotting corpse of the aforementioned Formosus on trial in the splendidly named Synod Horrenda. Naturally, Formosus was clad in full papal vestments. Having dug up the stinking remains once already, you proceeded to have them found guilty, reburied, re-exhumed, relieved of the three fingers of the right hand used in consecrations and finally thrown into the Tiber. All ordinations performed by the luckless Formosus were annulled. After this delightful display of gratitude, you were promptly strangled, paving the way for an increasingly short-lived series of successors and the reinstatement, dereinstatement and rereinstatement of Formosus' Papal deeds.


I heart Rum and Monkey. Also, strangely, rum and monkeys.

EEEWWW! Not like that! (okay, maybe the rum)

Cheerfully stolen from Some Days It's Not Worth Chewing Through the Leather Straps.

Wednesday Hero

On this Fourth Of July, a day in which we celebrate the birth of this great nation, we must also remember the brave men and women who made this day possible. To everyone who has and are currently serving in the United States Military I say Thank You. What you do day in and day out are what make this country great and me proud to live here. The sacrifices you've made for people whom you will never meet face to face will never be forgotten.

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. To find out more about Wednesday Hero, you can go here.

There was a news story about a military dad who had missed all of his son's first tee ball season, and is now home. They are having a special game today so he gets to watch his son play. That is my favorite story of the day. Better than parades and hot air balloons, and don't tell Little O, but I think that tops the fireworks, too. Hug your families and shake the hand of a veteran today of all days.

YOU STUPID BITCH

Hang up your cell phone.

I can't be any clearer.

If you would like customer service, stop talking on your cell phone. It's hard enough hearing you through my plexiglass spit shield, without you mumbling asides to me throughout your animated cell phone conversation.

Learn some fucking manners.

...and brush your teeth. That was nasty.

That is all.

I am shocked. SHOCKED, I tell you.

Dumbya gave Scooter a pass on the almost three year prison sentence.

Didn't see THAT one coming, didja?

I think the fact that as a grown man he still allows anyone to call him Scooter is reason enough for some hard time.

Somebody gimme a cigarette

Oh, sweet lord, my knee just popped at work.

I think I tasted honey.