I hate this girl.

I found her hitting the deadly "Next Blog" button in the upper right hand corner.

Why do I hate her? I don't know. She's typical of a lot of women, I suppose. Nothing stands out to condemn her in my mind, although I suspect she has some ex-boyfriends that have some stories.

It reminds me of a Lee Ann Womack song:

"It may be my family's redneck nature
Rubbin' off, bringin' out unlady-like behavior
It sure ain't Christian to judge a stranger
But I don't like her

She may be a stranger who spends all winter
Bringin' the homeless blankets and dinner
A regular Nobel Peace Prize winner
But I really hate her
I'll think of a reason later"

(I don't like country music. When I worked for Downtown Oak Park, the maintenance man used to give me a ride home in his truck.)

On Sept. 8, President Bush issued an executive order suspending the application of the Davis-Bacon Act in the hurricane-ravaged areas of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida. This alarming action virtually assures workers hired to rebuild the devastated region will be paid sub-poverty wages.

The law requires federal contractors to pay workers the average or "prevailing" regional wage for public construction projects. In New Orleans, that wage is just over $9 an hour. The act's suspension allows contractors to pay as little as $5.15 an hour - the current federal minimum wage - for these projects.

If you disagree with this decision, click here to let Congress know. Rep. George Miller (D-Calif.) has introduced the "Fair Wages for Hurricane Victims Act," a bill that would repeal Bush's suspension of Davis-Bacon. This legislation has already garnered the bipartisan support of 199 cosponsors. Sen. Edward Kennedy (D-Mass.) has introduced a similar measure, the "Fair Wages for Hurricane Katrina Recovery Act." This bill currently has 29 co-sponsors from across the political spectrum.

Addressing the nation from the French Quarter of New Orleans two weeks after Hurricane Katrina hit, the president vowed, "Throughout the area hit by the hurricane, we will do what it takes, we will stay as long as it takes, to help citizens rebuild their communities and their lives." The following day at a prayer service at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C., Bush declared, "As we clear away the debris of a hurricane, let us also clear away the legacy of inequality."

Suspending the Davis-Bacon Act does just the opposite; it assures the persistence of the inequality that plagued much of the Gulf Coast long before Katrina. Workers who lost everything in the rising waters cannot be expected to support their families on $5.15 an hour. As these women and men begin to rebuild their lives and their communities, they desperately need a just wage from their government, not a pay cut.

Why on Earth would Bush do such a thing at such a time? To "make it harder for union contractors to win bids," perhaps?

Sorry! I forgot to post a bad song yesterday. Here's a song that I have hated a long time. Enjoy! Oh, and if you hit the link, you can hear the tune! Lucky, lucky you.

Sad Eyes
( Robert John )

Looks like it's over, you knew I couldn't stay
She's comin' home today
We had a good thing, I'll miss your sweet love
Why must you look at me that way?
It's over

Sad eyes, turn the other way
I don't wanna see you cry
Sad eyes, you knew there'd come a day
When we would have to say goodbye

Try to remember the magic that we shared
In time your broken heart will mend
I never used you, you knew I really cared
I hate to see it have to end
But it's over

Sad eyes, turn the other way
I don't wanna see you cry
Sad eyes, you knew there'd come a day
When we would have to say goodbye

Sad eyes, turn the other way
I don't wanna see you cry
Sad eyes, you knew there'd come a day
When we would have to say goodbye

Former Reagan and GHW Bush appointee, "Ethics Czar" and serial gambler William Bennett declared today on his radio show that if "you wanted to reduce crime ... if that were your sole purpose, you could abort every black baby in this country, and your crime rate would go down." Bennett conceded that aborting all African-American babies "would be an impossible, ridiculous, and morally reprehensible thing to do," then added again, "but the crime rate would go down."

Don't believe it? Click here.

And, from this article:

"When President Bush took office, the nation's abortion rates were at a 24-year low, after a 17.4% decline during the 1990s. This was an average decrease of 1.7% per year, mostly during the latter part of the decade. (This data comes from Minnesota Citizens Concerned for Life using the Guttmacher Institute's studies).

Enter George W. Bush in 2001. One would expect the abortion rate to continue its consistent course downward, if not plunge. Instead, the opposite happened.

I found three states that have posted multi-year statistics through 2003, and abortion rates have risen in all three: Kentucky's increased by 3.2% from 2000 to 2003. Michigan's increased by 11.3% from 2000 to 2003. Pennsylvania's increased by 1.9% from 1999 to 2002. I found 13 additional states that reported statistics for 2001 and 2002. Eight states saw an increase in abortion rates (14.6% average increase), and five saw a decrease (4.3% average decrease)."

I thought I wanted one of these:

But then these:

keep trying to get into my house because it's getting cold outside.

Now I want one of these:

However, concerns remain as to the readiness of UberGirls for ANY sort of pet after UberElder slammed UberYounger's fingers in the door last night.

Last week, my daughter came up to me after watching children's programming on TV. I believe it was Nickelodeon. She said, "Mom, I can tell you've been eating too many bad carbs. You need to get a week's worth of meals delivered to you: seven breakfasts, seven snacks, seven lunches, seven dinners, even seven desserts!"

"Oh?" I said, surprised. "What makes you say that?"

She pulled up her shirt to reveal her little bony girl body. "See, mommy? See how my hips go straight down? That's how YOURS should go."

"Really," I said, seething. "Where did you hear that?"

"On TV," she replied, then, looking up into my angry mommy face, she said, "It's okay, mommy. You're still nice."

I was boiling inside, because I became anorexic when I reached puberty. Until sophomore year of high school, I thought my hips were an unhealthy aberration, leading me to both exercise constantly and starve myself. I was at least 20 lbs. underweight trying to eliminate what was healthy and normal in the first place. That this was happening to my daughter made me murderous.

"That's not true," I told her. "Grown up ladies have hips that go out like mommy's. That helps carry the baby inside you when you're older."

"Oh," she said, knitting her brows slightly at the notion that the TV lied to her. "Okay." And off she skipped away to play.

I had no idea exactly which weight loss company had poisoned her mind until yesterday. It was my old nemesis, NutriSystems.

The earlier commercial that raised my ire ("I went from a size 10 to a size 4!") now included silouette diagrams of a "bad carb body" (pear shaped) and a "good carb body" (stick figure, straight up and down.) They improved on a classic!

Growl...

Look, this Hurricane Katrina thing was a huge disaster, both natural and manmade. A lot of different people made a lot of different mistakes, and no one's hands are clean. But while others, including George Bush, have acknowledged they could've and should've done better, one man obstinately clings to his infallibility.

That man is Lord King of the Douchebags, Michael Brown. Yeah, that guy who resigned from FEMA. Which stands for Federal Emergency Management Agency. You know, emergencies like... HURRICANES!!!

According to him, he only made two mistakes. Are you ready to hear them?

Mistake #1 (according to King Douchebag): "Letting the press drive us." That's right, folks. The problem wasn't the death and destruction, it was letting the world KNOW about the death and destruction. This guy is unbelievable. UNBELIEVABLE.

Mistake #2: He was unable to overcome a poor relationship between (Governor) Blanco and (Mayor) Nagin. "I just couldn't pull it off," he said.

Again, I'm not absolving the local and state authorities from all blame. But... but... I'm too disgusted to type.

Then, King Douchebag pulled a "Clinton" and lied under oath. Brown said local officials did not order a mandatory evacuation of New Orleans until Sunday, the day before Katrina struck. He said this was "the tipping point" for the loss of life and chaos that occurred when the levees broke. This, of course, is easily proved false. The evacuation order was issued and carried out two days before the storm, when 1.3 million people left the area.

Look, I've taken my fair share of pot shots at Bush and he's not my favorite guy. But today, King Douchebag has captured my attention. Good Lord, he's a douchebag.

From this article:

"My concern is that they have learnt to shoot at divers in wetsuits who have simulated terrorists in exercises."

But I'm sure we're all perfectly safe. What could go wrong? The military is involved!

Donald Rumsfeld is giving President Bush his daily briefing on the war in Iraq. He concludes by saying: “Yesterday, 3 Brazilian soldiers were killed.”

“OH NO!” the president exclaims. “That’s terrible!”

