This one, like many fine others, is from Gerard Van der Leun’s Tumblr account.

Miss that puppy, and you miss a lot.

As the intro explains, this is an exercise in retaliation. It therefore contains some colorful colloquialisms not suitable for a mixed audience or for the workplace…

“‘Shit,’ in America, is used for everything else but what it means.” Classic.

And now, a justification for teleprompters:

Update: As long as we’re using the R-rated fucking language, here is something from Boortz’s reading assignments from Friday. For the pedants among us.

Swiped from my brother, over at the Hello Kitty of Bloggin’.

Cross-posted at Cassy’s place and at Right Wing News.

It’s just not fair that the atheists can’t have a song.

Until now…

Hat tip once again to Gerard.

The Onion:

With summer officially beginning this week, the nation’s boyfriends groaned Thursday in anticipation of yet another “Free Event in the Park” season. “Kelly already wants us to go see some Brazilian horn player and these people who use puppets to make fun of politicians. I’m sure they’re fine, but we just got AC this summer,” said Jason Evans, a boyfriend. “Plus, we go out all the time.” A spokesperson for the nation’s girlfriends countered that it would be a shame not to take advantage of the tons of cool-sounding cost-free events, which include a craft fair, an outdoor screening of The Wizard Of Oz, and the appearance of a modestly successful mid-90s alternative band at the Tulip Festival.

Aahhh…that’s an itch that’s been waiting for a scratching for awhile.

Maybe it’s got something to do with the sensory deprivation, but the radio is chock full of spots I’d put above all five of these. My kid knows this about me: Once they do that thing with repeating the phone number, it’s getting switched off. Quick-draw-McGraw style. You can make it to the third lap with the eight-hundred but that’s as far as you get — click.

But of course, nothing in any medium comes close to the all-time champion:

Update: Should’ve taken the time to skim through the FARK thread. Farker unlikely came up with…

Yup. Fergot about that.

…because the left brain is for figuring out puzzles, and everywhere we turn there’s puzzle pieces being brought to us by people we know damn good and well are lying to us.

I think Daphne’s got the right idea. She’s going with a techno version of Bach’s Fugue…which I can tolerate during the few seconds before it goes techno.

I see your Bach, and I raise you a Bruch. From an eight-year-old.

I’m gonna go get another beer.

Don’t sweat the small stuff. And it’s all small stuff. We-ell…not really…but you can’t do much about it tonight.

Wow, #5 really spoke to me.

The angry and bitter

Everything and everyone pisses her off. She is in a constant state of anger and impatience with the world and if [you] try to help her see past it, she will attack you.

All she wants to do is bitch and complain, and she rarely, if ever, sees the good in people or situations. If she’s this bitter and angry with the world, imagine how pissed off she’ll be with you the moment you forget to take the garbage out?

Take her out to a nice casual place for lunch, boys; someplace just nice enough to have a waiter who gets everything for you. Let her do all the talking and take note of how she treats him. There are some “ladies” out there who will make it a point of browbeating the poor bastard into gelatinous goo on the floor, and if he isn’t heaving a sigh of relief as the two of you walk out the door, she considers her job undone.

About face and run. Screaming. Arms flailing over head, into the night, never to be seen again.

smg45acp made a great point about a possible eleventh:

Heavily in debt.

If she is tens of thousands of dollars in debt, run, don’t walk away.
This will not stop after marriage.
You think you can help her and that she has learned her lesson.
Yes, she has learned a lesson. That lesson is spend money like crazy and stupid, dumb-ass you will bail her ass out.
This is often the sign of a deeper emotional problem.

Ouch. That actually hurt.

First time ’round I fell for everything; second time I was much more cynical, but failed to practice the “run away” part. Possibly because of divine intervention, but the lesson stands:

There are things in our ecosystem that should have a “don’t touch” sign placed alongside. Or “be careful.” “Do not tap on glass.” There are other things that are more appropriate for a “Back the fuck off and don’t come back” sign…or…”If you can read this sign you must have a death wish.” These two classes of sign — they are not the same. One is not a substitute for the other.

Hat tip to blogger friend Buck.

Wikipedia sez:

The Lift System is composed of a lift fan, drive shaft, two roll posts and a “Three Bearing Swivel Module” (3BSM). The 3BSM is a thrust vectoring nozzle which allows the main engine exhaust to be deflected downward at the tail of the aircraft. The lift fan near the front of the aircraft provides a counter-balancing thrust. Somewhat like a vertically mounted turbofan within the forward fuselage, the lift fan is powered by the engine’s low-pressure (LP) turbine via a drive shaft and gearbox. Roll control during slow flight is achieved by diverting pressurized air from the LP turbine through wing mounted thrust nozzles called Roll Posts.

