Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
American Digest: And I like this from "The Blog That Nobody Reads", because it is -- mostly -- about me. What can I say? I'm on an ego trip today. It won't last.
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 brilliant.
Dr. Melissa Clouthier: Morgan Freeberg at House of Eratosthenes (pftthats a mouthful) honors big boned women in skimpy clothing. The picture there is priceless--keep scrolling down.
Exile in Portales: Via Gerard: Morgan Freeberg, a guy with a lot to say. And he speaks The Truth...and it's fascinating stuff. Worth a read, or three. Or six.
Just Muttering: Two nice pieces at House of Eratosthenes, one about a perhaps unintended effect of the Enron mess, and one on the Gore-y environ-movie.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
The Virginian: I know this post will offend some people, but the author makes some good points.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
Yesterday afternoon stood out as a momentous occasion, for not only did I finally get two loads of laundry done in a single day, but I got this silly girl out of that cistern she’d been trapped in since, oh, I dunno, Christmas or Thanksgiving or something.
The one right before she corners Pierre at that second tomb, and has to raise & lower the water levels and stuff.
What’s aggravating is that this is a mock-up of an earlier game that came out a whole decade ago. My long term memory isn’t working that well anymore. I don’t remember how far I got in the original game. I haven’t even passed any point where I get to say to myself “Aha, nothing lately looks familiar, I must have played past the point where I gave up ten years ago.” Nope, doesn’t work like that at all. And you’re dreaming if you think I have the slightest idea what to do when I get somewhere.
I remember back in the Age Of Zits, the age where I was old enough to drive but not old enough to suck down a beer, the “old” people would marvel at my abilities to figure things out. There must be some amino acid or something that fritters away after awhile, like that stuff that helps you digest your food or grow hair on the top of your head. Because it doesn’t seem like it’s all that much time later, and damned if I’m not one of those “old” people now. Some Lady or Tiger choice pops up, and instead of relishing the opportunity to test my resourcefulness like I would’ve twenty years ago, I just get testy and irritated.
Maybe it’s experience. Maybe challenges and puzzles just look different after the first zillion times you’ve bolluxed them up…with some real consequences. Why, yes, that theory makes me feel much better. That would mean I’ve dissolved over time into a craven coward instead of an old fart.
Anyway, that’s a record. Four months while the bimbo was trapped in the well. Lots and lots of life happening, which has to do with my spotty attendance in trying to get ‘er out again. Maybe I can use that as an excuse, too — the “I’m So Busy” excuse. But you know what would really be fair and feel better than anything else, is blaming her. I keep telling her to run this way, she keeps running that way and ending up dead.
Related: In the “Suspicions Confirmed” department. Yesterday’s Pajama Diaries comic strip had to do with some proposed activist groups, things that “don’t exist, but should” or some such rot. The “Can I Get An Amen Here” type humor proposed that the busy working moms (lowercase-m, for reasons you shall soon see) band together, set their sights on those among their peers who have better looking bodies, and get rid of them somehow.
So it is true. Frumpy women don’t want ordinary guys like me, guys in whom the frumpy women aren’t even interested, to be able to observe better specimens.
And I would presume that includes pixelated specimens as well, so I figure I’ve got two years, tops, to beat this silly game before some nanny-state constable barges into my home and nabs it off my shelf. If Hillary wins, better cut that in half.
Time’s a-wastin’, bitch. Do what I tell ya. And quit falling off of stuff.
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Guess you only get to see today’s strip and some from a month ago. I noticed that the Feb 7 strip deals with a hot new cookbook that tells parents how to disguise vegetables in foods kids like.
What ever happened to just making kids eat stuff? Life isn’t all brownies and ice cream.
- philmon | 03/10/2008 @ 10:07