His staff sits stunned at this display of emotion, nervously watching as the president sits, head in hands.

Finally, the president looks up and asks, “How many is a brazillion?”

Another new blogger friend, Reverend Jack, accused Dr. Sardonic of stealing monkeys. My monkeys. The monkeys hanging from my busom at THE WEDDING.

I didn't invent the concept of Cleavage Monkeys, by the way. That honor goes to the lovely and talented Sysmistress, who took the plastic monkeys meant to decorate the wine or champagne glasses and hung them provacatively from the cleavage of her dress. Sysmistress went drink for drink with me, incidentally.

I still was fond of my cleavage monkeys, and I think it despicable that a trusted friend like Dr. Sardonic would steal them from me when I was vulnerable and tipsy.

Oh, wait. I think I gave them to Dr. Sardonic so he could throw them at Uberdilf, who was sitting at another table talking to Motown Matt and his wife. Never mind.

I think I had a lot of fun at the wedding. Every day more and more of my memory returns.

So, yes, I would like to welcome Reverend Jack, pictured below, to the blog world:


I would also like to welcome Mr. Importantness to the blog world as well. I think I know this person. Does he have something in common with this?

Dr. Demento. Weird Al. Kinky Freidman. Ray Stevens. All giants from our shared musical past.

In fact, one could choose any decade of recorded music and find someone singing a parody, playing ridiculous tunes, or referring to their sex organs as jelly rolls (women) or ding-a-lings (men).

Where have they gone? Dr. Demento reached such heights of popularity that he was immortalized on a commemorative plate. Is there a higher honor?

Now, we have some tribute bands and Tenacious D. But they are the last of a dying breed of comedy-based musicians. Why? Why are left adrift on this sea of humorlessness? I blame Dick Cheney.

Now, everyone sing with me:

"Fish heads, fish heads..." (sniffle)
"Roly poly fish heads..." (sob!)
"Fish heads, fish heads..." (Wail!)
"Eat them..."(sniff)"up..."(choking sobs)"YUM!"(Waaaaaaah!)

But the only embarrassing photos would have been of me.

I've already told you lovely people just how much I love Halloween. I was born with a candy apple heart and candy corn in my soul. I love the smell of rubber masks, burning leaves and overripe pumpkins. I love the taste of popcorn balls, apple cider and baked pumpkin seeds. I love pumpkin patches, cheesy Jaycee's haunted houses and trick or treating.

I am a fanatic for Halloween, and the closer it gets, the more frenzied I become.

However, I approach the holiday carefully lest it lose its luster by the time October 31 arrives. Some of my less sensible neighbors already have some Halloween decorations up. That is a mistake; I will not glory in the gory until October 1.

Here's what I did last year:

Constructed a witch and put her in the basketball hoop.

Ubergirls, sharing their mother's respect for tradition , were a ghost and a pumpkin

Ubergirls bask in the glory of our pumpkins.

What's not obvious from the picture is the sad state of my skeleton lights, which I fear may need to be replaced this year, or the strobe lights in the pumpkins.

It's only beginning. Hee hee hee. I am rubbing my hands in gleeful anticipation.

Life is full of minor annoyances that, when added up, can cause an individual undue stress and anxiety.

Why would someone add to this steaming pile of shit? Why would someone make matters worse, not better? I can only surmise that this "someone" hates mankind. The devil hates mankind. So I have no choice but to conclude that Polly Pockets is manufactured by demons in hell, under the direction of Satan himself.

Bolstering this conclusion is the fact that molded plastic requires heat to create. Who has heat in abundance? The devil. In hell. See? I'm right.

For those of you unfamiliar with Polly Pockets, it is a brand of tiny plastic dolls, with miniscule rubber clothing that is impossible to get on or off the doll. The shoes are microscopic. I vacuum them up purposely. In fact, when no one's looking, I throw Polly and and her endless array of accessories in the garbage whenever possible.

See? She's even turned ME evil.

I also believe that the dolls and their surrounding pestilence are coated with some sort of kiddie heroin, causing little girls to crave them with a maniacal zeal.

Will no one protect our children, nay, HUMANKIND, from this adversary? We're on the road to chaos and mayhem, people, and that road is paved with teeny, tiny rubber high-heeled pumps.

My head hurts.

I decided to look for Cowboy Nick early this week, what with B.A. and his woman gettin' hitched and all, and boy howdy, am I glad I did! Looks like our pardner done got himself in a heap o' trouble with none other than BIGFOOT himself!

Can any of you clever cowpokes help us find Nick before he gets eaten like a pork chop at Sunday dinner? Here's all we know about where he done gone off to:

"There are also many attractions and things to do in this place. In the summer you can go fishing, attend a special event or festival, visit Blue Lake Provincial Park or attend a church service. Hunters come out in the fall for their annual hunting trip. During the winter you can go snowmobiling, ice fishing or cross-country skiing."

Oh, yes, Dilf is the KING!

The Hot Dog King, that is.

In a tightly contested race, Dilf (center) defeated Al Gato (left) and SYSM (right) in the hot dog eating contest held at today’s Cubs game, retaining the crown he won in the last outing.

The contest (and the less consequential baseball game) were held to kick off the weekend wedding celebration of B.A. and the Queen of the Harpies.






His hard-fought victory earned him a t-shirt, as pictured. Here is what the shirt says:

I am so proud to be Mrs. Hot Dog King. Does that make me the Hot Dog Queen?

Anyway, best wishes to B.A. and the Queen of the Harpies, whose union I will gladly witness on Sunday. Hopefully, I will be able to produce embarrassing photos from the reception.

September 21, 2005 (BRISTOW, Okla.) - Jurors hearing the case against a former judge accused of exposing himself in his Creek County courtroom will be allowed to see the sex toy at the center of the state's allegations, a judge ruled Tuesday in rejecting a defense motion.

They also can hear testimony that a second "penis pump" was seen under former District Judge Donald Thompson's bench, among other evidence Thompson's attorneys sought to have barred from next week's scheduled trial.

"It's so fantastic and so unconnected to factual support, and so prejudicial," attorney Clark Brewster complained in trying to convince Judge C. Allen McCall to suppress some state evidence.

Thompson, 58, who spent more than 20 years on the bench before stepping down more than a year ago, faces three counts of indecent exposure.

Prosecutors allege he masturbated with a penis pump under his robe while presiding over two murder trials and a civil trial in 2003. Thompson denies the allegations and said the penis pump seized in the case was a gag gift from a friend.

Brewster argued that the state should be prevented from submitting the device as evidence, contending that not only did it not function but that it also was sawed in half while in the state's custody.

Prosecutor Pattye High said an Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation chemist followed procedure in sawing the pump in two to swab it for DNA evidence. McCall denied the defense request.

The judge also refused a defense motion to prevent testimony from a courtroom reporter who said she discovered a different penis pump under the judge's bench in 2001.

Brewster said there was no evidence to link the pump to his client, but High countered that the testimony would help show "this defendant committed the same crime over and over and over again."

McCall took other issues raised by Thompson's team under advisement, including testimony from a woman who prosecutors said had a sexual relationship with Thompson and the admission of 180 hours of courtroom tapes they said contained the whooshing sound of the penis pump in use.

Brewster said he hadn't received the tapes until Friday and had no time to have an expert evaluate them or verify certain "enhanced" portions provided by prosecutors.

"If the jury is going to listen to these, they're going to need to listen to 180 hours," he also told the judge.

The trial is scheduled to begin Monday when attorneys begin questioning a 350-member jury pool. The trial is expected to last one to two weeks, High said.

Tuesday's hearing offered a glimpse at the lurid details jurors can expect to consider and even see if the judge decides prosecutors can admit a photo they say will be used by a witness to identify Thompson's penis.

Brewster had sought to have much of Tuesday's motions sealed, arguing that they contained anecdotal remarks from hundreds of people "with literally crazy things to say." He said media coverage of the hearing could taint potential jurors.

McCall refused, citing the public's right to know and the media's right to report. He allowed Brewster and High to agree on some of the contested claims before they were argued in the courtroom.

Brewster said some of the state's evidence would never be raised in a routine indecent exposure case.

"Because we've got a public figure, we want to vilify," he said.

