Remember when security cameras were so novel and interesting that you would stop when you spotted one and smile, wave, or act goofy?
Yeah, me, too. That was a long time ago.
To be able to say "Noggle," you first must be able to say "Nah."
Remember when security cameras were so novel and interesting that you would stop when you spotted one and smile, wave, or act goofy?
Yeah, me, too. That was a long time ago.
The sun’ll come out tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there’ll be sun.
Just thinkin’ about tomorrow clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow ’til there’s none.
When we’re stuck with a day that’s gray and snowy, we just stick out our chin and grin and say, “Oh!”
The sun’ll come out tomorrow, so ya gotta hang on ’til tomorrow come what may. Tomorrow! Tomorrow! We’ll love ya tomorrow. You’re always a day away.
You know what really pushes my buttons in traffic? The single thing that turns me from mild-mannered, but mildly-sadistic-QA-person into a seething hulk of inhuman anger?
A bumper sticker that says Stop Road Rage.
I mean, not only does that particular driver think that he’s got an inside track into the psychology of the human condition, but also he thinks that you’re a weak-minded soul upon whom his Jedi mind trick of a bumper sticker will have some influence after he’s cut you off, zip zip, while on the phone so he could move one car ahead in the jam to the exit and prompting your extreme braking with a methamped trucker on the road for 9:58 and wanting to make Forrestel in the next two minutes before his rig shuts off on your tail, the Mack’s lights so bright in your rearview mirror that you’re tanning, now burning.
No, the Stop Road Rage bumper sticker works reverse psychology and actually boosts road rage. It’s only slightly more annoying than the Prevent Child Abuse license plates profferred by the state of Missouri with the colorful handprints-in-green-paint-on-a-white-wall motif that indicates another damn mess made by the kid that you’ll have to clean up that deserves a spanking or too, all the while with Missouri not offering an opposing viewpoint with the inspirational message of Corporal Punishment Builds Good Republicans and a colorful belt logo.
But, ah, we’re off the brakes and moving now past the friendly Motorist Assist truck behind the Corolla on the jack. Never mind, life is good.
Proof positive that although you can take the son of a carpenter out of the city housing projects and can place him in an affluent suburb, you cannot teach him true civility, in two words or fewer:
Dramatic recreation of detritus only mostly erased from a whiteboard in the conference room:
Ladies and gentlemen, start your captioning.
Here’s my first, to get you in the mood:
Sure, I offended the leader of the client’s parent company. But I thought surely the feminine version of CEO was CEA.
Who wouldn’t?
UPDATE: Also, note that neither are actually pronounced like see-oh or see-ah. You have been warned.
Here’s a photo you never see anywhere else, a MfBJN exclusive:
I understand that the view was much better before former Attorney General John Ashcroft forced the park services to put the robe on.
Old joke:
Young man: Can you tell me how to get to Carnegie Hall?
Older man: Well, if you’re coming from downtown, you should take Madison Avenue up to 57th and hang a left. Oh, you could take Fifth, but it bogs down in the thirties and forties. If you’re coming from the Upper West Side, you can take Broadway down to 57th if you’re comfortable with Columbus Circle, or you can take Ninth Avenue down if you want a stoplight….
You know, even now that I’ve been to New York City, I still don’t get the joke.
(enabled by Ace of Spades, the Robert Bly of our age.)
Look me in the eye when you say that you have never taken a hazardous chemical cleaning or lubricating agent that you cannot pour down the drain and have to pay for disposal to an acquaintance’s house and tucked it under their sink or set it on a shelf in his garage when he wasn’t looking.
I guess El Guapo knows where he got that orange juice bottle full of olive-colored automotive coolant now.
Good to see the people behind the International Freedom Center had alternate plans.
You can find this particular gem of wisdom on a dark Post No Bills temporary construction wall just north of the former site of the World Trade Center. In case the author of this simplistic moralism–a member of the reality hemp-based community–should find through Googlism his or her words immortalized here, allow me to point out some finer flaws with the point he or she is trying to make:
But nice try. Now go back to work; I don’t want my tax-funded State Department employees slacking off.
Back when I was a young man, we didn’t have CDs or the Internet. If we wanted to play video games, we spent all night typing the programs in from magazines.
Wherein Heather channels Homer:
Mmm, De Beers
It’s all fun until your hotel catches fire.
New studies indicate that love is, in fact, a sixties-style action show judo chop to the back of the neck.
I know, you all expected that today would mark the day of the Packer flag’s annual debut.
But not on September 11, brother; my flag brace holds a different flag today.
I won’t forget.
From a fundraising plea junk mail from the Alzheimer’s Disease Research Program of the American Health Assistance Foundation, of whom I’ve never heard before and to whom I will never send any money whatsoever:
Alzheimer’s reign of terror? Lord, love a duck, poorly written, poorly metaphored… I say we make it a trifecta by making it poorly funded, too.
Joaquin Phoenix had a brother, River Phoenix, who was also an actor.
Compare/contrast this with trivia questions ca 1990.
Crikes, I’ve got this mosquito bite on my neck like an inch from my jugular. You know that mosquito will be telling his friends about that bite, ad nauseum, for the rest of his life.
Probably a week tops, unless he tries that stunt again, in which case I’ll spill my own blood if needed to truncate his existence.