Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is an intriguing guy...[he] asks great questions and answers others with style, flair, reason and wit. On the blogroll he goes. Make him a part of your regular blogospheric reading. I certainly will.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Common Sense Junction: Misha @ Anti-Idiotarian never ceases to amaze me. He keeps finding other good blogs. I went over to A.I. this morning for my daily Misha fix and he had found this guy named Morgan Freeberg in Fair Oaks, California, that has a blog, House of Eratosthenes. Freeberg says its "The Blog That Nobody Reads" but it may now become the blog that everybody reads.
Jaded Haven: Good God, Morgan, you cover a topic from front to back with a screwy thoroughness I find mind boggling. I'm in awe of your thought proccesses, my friend, you're an exceptional talent. You start by throwing in the kitchen sink, tie in someone's syphilitic uncle, bend around a rip tide of brilliance and bring it all home in a neat, diamond dripping package of an exceptionally readable moment of damn fine wordsmithing. I love reading you.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
Philmon: When Morgan meanders, stick with him - he's got a point and it'll be worth it in the end. He's not a hit-and-run snarky quip kind of guy. The pieces all fall into place like tumblers in a lock and bang! He's opened a cognative door for you.
Rightlinx: Morgan at House of Eratosthenes is one of the best writers out there. I read him nearly every day because he manages to provide an interesting perspective, even though I don't always agree.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
I’m ashamed to say that before this showed up in the e-mail, I had never before seen it or heard of it. Afterward I found copies of it here, here, here and here. It ranks pretty high on my jokes list. Maybe good enough to put a cap on 2007. Maybe. As always, it’s all in the telling of it.
A priest took a vacation to a fishing lodge. On the last day of his trip, he hooked a monster fish and began fighting it. A few minutes later the guide, holding a landing net, yelled, “look at the size of that Son of a Bitch!” “Please, my son, I’m a priest. Your language is uncalled for.” “No, Father, you don’t understand” explained the guide, “That’s the species of fish you have hooked; it’s called a ‘Son of a Bitch’ fish!”
“Really?” asked the surprised priest, “Well then, would you please net the Son of a Bitch?”
Once the fish was aboard, the guide marvelled at its size.
“Father, that’s the biggest Son of a Bitch I’ve ever seen!”
“It really IS a big Son of a Bitch” the priest beamed, “What should I do with it?”
“Why, eat it of course. I promise, you’ve never tasted anything as good as that Son of a bitch.”
Elated, the priest headed home. While unloading his fishing tackle and prize catch at the church’s back door, Sister Mary appeared and Inquired about his trip.
“Take a look at this huge Son of a Bitch I caught!” the priest gushed, opening his ice chest.
Sister Mary gasped and clutched her rosary, “Father, such language from a priest!” “It’s Okay, Sister. According to my guide, that’s the species of fish this one is: it’s called a ‘Son of a Bitch fish’.” “Oh, well then…what are you going to do with that huge Son of a Bitch?”
“Eat it! My guide said they’re great!”
Sister Mary then informed the priest that the Pope was scheduled to visit in a few days. “Why don’t I clean that Son of a Bitch for you, and we’ll cook it for this special occasion,” she volunteered.
On the night of the Pope’s visit, everything went perfectly. The wine was fine, the fish excellent.
The Pope leaned back from his plate and said, “This is absolutely marvellous fish — where did you buy it?”
“We didn’t buy it, Your Holiness; I caught that Son of a Bitch!” proclaimed the proud priest.
The Pope’s eyes opened wide, but he said nothing.
“And I cleaned and cooked the Son of a Bitch!,” exclaimed the Sister.
The Pope looked silently at each of them. Glancing around the dining room, he saw they were alone. A big grin spread across his face as he leaned across the table and whispered, “Go get us some more wine. You motherfuckers are my kind of people”.
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