But McCall said Thompson would be treated to the same fair trial guaranteed any other citizen.

He also made it clear that the former judge would not receive special treatment. When Thompson, who is free on bond, briefly stepped from the courtroom, McCall admonished Brewster, telling him the former judge should have asked for permission first.

If convicted, Thompson would face up to 10 years in prison and a $20,000 fine on each charge and would have to register as a sex offender upon his release.

How to make a Naked Redneck cocktail

- 1 1/2 shot(s) Southern Comfort
- 2 splash(es) Grenadine
- 2 oz Ginger Ale



Directions/Comments: Place grenadine on the bottom add shot and a half of Southern Comfort. Fill glass with ginger ale and enjoy. I guarantee you won't stop till your naked!

A human Roomba


A tyrant enforcing rules no one wants to follow


A scolding nursemaid regulating everyone’s diet and dispensing medicine

Ubergirl Elder stayed home with a cough and sore throat yesterday. Dilf came home early from work with a sore throat yesterday. Ubergirl Younger woke up at 5:15 this morning, croaking, “Mommy!” in a froggy voice.

Now, guess who has a sore throat, chills, and aches? Dilf, come home soon!

It’s Thursday, so I am presenting another horrible song for your discomfort. I decided to play fair this week, and submit a song unflattering to women.

In fact, this song is So bad, the artist has gone on record as saying she hated the song. It’s So awful, it was recorded while the singer was standing in a bathroom in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. It’s So atrocious, that, after putting its singer in the spotlight for a brief time, ruined her career singing advertising jingles.*

I give you… “Torn Between Two Lovers”, sung by Mary MacGregor. I can’t comment line by line, since I’m not a man and I’m not sure what would be going through his head, but I will say she is an evil selfish bitch who deserves her vagina to be revoked. Let’s listen in:

There are times when a woman
Has to say what's on her mind
Even though she knows how much its gonna hurt

Before I say another word
Let me tell you, I love you
Let me hold you close and say these words
As gently as I can

There's been another man
That I've met and I love
But that doesn't mean I love you less
And he knows he can't posses me
And he knows he never will
Is just this empty place inside of me
That only he can fill

Torn between two lovers
Feelin like a fool
Loving both of you
Is breaking all the rules
Torn between two lovers
Feelin like a fool

Loving you both is breaking all the rules


You musn't think you failed me
Just because there's someone else
You were the first real love I've ever had
And all the things I ever said
I swear they still are true
For no one else can have the part of me I gave to you

Torn between two lovers
Feelin like a fool
Loving both of you
Is breaking all the rules
Torn between two lovers
Feelin like a fool
Loving you both is breaking all the rules

Couldn't really blame you
If you turn and walk away
But with everything I feel inside
I'm asking you to stay

*You can verify all of these related facts by clicking here.

Todd (aka Your Name Here) has asked for killer brownie recipes for his birthday. Initially, I was excited to comply. I searched for the tattered, butter-smeared, hand-written recipe that I have, and voila! I found it. Plus my grandma's pierogi recipe and cheese filling recipe, and my mom's pie crust recipe. But I digress.

I found it, and I started to send it to him for his birthday on September 24, but I stopped. This is a fantastic recipe. A unique recipe. A secret recipe. So I am hesitant to share. Not dead-set against. Just hesitant.

So I will let you, the reader, decide. Please vote below:

Should I Give Todd My Brownie Recipe? Yes, it's his birthday! No, it's a family heirloom View Results Create your own poll!

I will compile the votes and decide by Friday.

Check out Doctor Sardonic's Blog.

He told me to hold off on announcing his Blogger debut, yet he posts comments on Sysm's site AND creates three posts of his own.

I am hereby announcing Doctor Sardonic's premiere.

Please keep in mind he's a dear friend of mine, highly intelligent, employed in a stable field, fun and adventurous, well-travelled and well-read, enjoys fine dining, and is tall enough that most ladies can comfortably wear heels on a date with him.

I mention all this, ladies, because he's single. Of course, he may kill me for advertising him in such a crass fashion when he sees me this weekend, but he's not the boss of me!

Look, SYSM! It's your celebrity crush, TV vixen, and early female Marine Corps recruit, Bea Arthur! Although I know you probably already frequent her Fan Site, here are some pictures I thought you might enjoy:

Foxy!

Her softer side.

She rocks!

Sassy!

"At first, I thought it was just a broken-off little cookie chunk, but then my tongue brushed a tiny bone on the end, and I spit it out."

Click here for the full story.

B.A. and the Queen of the Harpies are getting married this weekend. Mazel Tov.

20. A bachelor/bachelorette party thrown by a Talaxian several weeks before the wedding.

19. Guests from a minimum of four planets other than Terra, preferably from more than one quadrant.

18. A red-alert scattering field (which also disrupts cell phones and beepers).

17. DNA, chroniton, and quantum-level scans to make sure your intended is exactly who s/he/it claims to be, from the right universe and the right timestream.

16. Fully-paid life insurance premiums, especially if someone in the wedding wears a red shirt to work.

15. Personalized vows which include the lines, "Will you assimilate this life form, in carbon, silicon, or photon; in space and planetside; in gravity and in zero-gee; for starship, freighter, or shuttlecraft; for promotion or demotion; in reruns and in syndication; until low ratings do you part?"

14. A Klingon attendant whose sole function is to march over to anyone who pipes up during the "if anyone objects to this union" part of the ceremony, rip out his/her/its tongue, and wear it as a belt.

13. A money-back guarantee if your intended is an ensign and dies within thirty days of the wedding. Not applicable to the future spouse(s) of Harry Kim, since he's recyclable.

12. A Trill at the reception. (Guaranteed to liven up the party.)

11. A Borg bouncer.

10. Romulan ale, kanar, bloodwine, and Saurian brandy; but a Ferengi bartender. (Open bars are expensive.)

9. Designated shuttlecraft pilots, to make sure everyone gets home from the party.

8. Subcutaneous alcohol inhibitor for certain in-laws.

7. A best-man speech written by a Vulcan (to avoid the stupid "May all your ups and downs be between the sheets" kinds of jokes).

6. A court order forbidding the use of leola root in any consumable substance.

5. Lead-free Lobi crystal flutes for the champagne toast.

4. Guidance and tracking system for the bouquet and garter tosses.

3. A DJ who will play "The Time Warp," but not "The Chicken Dance."

2. A changing room for the newlyweds to shuck the dress uniforms and slip on the cozy and stylish neutrally-colored unitards everyone seems to prefer for off-duty wear.

1. Four pips on the officiant.

"September 15, 2005 (NEW YORK) - A groom spent his wedding night in jail with his father, his brother his father-in-law and seven other members of his wedding party after the group allegedly brawled with another bridal party and police, according to a published report...'We believe the event may have been alcohol-driven,' White Plains police spokesman Martin Gleeson told the Daily News."

Gee, ya think? A detective must've told him that!

(tune: Cheer Up, Charlie)

You get blue like everyone
But me and rum and coke
Can make your troubles go away
Blow away, there they go...

Cheer up, Monkey
Give me a smile
What happened to the smile I used to know
Don't you know your grin has always
Been my sunshine;
Let that sunshine show...

Come on, Monkey
No need to frown
Deep down you know tomorrow is your toy...

When the days get heavy
Never pitter patter
Up and at'em boy

Some day, sweet as a song
Monkey’s lucky day will come along
Till that day
You've got to stay strong Monkey
Up on top is right where you belong

Look up, Monkey
You'll see a star
Just follow it and keep your dreams in view
Pretty soon the sky is going to clear up
Monkey,

Cheer up Monkey, do
Cheer up Monkey
Just be glad you're you.

Hell bent for leather and ugly as a dirt clod, Great Uncle Pete glared down on Jim from his portrait above the fireplace.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” he pleaded with the oil painting. “This will be good for both of us.”

Jim climbed the step stool from the kitchen until he stood eye to eye with his Great Uncle’s image. “You’ve got to trust me on this one,” he added. “Will it help if I promise to pick the best-looking woman to take you?”

Groaning with effort, Jim slid the painting from its moorings, almost falling backward from the weight of it.

