(no subject)

Just out of curiosity, who do you think Bush is going to protect marriage from next? Interracial relationships? Muslims? The poor?

That moron. I think I need to watch "The American President" just to remember what a good one kinda looks like.

******

Save me time, money, and meme space. Tell me you love me.

(I'd say I love you first, but I'm pretty sure I'm just using you all for friends list sex. :))

(no subject)

My car is absolutely, positively the devil incarnate, I swear. I don't know why he'd want to be a beaten-up 1990 Corsica, but I'm sure it has to do with taking over the planet through an incredible amount of subtlety.

He's doing that chugging thing, which is annoying any way you look at it, but it generally precedes an embarrassing death scene only slightly less stupid than when Shelley Winters bit it in "The Poseidon Adventure". There's a damn good reason his official name is Paco the Corsican Pimp -- Paco is what my brother named him, Corsican because he's ... well, a Corsica, and Pimp because he likes to screw with me and take all my money.

And have I mentioned how badly the concepts "Tarzan" and "underwear model" are now tied together in my mind? alchemywizardry just made wenchamok a Tarzan wallpaper and all I could think when I saw it was, "If monkeys have underwear models, they must think that guy is really committed."

(Don't mind me ... I just woke up after a nap. Scariest damn thing in the world, that. I could have sworn on a stack of my favorite fantasy novels that it was six in the morning tomorrow, and followed up that stunning display of stupidity by thinking the worst thing I could possibly have thought if I had woken up tomorrow at six, which was, "Wheeeeeeee! Lookie me! I'm sleepin' in!" My alarm clock should feel extremely grateful I didn't strangle it right then and there. It wouldn't have done any damage, but I would have felt a hell of a lot better.)

Anonymous advice to every idiot I encountered today ...

Idiot #1: You must be three brain cells short of a skull with an audible echo if you think you can post a story to a critique list and immediately have a crowd of worshippers kiss your ass and tell you how wonderful you are. It doesn't work that way, it comes off so arrogant I find myself wondering how great your posture must be with that stick jammed up your butt, and if you whined any louder, the International Cheese Council would have to give you a lifetime's supply of cheddar simply out of principle. There are times when being like Anne Rice wouldn't be a bad thing -- access to her bank account comes to mind -- but this isn't one of her more lovable traits. You want to get published? Learn to deal.

Idiot #2: Don't snit around the place because I didn't do the job you've been doing for the past week because I told you I didn't know how. You doing it for me for four days while I'm not even in the room does not show me how to do the job, does it? You want me to do it? Fine. Tell me to do it, then show me how. See? Easy. Sheesh.

Idiot #3: I am a temp. I do not know why your package wasn't delivered like it normally is. Maybe it's your charming personality rubbing off on your shipment.

Yeah, the game isn't over yet, but ...

... somewhere in Chicago, there's a blissfully oblivious fan contentedly in possession of a foul ball who's not going to make it out of his section without having said foul ball shoved so far down his throat, an armless proctologist will be able to remove it.