“Jeez, that’s heavy,” panted the desk-softened 42-year-old software engineer, as he rested the portrait gently on the floor. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, I’m soft. But if you were alive at my age today, you wouldn’t be a cowboy, either. So keep your opinions to yourself.”

Jim sat on the stepstool, staring at the family heirloom he had cherished since childhood. His grandfather had proudly displayed the painting of his older brother in his den, and had told Jim story after story about Uncle Pete’s cowboy adventures. While Grandpa always spoke in glowing terms of his brother’s career, it must’ve had its downside, too.

After all, Uncle Pete was bound and determined that his little brother went on to college to become a lawyer instead of facing a hard life in the saddle. He sent every spare nickel and penny he good back home to help put Grandpa through school.

As Jim considered this, he could’ve sworn he saw the expression on the old cowpoke’s face soften. Instead of a hard glint in his eye, he saw a twinkle. Maybe his great uncle hasn’t been staring down in disappointment all these years, but in pride at what his suffering had accomplished.

Maybe Uncle Pete had sacrificed a life of comfort and stability for himself, but he had made sure that his brother, his brother’s children, and his brother’s children’s children would have a better life.

Jim smiled. “Okay, Uncle Pete. Time to go. No, I’m not gonna sell you. But you’re still going on ‘Antiques Roadshow.’ Here comes the bubble wrap; you may be tough, but you’re not that tough.”

Where is he, folks? Here's a clue:

"It is a place to spend money on tropical fruits and gifts while clambering up the Big Pineapple (16 metres high), taking a ride on a cane train through the tropical plantation, hopping aboard the Nutmobile for a journey through the macadamia orchards and rainforest surrounds of 'Nutcountry', enjoying the Harvest Boat Ride or visiting the animal nursery. Information about the state's tropical fruit industry is to be found within the Big Pineapple which offers views of the surrounds from its summit."

Come on, people! I'm sure more than one of you has been aboard the Nutmobile!

My lovely husband Dilf took me to Meson Sabika, a tapas restaurant in Naperville, for my birthday last night.

I love tapas. We held our wedding reception at a Spanish restaurant and served tapas. I love Spanish wine. I love Spanish music. I love flamenco dancing.

Everything about this place was wonderful; beautiful scenery, excellent food, and I was served a flight of four Spanish wines, two white and two red. They had a flamenco guitarist who was joined later by a flamenco dancer in the bar area. I loved it, and we will return.

Only one thing marred the perfection of the evening -- people from Naperville insisted on being in the same place as me.

Now, I've spoken before of my distaste for Naperville; some people may call it "Naperville envy." To those people I say, "I know someone who will hit you in the face with a shovel." Let me describe the denizens of Naperville, and you decide how you feel about them.

They are the stereotypical SUV-driving, soccer-game attending, McMansion-owning, sweater set- or golf shirt-wearing, overpaid for ass-kissing-suck-uppery, George Bush-supporting suburbanites that give the rest of us a bad name.

How did they irritate me last night? Let me tell you. Two of them were seated at a table set for four, so like cockroaches, I knew there'd be more. The second couple arrived later and proceded to annoy me with their loud fake attempts at cleverness (Look who we found! Fancy meeting you here! Ha ha ha! Kiss, kiss. You look great!)

Then they talked loudly about their kids' soccer game. Of course, they are way too invested in the soccer game's outcome; you can tell they are living vicariously through these poor kids' achievements, or lack thereof. This inane and useless banter went on throughout the music, throughout the dancing, and throughout their dinner. I ask you, how could this soccer game POSSIBLY be more interesting than a dancer stomping rhythmically and clacking castanets?

Well, it wasn't. And I was still able to enjoy the guitarist and his lovely partner. But those people irked me because they represent evil self-centeredness and I want them destroyed.

Click Here!

SYSM has his own blog!
Let's all give SYSM a warm blogger welcome, everyone!

I have been prohibited from posting disgusting, vile, nauseating or disturbing images for one week.

So, I shall instead reveal to you one of my unfulfilled desires: I always wanted to be a belly dancer.

Somehow, I've never made the time or effort to research belly dance classes, unfortunately. I hope to change that soon. I began today as all of us with internet access begin -- I Googled "belly dancing."

One interesting tidbit I discovered on Google was a musical genius known as George Abdo and the Flames of Araby, who reportedly "...helped create the genre of belly dance music here in America as we know it today." Sadly, Mr. Abdo passed away in 2002. I will not let that stop me.

In fact, I am now fiercely determined to become the best belly dancer possible. And when I win an award for my awesome belly dancing, I will clutch the statuette (I wonder what is will look like?) and announce, tearfully, "I did it for you, George!"

I know he will be looking down and smiling on me on that day. Until then, I have to find a belly dancing class in the western suburbs of Chicago.

Dilf here, come on in and wish her a happy birthday. If she gets more than 30 comments, I'll make sure you all won't have to see any more disturbing images for a week.

As I was walking to school with the Ubergirls today, I was thinking about a song we used to sing in elementary school. It was a song bitterly cruel to teachers.

We sang a number of those songs. One, to the tune "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" went like this:
Row Row Row your boat
Gently down the stream
Throw the teacher overboard
And listen to her scream
I also remember a teacher-abuse song sung by one Nelson Muntz on the Simpsons. To the tune "Joy to the World":
Joy to the world, the teacher's dead
We barbequed her head
What happened to her body
We flushed it down the potty
And 'round and 'round it goes, and 'round and 'round it goes..."

Now, I could only partially remember the words to the one I thought of today, and that's where my birthday present comes into play. For my birthday, I would like someone to help me remember the words to this song, sung to "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" (Glory, Glory Hallelujia):
Glory, glory hallelujia
Teacher hit me with a ruler
Hit her in the butt
With a rotten coconut...
????????????????????????

Does anyone know the rest of the song? Any help would be appreciated. Thank you in advance!

In honor of my birthday, I would like to give a gift. I would like to dedicate this story to any person who is being abused. Whether that abuse takes the form of physical attacks (throwing things, grabbing roughly, shoving, hitting, kicking – whatever) or verbal ones (constant demeaning and insulting language, words spoken to intimidate and terrorize) please read my story.

I’ve already posted parts of this story on other people’s blogs, but I’d like to post it in its entirety now. My great grandparents emigrated from Poland in the early 20th century. My grandfather had been a wealthy landowner who wanted to make it even bigger in America.

Instead, he was treated as a “dumb Polack” and only offered menial jobs. He responded to this treatment by becoming an abusive alcoholic who may likely have given my great-grandma a venereal disease from his frequent visits to prostitutes (she died from cervical cancer, which my Ob-Gyn said was caused mainly from either VD or chemical exposure at that time).

My great grandma spoke little English, she was across the world from anyone she knew, in a strange country. She was Catholic, which meant divorce was highly discouraged. She had 5 children to think of.

She kicked his sorry ass to the curb.

Surprisingly for that time, her parish priest (Italian; they lived in an Italian neighborhood at the time) not only supported her decision, but helped her out. He gave my grandma and her siblings a free education, and informed all the nice Italian ladies in the neighborhood, who proceeded to drop off food baskets. (I bet they were damn good, too!)

He also told her to go to court, with my grandma serving as interpreter (she was the oldest child). She not only obtained a divorce, but a restraining order when my drunken great grandfather showed up with his drinking buddies.

Although from a wealthy family herself, my great grandma swallowed her pride and scrubbed floors at fancy hotels to support her children. During prohibition, she also made vodka in the bathtub and sold it.

Meanwhile, my grandma kept asking for her father. Great grandfather would approach her when she was playing outside, manipulating her into thinking the divorce was “all (my great-grandmother’s) fault.”

My great-grandma marched my grandma to the end of the block, where the whorehouse was. On the front porch, my great-grandfather sat in a chair with one of the prostitute’s daughters in his lap.

“Look. When did he ever hold YOU on his lap like that?“ My grandma never spoke to him or asked for him again.

If you have an abusive spouse, do not stay for any reason. My great-grandma overcame every obstacle bravely. She did not give in to fear or doubt. She knew she had a duty to protect herself and her children, and she did it despite everything stacked against her.

And she also knew that SHE wasn’t the one “keeping her children from their father”; HE did that by his own choices and actions.

I love a good party, and I’m so flattered that my city is throwing so many bashes for my birthday weekend! Check out
this list:
How did they know I
love ethnic festivals?
There are a crazy number of these babies this weekend. Take a look:

*Six Oktoberfests – unfamiliar with Oktoberfest? The German festival of beer, brats and Oompah bands. Men in Lederhosen.

*Turkish Festival -- Third-annual fest features Whirling Dervishes, folk dance performances, Turkish fashion and food vendors offering dolma (vegetable-wrapped rice dishes), kebaps, borek (pastry), kofte (Turkish meatballs) and more.

*Mexican Independence Day Festival -- Celebrate the country's most popular national holiday with live Latin music, ethnic cuisine, arts and crafts, kids' activities and carnival rides.

*Celtic Fest Chicago -- The ninth annual salute to Celtic music, dance and traditions features live entertainment on 10 stages, beer, food, arts and crafts vendors and more. Performers include Ronan Tynan (Saturday), Rachel Barton (Saturday), The Tannahill Weavers (Saturday), Chicago Rovers (Saturday), Liz Carroll (Sunday), Old Blind Dogs (Sunday) and others. Also, catch the Scottish Heavy Athletics Competition at 11 a.m. on Saturday and Sunday.

*Chinatown Autumn Moon Festival -- A dragon and lion dance, lantern show, Japanese drums, Chinese pop songs and kung fu performances mark the end of the traditional harvest season.

*Taste of Romania -- Annual rotisserie cookout of pigs, lamb, sausages, ox and stuffed cabbage. Includes live music, folk dancers, grape stompings and free grape juice during festival hours.

*Taste of Central Europe (they couldn’t invite Romania?) --
Live music and dancing features performances by Toborzo, Vanderlaci, Spindoulous, Hyrni and Veselica. Also includes ethnic food and drinks from local vendors. An after-party follows at Gilhooley's Grande Saloon.

There are also festivals celebrating food and wine, like: Naperville Wine Festival; Garlic Festivale; Eli’s Cheesecake Festival; The Old Town Wine Crush; Lincoln Square Apple Fest.
There are a lot of music festivals as well, including the World Music Festival. But none sound quite as fun as Hank Fest: the fourth annual outdoor celebration that honors the life and music of Hank Williams Sr. with more than 30 bands, a jambalaya tent and cook-off; and more.

Musicians of any skill level can take park in Hank's Army Open-Air Unplugged Jam each day from noon-2 p.m. and get in for half-price.



I don’t know how they’ll be able to top this next year. I do enjoy fireworks, Mr. Daley.

As you can see, Dr. Sardonic has sent me an early birthday card. He has also given me a new title.

Thus, I would like to be addressed as "Your Milfesty." I would also like bows and curtsies while addressing me, but I have no way of verifying compliance. I will trust you to do it anyway.

President Bush has declared Friday, September 16 a day of national prayer to remember the victims of Hurricane Katrina.

That day is notable for several other reasons, as documented by Wikipedia

For instance, many people know that September 16 is Mexican Independence Day.



But did you also know that it is Papua New Guinea Independence Day?

September 16 is also an important date in consumer culture. General Motors was founded on that date. Play-Doh was introduced to the world on that date as well.

As you can see, September 16 is an important date for all of us.

Oh, it’s also my birthday.

I dedicate these to my friends Miss Kathy and Miss Amanda, who are getting married. (Not to each other. To gentlemen)

Also, a wedding attire suggestion:


Pastor: Will you answer me right now
These questions, as your wedding vow?

Groom: Yes, I will answer right now
Your questions as my wedding vow.

Pastor: Will you take her as your wife?
Will you love her all your life?

Groom: Yes, I take her as my wife,
Yes, I'll love her all my life.

Pastor: Will you have, and also hold
Just as you have at this time told?

Groom: Yes, I will have, and I will hold,
Just as I have at this time told,
Yes, I will love her all my life
As I now take her as my wife.

Pastor: Will you love through good and bad?
Whether you're happy or sad?

Groom: Yes, I'll love through good and bad,
Whether we're happy or sad,
Yes, I will have and I will hold
Just as I have already told,
Yes, I will love her all my life,
Yes, I will take her as my wife!

Pastor: Will you love her if you're rich?
Or if you're poor, and in a ditch?

Groom: Yes, I'll love her if we're rich,
And I will love her in a ditch,
I'll love her through good times and bad,
Whether we are happy or sad,
Yes, I will have, and I will hold
(I could have sworn this has been told!)
I promise to love all my life
This woman, as my lawful wife!

Pastor: Will you love her when you're fit,
And also when you're feeling sick?

Groom: Yes, I'll love her when we're fit,
And when we're hurt, and when we're sick,
And I will love her when we're rich
And I will love her in a ditch
And I will love through good and bad,
And I will love when glad or sad,
And I will have, and I will hold
Ten years from now a thousandfold,
Yes, I will love for my whole life
This lovely woman as my wife!

Pastor: Will you love with all your heart?
Will you love till death you part?

Groom: Yes, I'll love with all my heart
From now until death do us part,
And I will love her when we're rich,
And when we're broke and in a ditch,
And when we're fit, and when we're sick,
(Oh, CAN'T we get this finished quick?)
And I will love through good and bad,
And I will love when glad or sad,
And I will have, and I will hold,
And if I might now be so bold,
I'll love her my entire life,
Yes, I WILL take her as my wife!

Pastor: Then if you'll take her as your wife,
And if you'll love her all your life,
And if you'll have, and if you'll hold,
From now until the stars grow cold,
And if you'll love through good and bad,
And whether you're happy or sad,
And love in sickness, and in health,
And when you're poor, and when in wealth,
And if you'll love with all your heart,
From now until death do you part,
Yes, if you'll love her through and through,
Please answer with these words:

Pastor and Groom: I DO!

Pastor: You're married now! So kiss the bride,
But please, do keep it dignified.

I have decided to hire Nick as my manny. He will be responsible for keeping the girlies occupied while I get stuff done, keeping the toy room clean, and watching Willie Wonka over... and over... and over... keeping in mind that Cinderella will be re-released this October and I have already reserved a copy.

Also, when Claire across the street comes over, Nick is responsible for making sure they all play nicely and do not take the sheets off of Ubergirl Elder's bed to make a tent, or hide behind the glass shower doors during hide and seek.

Nick is also in charge of killing spiders, and asking, "Did you flush?" after the children use the toilet.

Nick will receive free room and board and all meals, including pie at least once a week. Nick will also be allowed access to the DSL line and the I-MAC, and may have input into which movies are ordered from NetFlix. No porn allowed.

When can I expect you to report for duty, Mr. Seaman?

Oh, and your manny name will be "Mr. Nickles."

Finally, Scientific Proof that "You so crazy!" is a compliment.

Psychologists Brad Folley and Sohee Park conducted two experiments to compare the creative thinking processes of schizotypes, schizophrenics and normal control subjects. In the first experiment, the researchers showed research subjects a variety of household objects and asked them to make up new functions for them. The results showed that the schizotypes were better able to creatively suggest new uses for the objects, while the schizophrenics and average subjects performed similarly to one another.

"New research in individuals with schizotypal personalities—people characterized by odd behavior and language but who are not psychotic or schizophrenic—offers the first neurological evidence that these individuals are more creative than normal or fully schizophrenic people, and rely more heavily on the right sides of their brains than the general population to access their creativity...

'The idea that schizotypes have enhanced creativity has been out there for a long time but no one has investigated the behavioral manifestations and their neural correlates experimentally,' Folley said. 'Our paper is unique because we investigated the creative process experimentally and we also looked at the blood flow in the brain while research subjects were undergoing creative tasks.'

Folley and Park conducted two experiments to compare the creative thinking processes of schizotypes, schizophrenics and normal control subjects. In the first experiment, the researchers showed research subjects a variety of household objects and asked them to make up new functions for them. The results showed that the schizotypes were better able to creatively suggest new uses for the objects, while the schizophrenics and average subjects performed similarly to one another.

'Thought processes for individuals with schizophrenia are often very disorganized, almost to the point where they can’t really be creative because they cannot get all of their thoughts coherent enough to do that,' Folley said. 'Schizotypes, on the other hand, are free from the severe, debilitating symptoms surrounding schizophrenia and also have an enhanced creative ability.'"

So, it's important not to be TOO crazy. Just sick enough to develop new uses for things. Like the delivery van for the burrito joint that also serves 45-ounce margaritas -- I think they should have emergency margarita delivery service for stay-at-home moms. I think a glowing, swirling sombrero should emerge from the top of the van when such an emergency is reported, and it should blare "The Mexican Hat Dance" for a siren. Well, that's what I think, anyway.

If only I had been able to retrieve the calling card from the parlor before that awful housekeeper saw it. Alas, I was too slow; her prying eyes spied it, lying serenely upon its silver tray.

“Madame,” said the vile Mrs. Cavendish to me, with the corners of her prim mouth turned up slightly in an evil smirk, “It appears Dr. Worley has been to visit you again. How unfortunate you were not at home.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cavendish,” I replied, shortly. “That will do.”

Giving a slight nod of her head, the vile woman disappeared into the kitchen to sternly reprimand the parlor maid for failing to inform her of the good doctor’s visit.

I clutched the card to my heart and escaped to my boudoir to reflect on what this could mean.

Of course, a shriveled old crone like Mrs. Cavendish would not understand how a young girl with hopes and dreams felt; that the Burlingham Estate proved for me to be much less a haven than a prison. Marriage to a cruel, elderly man, no matter how wealthy or titled, left me melancholy and despairing. I was also largely alone, as my husband traveled extensively. I could not decide which was worse, his company or his absence.

But now, after more than a year of heartbreaking solitude, the heir to Stufford Manor arrived to take possession of the nearest estate to my own. His frequent visits had first consisted of inquiries after my health, considering her frail frame and pallid complexion at our initial meeting. But as I began strolling the grounds after dinner, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of my heart’s desire as he took an evening ride on his horse, Shadowflanks, my health steadily increased.

As my color and figure returned, the young Dr. Worley’s visits also increased. However, our meetings have been nothing but proper and formal, despite the plaintive yearnings of my heart. As long as that horrid snoop Mrs. Cavendish remained in my husband’s employ, I knew nothing more could come of it.

Reluctantly, I released Dr. Worley’s card and placed it on my bedside table. Suddenly, I heard the front bell ring and murmured voices below.

I heard a light rap on my door. “Madame?” Sophie, the timid parlor made enquired. “Dr. Worley is here to see you, ma’am.”

Looking into the mirror, I quickly smoothed my dress and straightened my hair. “Thank you, Sophie. I’ll be down shortly.”

I descended the staircase, my breath catching in my throat at the sight of his dashing figure.

“Dr. Worley,” I smiled, extending my hand in greeting. “How lovely to see you, sir.”

“I wish I were here under more pleasant circumstances,” the doctor replied grimly. “Please sit down.”

Alarmed, I sank onto the nearest divan, as he sat next to me and gently took my hand.

Gazing tenderly into my eyes, Dr. Worley said gravely, “I regret to inform you your husband died this very morning, of a heart attack.”

Despite my dislike of memes, I do like the people who meme me. Thus, without further ado, I present the "Life in 7's" meme, courtesy of Miss Knit:

7 Things I Plan to do Before I Die:
1) Witness my daughters living as capable adults.
2) See Italy, Spain, more of France, more of Ireland… Hell, just see the world!
3) Actually finish a James Joyce novel
4) Learn ballroom dancing
5) Make a souffle
6) Hold my grandchildren
7) Get back up on stage one last time, preferably in a comedy

7 Things I Can Do
1) Understand fictional characters and bring them to life
2) Make my family laugh
3) Write off-the-cuff
4) Cook the best comfort food in the world. The WORLD, I tell you.
5) Sing the French national anthem, in French
6) Comfort screaming children
7) Stand up to the powerful

7 Things I Cannot Do
1) Let go of perfectionism
2) Ignore other people’s hurt feelings
3) Be serious for too long
4) Stop feeling overwhelmed
5) Take care of bills/paperwork efficiently
6) Parallel park
7) Give up

7 Things That Attract me to the Opposite (or same) Sex:
1) Warmth and sensitivity
2) Humor
3) Bravery
4) Flexibility (not physical, but that helps)
5) Playful/willing spirit
6) Adheres to a code of ethics
7) Passionate


7 things that I say most often:
1) Be careful!
2) Why is your sister crying?
3) What do you want for dinner?
4) Don’t put that in your mouth
5) I love you.
6) Stop making me laugh!
7) Get back in your bed!

7 celebrity crushes: I don’t currently have any, but I will list ones I’ve had in the past
1) Harrison Ford
2) Sting
3) Ewan MacGregor
4) Duran Duran
5) The guy from Mystery Science Theater 3000 (I won’t say whom because it’s embarrassing)
6) Shaun Cassidy/Parker Stevenson
7) Phil Mickelson

7 people I want to do this:
1)Dilfie
2)Melanie
3)LoLo
4)Miss Lis
5)Miss Julie
6)LilRed
7)The Hamstress

You must know the city AND the country.

Your hint:
"is one of the few Japanese cities left where you can still see what Japan looked like many years ago. There are over 1800 temples and shrines in this city, with many of them hundreds of years old. This city is the perfect place to visit if you are interested in ancient Japanese history."

My little Uberangels! They did such a good job! It was ungodly hot, they were wearing uncomfortable fancy dresses stuffed with tulle (very itchy), and they had to wait patiently and quietly. None of that is very easy, especially when you are 5 or 2 years old! They performed their duties flawlessly.


The ceremony itself was not nearly as bad as I had feared. The preacher did not talk too long, gave a very sweet speech about love between a man and a woman without saying anything crazy about submissive wives or anything.
While the heat managed to wilt everything else, it did nothing to my helmet-hair. I remained very pouffy throughout the day and evening.We danced up a storm. Dilf did his patented dance to AC/DC's "Shook me All Night Long"; he jumps around on one leg, while picking the other one up and playing it like a guitar. He impressed some of the youngsters with his agility.

All in all, it wasn't the dead-end affair I had feared. Perhaps that is because half the groom's family departed at 8:30 p.m., because they were offended by the dancing. They did have some sour pusses on when the teens were dancing to the "devil's music."

I want to clarify my views. I never label my thoughts or subscribe to any particular school of thought. So, although I jumped into the debate over at Nuclear Beaver's site, I never considered myself a feminist. But I have some pet peeves and those guys peeved me.

I hate bullies. I hate people who have to keep someone else down just to make themselves feel big. I hate people who are one rung above someone else on society's ladder, and spend their time kicking at the people below them to make sure they don't rise up. Whether it's racism or sexism or ageism or a manager keeping his/her employees down or whatever, it makes me angry.

I hate lies. Those guys made inaccurate statements regarding not only women, but the men I love. My husband, my male friends, and my male family members all enjoy lively discussions with women, and want women to be happy, and genuinely love women. They look for teamwork with a spouse, not subservience. So when they called the women of western civilizations ball-breakers with no one to love them and reproduce with them, that pissed me off, too.

In short, I love men. I don't like when men are treated badly any more than I like it when women are treated badly. But because those guys painted women as villains, I felt compelled to respond.

I will consistently stand up for the downtrodden and dispel myths and lies. If that makes me a feminist, a race traitor, or an all-around bitch, sign me up.

I had a lot of fun, surprisingly. Especially with the fifth of rum I had stashed in my purse, with which Juan the fantastic bartender was more than happy to de-virginize my pina coladas and cokes after my step-father-in-law slipped him a fifty.

If that sentence is grammatically incorrect, you'll have to excuse me. I just ingested a fifth of rum.

Anyhow.

We danced lots. I will show you pictures, but I have to warn you: I had my hair "done" and it looked something like this:I will post more later but I am tipsy and I think Dilf wants me to come to bed because I'm LOTS of fun when I'm tipsy.

More later. Love.

I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't, I know I said I wouldn't, but it was too much fun.

On Nuclear Beaver's site, an ongoing discussion about misogyny versus feminazism has been taking place. Some guy calling himself "Englishman" (Taoski, that better not be YOU) said:

"I post on the AWS site as Englishman. You see the hatred of feminazi pigs is worldwide.

I do not really care what you think and your arguments are so bog standard I could write them for you. The only one we haven't seen so far is we all have small penises but I suspect thats coming.

To the only point I wanted to make to you. The comment 'don't marry us then' is germain.

Marriage and the bearing of children amongst western urban professionals of all colours has plummeted to way below replacement levels. The only sections of the community that are breeding are recent immigrants who are usually non-Christian and have strong traditional family values and the underclass. Both groups are implacable hostile to feminazism

Feminazism stands a chance of being breed out in two generations as educated western men refuse to accept the bill of goods they have been handed.

All western government are aware of this and the feminazi power structure is terrified. We have had a feminazi government minister in UK lecturing a group of businessmen that it is their 'duty' to marry these obese bitches and I believe similar statements have been made by Cuntwell and other members of the US government. A part of this drive to force us to marry feminazism is to try and equate western men who marry decent foreign women with the sex slave trade. However it will not stop us.

Sorry girls hope you like cats."

To which I replied:

"It's too late!!!! Bwaaa haa haa... I have already captured one of your feeble fellow males, and successfully mated with him! Twice! I shall now empty his bank account, divorce him and cut off his sex organs* for good measure!

Then, I shall stuff my obese feminazi carcass into a tight fitting garment, and ensnare another of your unsuspecting comrades! I will continue this until I have left all human males bereft, penniless and eunuch-ized*! Death to all men!

Then, I shall cease shaving my armpits and wearing a bra, and shall eat chocolate and drink Apple-tinis until I reach 400 lbs! Bwaaa haaa haa!"

I amuse myself.

*I am using the castration imagery because one of these cowardly sociopaths had mentioned it earlier in Nuclear Beaver's comment section. I will try to avoid its use in the future; none of my dear male friends nor my husband would ever say something similar about women. Sorry! Unless you're one of these male bullies -- then, snip snip snip!

She's only two, so she only attends Friday mornings. She is rarin' to go!

Now, I am focusing on this cuteness rather than Miss Knit's attempts to enrage me with hateful rhetoric. No, not hers -- she just links to other people's. But I have to keep my cool; tonight is the rehearsal dinner for the crazy wedding, and tomorrow is the crazy wedding. So, I need to keep calm and collected.

Love to all. Love to all. Love to all.

Laughing brings healing. Let the healing begin.

I can't get over my anger about the hurricane. I can't think of anything funny, I can't think about my household work (sorry about the laundry, Dilf), and the Ubergirls and I haven't had a dance party in two weeks.

If I hear "We can't play the blame game," one more time, I will smash the person who utters it in the head with my garbage can lid.

The governor of Louisiana declared a state of emergency on August 26. FEMA did not respond for a week. Thousands died. Many more suffered. A beautiful, world-renowned, fun, musical city is destroyed. While no one can prevent a natural disaster, the effects of that disaster can be mitigated, and through the federal government's neglect, that didn't happen.

If we do not HOLD THE PEOPLE who SCREWED UP accountable, it will be as if the deaths, the suffering and the destruction DON'T MATTER. Do people matter? Does the birthplace of Jazz, our American art form, matter? Do the diseased and displaced matter?

Or is saving political face more important? I demand justice. If president Clinton's business and personal affairs could be thoroughly examined by an independent prosecutor, then Bush's can be as well. Unless you feel he has something to hide?

Today's Lyrics Rant is in honor of my mother, who hated this song with every fiber of her being. She would snarl at the radio and hurl insults at it every time this song was played.

So, mom, for you and for humanity as a whole, I shall now dissect Roger Miller's classic tribute to thoughtless clods and the spineless women who marry put up with them: "Little Green Apples." Apparently, Mr. Miller considers it "A Tender Look at Love."As previously, my comments will be in italics and (in parentheses.)

"Little Green Apples"
And i wake up in the morning with my hair down in my eyes and she says hi
And i stumble to the breakfast table while the kids are going off to school, goodbye.(Yeah, thanks for getting out of bed once all the work is done!)
And she reaches out and takes my hand and squeezes it and says how you feeling hon?(Are you hung over again, asshole? Must be nice to get out of the house and then sleep in the next day while I do all the work)
And i look across at smiling lips that warm my heart, and see my morning sun.(I'm smiling, thinking of the many ways I could kill you in your drunken, snoring stupor.)

And if that's not loving me (puke!), then all i've got to say,
God didn't make the little green apples, and it don't rain in indianapolis in the summer time.
And there's no such thing as dr. seuss or disney land and mother goose, no nursery rhymes.
God didn't make the little green apples, and it don't rain in indianapolis in the summer time.(I have NO IDEA what this crap is supposed to mean.)
And when myself is feeling low, i think about her face and go and ease my mind.

Sometimes i call her up, at home, knowing she's busy. (Damn it all to hell! Some asshole always calls when I'm in the middle of something! I bet it's that asshole I married. I better pick it up; he'll just keep calling)
And ask her if she can get away, meet me and maybe we can grab a bite to eat.(He's actually going to take me out somewhere? This is new. Okay, I'll do it!)
And she drops what she's doing and she hurries down to meet me, and i'm always late. (I should've known he'd pull this again. Oh, yes, I have nothing to do all day but wait for you. God I hate this guy. I should've listened to my mother. I am an idiot.)
But she sits waiting patiently, and smiles when she first sees me, because she's made that way.(I know there are poisons that are indetectable. I will look them up the minute I can get free of this impotent gasbag.)

And if that ain't loving me, then all i've got to say,
God didn't make the little green apples, and it don't snow in minneapolis when the winter comes.
And there's no such thing as make-believe, puppy dogs or autumn leaves, no bb guns.
God didn't make the little green apples, and it don't snow in minneapolis when the winter comes.(Again with the incoherent nonsense. Is he drunk AGAIN?)

Miss Knit revels in her ability to enrage me. I am convinced she posted this just to get my blood boiling. Of course, she succeeded.

At first, I set out to disprove everything this idiot woman (not Miss Knit! the lady in her story) had to say, but I was investing way too much time. If people cannot see by now that the Bush administration is a bunch of lying, theiving, manslaughtering scumbags, I can't say anything to convince them.

But I can fondly remember another Illinois parade featuring Dennis Hastert, in which he was pelted by water balloons. If only I had been there to enjoy it... and Dixon, Illinois is home to Ronald Reagan's birthplace, too.

Oh, but just in case anyone reading this is still buying the Bush apologist story about Louisiana's Governor failing to declare a state of emergency -- she declared one on August 26, the Friday BEFORE the hurricane hit, and a full week before FEMA arrived.

Yes, Our Miss Brooke is another year more fabulous today! She has requested Viggo Mortensen. Now, as resourceful as I am, I am unable to comply fully with her request. Unless she means the pet donkey I found, whom somebody named Viggo. But she clearly provided a picture of what she wanted -- a PIECE of ass, not AN ass.

However, in lieu of the actual Mr. Mortensen, someone may want to send her a book of his poetry or a CD of his music. I fear that may be as unsatisfactory as when my sisters purchased a Shaun Cassidy record album for me on my 9th birthday.

Sysm hosted a barbeque Sunday night. The food and beverages were magnificent, and, as has become his custom, he showed a movie for the kids projected onto a giant screen attached to the back side of his house.

This time, he not only had a movie ("The Incredibles"), but he also downloaded retro drive-in cartoons ("Let's all go to the lobby, let's all go to the lobby...") featuring animated concessions. He also downloaded child-friendly trailers for upcoming movies such as "Chicken Little," the new Pixar car movie, and the next "Harry Potter."

But best of all, I looked up to see this:

photo credit to my good friend B.A.

My husband's head, 12 feet tall, delivering a fascinating speech about the superiority of Adobe products for advertising production.

The kids were all so thrilled, they began running around and making shadow puppets on the screen. The Ubergirls started it.

At some point during the weekend, a mosquito bit Maura right beneath her eye. At some point during the night, her eye got swollen nearly shut.

I was alarmed, but reassured when I went to WebMD. It advised me that swelling was common and to only call the doctor if it doesn't go down by tomorrow. I hope it does, since she's a flower girl for Saturday's wedding.

I made another, less pleasant discovery on WebMD. Apparently there is an insect known as a "pus caterpillar" in this world.

"Pus caterpillar -- It may be pale yellow, gray or reddish brown, about one inch long and densely covered with hairs. Among these hairs are hollow spines with venom. Stings on the hand can cause the entire arm to swell and become numb. There is severe pain followed by itching. Young children are often more severely affected. Large population increases in local areas can cause a problem."

I could've lived my whole life without knowing that.

I am researching the energy bill that was passed last month, but I am getting too angry. So I will take a small break from that, and try to find something funny to take my mind off of it. Please stand by while I research something amusing...

This hurricane situation in enraging me. Specifically, the twisted devotion to the current ruling administration which causes its devotees to rigorously change facts to support anything and everything it does. George Bush himself has admitted the Federal response to the natural disaster was mishandled! What is with these people?

I hear something about the mayor of New Orleans being "corrupt" and evacuation buses flooding through improper planning. I don't care if the mayor was selling crack out of his office, and the buses were driven into the Gulf of Mexico deliberately; it doesn't explain why it took four days for Federal relief to arrive.

They say the Governor of Louisiana didn't request help in a timely fashion (which is disproved, by the way; requests were made the previous week.) You mean the NATIONAL Weather Service didn't know the hurricane was coming? They were only going to come out if the proper paperwork was filed? Or only if they were asked "nicely." Did the Governor not say "Pretty pretty please... with a cherry on top?"

Instead of stepping up to the plate, Bush administration apologists respond with wounded self-righteousness to cries of racism. "We aren't racists! If we were, Condi couldn't be buying $1,000 shoes, now could she?" I believe them; they aren't racist, they don't care for poor people. The fact that many black people are poor results from systemic racism, not just the Bush administration specifically.

This is a national disgrace for ALL of us. And regular, everyday people regardless of political affiliation have come forward with open hands and hearts, ready to help. It's the Federal government that left our fellow citizens with their asses flapping in the wind. And we have to learn a big, fat, lesson from this: PEOPLE are not the focus of our national leaders. FACE FACTS! We are expendable to them.

How many of us have to die before you turn off Rush and Fox News and look after yourself? They're just spinning facts so that you get angry at your usual bogeymen -- liberals and their friends -- instead of asking the current administration why they let your fellow citizens die. I'm not saying to turn into a liberal if you disagree with that ideology, but for God's sake TAKE YOUR PARTY BACK from these people. THEY DON'T CARE about everyday people. I don't believe that is a trait of the typical conservative. Guiliani didn't abandon his city; why did our national leaders abandon our Gulf Coast?

The most embarrassing thing EVER happened to me by Mr. Mayfield’s class, y’guys – right in front of Todd Guenther. I might as well change religions and transfer to St. Margaret Mary, like, TODAY.

Okay, the bell rang and I was coming out of physical science. I was trying to rearrange my books and stuff for French when I saw Todd talking to Brett Simmons on his way out of Chemistry. God, he is so totally HOT! Anyway, when I saw him I got all, like, flustered and stuff and I dropped my purse, and it spilled all over the hallway!

Shut up! It is soooo not funny! I have my period and stuff, so like those big dorky sanitary napkins came bouncing out, but like, they’re wrapped in that orange plastic stuff so I don’t think anybody noticed.

But guess what, y’guys? Okay, this is the WORST! I had tampons in there, too, because I like have swimming with Mr. Jaystrab, and you know what a TOTAL DICK he can be when you tell him you can’t go swimming because you have your period…I know! I get cramps really bad when I use tampons, too! But he’s such an asshole!

So anyway, I had tampons in there, too, and they went ROLLING DOWN the hallway. Right… toward… Mayfield’s class. Shut up! Guess where they stopped. Yes. Right at Todd and Brett’s feet. I could DIE.

And they totally looked down, and then looked up at me, and they were like, “Uh, are these yours?” Oh…My…GOD! And then they like picked them up and handed to me. My face was soooo red I thought it was gonna, like, burst into flames or something.

Cut it out! At least he TALKED to ME. Stop! I didn’t laugh at you when you did your speech on James Knox Polk with salami in your braces! God, you are such a BITCH.

I am going to the Bible-banging alcohol-free wedding reception (of course, that's blasphemous to me; do they care?) next Saturday.

This means I need suggestions for which liquor to smuggle in my purse. I'm leaning toward gin or vodka, but I haven't decided. Rum would be good, too. What do you guys think?

Also, why would Jesus have supplied the booze to a wedding reception if it was bad? I don't get it.

By the way, I have a big purse.

We have to play Where's Cowboy Nick a day early; I must complete my Flash Fiction. So, He'll be around for a day longer. I'm sure he won't mind!

Anyway, do you know where he is? I bet you don't!

Our federal government has let down our fellow citizens along the Gulf Coast. The Mayor of New Orleans has this to say:

"Get off your asses and let's do something," Mayor Ray Nagin told WWL-AM Thursday night in a rambling interview in which he cursed, yelled and ultimately burst into tears. At one point he said: "Excuse my French -- everybody in America -- but I am pissed."

There are thousands of corpses littering the streets. One of our national treasures, the French Quarter, is ruined, perhaps forever.

There is a divide in this country, but it's not along conservative and liberal lines as propaganda would have us believe.

I don't believe conservative president Eisenhower would be so slow to respond. I don't think conservative president Theodore Roosevelt would have ignored the environment to such an extent in the first place.

I will be so bold as to say what I truly feel: materialists lacking empathy and moral sense have taken hold of the Republican party, and thus our country. This is not about conservative ideology, to which I do not subscribe but which I do respect.

This is about greedy bastards from whom aid must be obtained through coercion; they need to see some benefit to themselves before they will allow their precious money to be pried from their inhuman grasp.

This is disgusting, and its time for us American people of good will, both conservative and liberal, to stand up for ourselves. We need to take matters into our own hands and rebuild the Gulf Coast. The government and its corporate owners aren't going to help. We need to stretch out our own hands to the people in need. The government and its corporate owners aren't going to help.

And after we've taken back the Gulf Coast, we need to take back our government.
Thank you, Dr. Sardonic, for the picture.

I am close to pinpointing the source of my domestic rage. Today’s clue: The song “Wives and Lovers,” with lyrics by Burt Bacharach.

See, according to this song, I’m supposed to take care of myself and look “pretty” not for my own sense of self-worth, but because otherwise I will become obsolete like Dilf's old Playstation.

This concept pisses me off, and makes me rebellious.

Let’s listen in to this monstrosity, shall we?

“Wives and Lovers” by Burt Bacharach
(comments by Ubermilf in parentheses)

Hey, little girl, (I’ll fucking kill anyone who calls me “little girl”)
Comb your hair, fix your make-up.
Soon he will open the door. (hmmm)
Don't think because
There's a ring on your finger,
You needn't try any more (Oh, I thought I might get a pass since I just cleaned up after a two-year-old’s diarrhea, did 85 loads of laundry, cooked and cleaned up after 3 meals and 36 snacks, plus planned a week’s meals and did the grocery shopping, but okay)

For wives should always be lovers, too.
Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you.
I'm warning you. ( WARNING me, motherfucker?)

Day after day,
There are girls at the office,
And men will always be men. (Not if I cut off his scrotum, his penis and, disembowel him!)
Don't send him off
With your hair still in curlers.
You may not see him again. (So, wearing curlers allows him to break a solemn vow he made to me? Interesting. Do corporate lawyers know of this loophole?)

For wives should always be lovers, too.
Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you.
He's almost here.

Hey, little girl (I warned you about that shit!)
Better wear something pretty,
something you'd wear to go to the city.(But he’s not actually TAKING me to the city. I see. I’M the only one who has to keep the romance alive.)
And dim all the lights,
Pour the wine, start the music.
Time to get ready for love.

Oh, time to get ready,
Time to get ready,
Time to get ready
For love. (Yeah, I’m feeling the love.)

Now, Dilf has never, ever made these sorts of threats. And I do want to look lovely for my husband; but because I love him and want him to be happy.

And do you know why I love him and want him to be happy? Because he would never, ever treat me like his fashion accessory.

Yet the idea has been implanted in my head by songs, movies, advertising and romance novels, and I resent the hell out of it.