Wonder how much fuel we’re burning up. I suppose if I start lusting after one, simply thinking about it will boost my carbon footprint and get my overlords all upset with me.

Not mine. And a whole year of dust sitting on it.

But damn well worth it.

30. Domestic violence counselors make one exception for your husband.
29. Your hair fluctuates between Donna Reed and Cult.
28. You expect everyone to be one time, except for yourself.
27. Your nose is so far above your forehead, you risk drowning when it rains.
26. You offer the use of staples, paper and other office supplies, and then complain when someone uses them.
25. When the boss is on vacation, your weekly “visits” increase to five a day.
24. When you use the phrase, “the boss is concerned…,” it’s preceded by you telling the boss your concern.
23. You consider Kleenex a personal extravagance that shouldn’t be purchased with office funds, yet the $20,000 leather couch is a work expense.
22. You refer to your boss as your “work husband.”
21. You’re so anal retentive, office chairs vanish when you sit on them.
20. You host a birthday lunch for the boss, and invite no one else.
19. In the kitchen, you refer to Martha Stewart as “that novice.”
18. When coworkers use the restroom, they say “I had to take a (insert name here.)
17. You believe your so pure, you’re one shade away from translucence.
16. You have no children, caring spouse or social life, yet you find everyone else pathetic.
15. No one responds to your emails.
14. A wild night for you is bingo past 10 p.m.
13. The month of December is set-aside for you to coordinate the one-hour Christmas party.
12. You use the phrase, “I love her to death, but…”
11. The first person you call for a tech issue is the office douche that everyone complains about.
10. You masturbate to Beanie Babies.
9. If you were my dog, I’d have you put to sleep.
8. You a have a list of what you consider “rancid foods” that no one is allowed to eat.
7. Your best friends are your mother and cat.
6. You compliment someone’s outfit, only when you hate it.
5. You believe co-workers are fascinated by your menopause and hysterectomy stories.
4. You’re the only person in the office who knows what a “scone” is.
3. If this were elementary school, you’d be what’s known as the Tattle-Tale.
2. You relate to more than ten items on this list.
1. You haven’t realized you’re “just a secretary.” Face it, you’ve peaked.

It’s become something of an “Everyone Else is Blogging it, I Might as Well Do it Too” kind of a thing. So let’s go.

Hat tip to Buck.

Marina is occasionally hard to understand and monotonous, but that line made me laugh. And she’s always easy on the eyes.

I suppose this should go up with a warning about the audio not being safe for the workplace.

The eighty-fifth award for Best Sentence I’ve Heard Or Read Lately (BSIHORL).

FrankJ takes it once again:

Democrats are a lot like sparkly vampires in that a lot of women like them but they just confuse and irritate most men.

YES. Those stupid teevee-moovee vampires, with their surly GQ looks and their spiky hair and their leather boots & trench coats.

It’s definitely a chick thing. Although to be fair, I think the sparkly vampires have made better progress earning their approval from the fairer sex than the Nonsense Party. I doubt like hell that I can find any gentlemen who will be late for work because they stayed up late the night before reading Ann Rice novels in bed, or watching Buffy reruns. But I can produce for you a “stud” pretty easily who thinks Islamic terrorism is harmless but global warming is a threat. I can’t promise that guy can change a tire or drive a stick shift, but still. The gender skew is greater with the vampires…

…but it’s still there. The simile works.

Hat tip to Fatale Abstraction.

Hat tip to Miss Cellania.

How to Report the News. (There’s one word out of the whole goddamn thing that might not be considered appropriate for a mixed goddamn audience.) I hope you never, ever see teevee “news” the same way again.

Hat tip to Gerard.

Part one of twenty+something, and you’re crazy if you think I watched them all. So The Blog That Nobody Reads cannot be held liable for the time you lose…if you do…

Meep, meep. Drinking party, Motorcycle muffler, gunpowder, gasoline, the now-traditional “Hey y’all, hold my beer and watch this.”

Witnesses said the man strapped the device on his back, donned a makeshift helmet and got on a sled, asking someone to light a wick attached to the device.

Part of the way down the hill, the device exploded, resulting in second-degree burns to the victim’s face. One of his eyes was damaged.

He is currently getting treatment at a local hospital.

Sheriff’s deputies continue to investigate the incident pending possible criminal charges.

Ballad of Ricky Bobby meets Wiley Coyote.

Ah hah! The itch can finally be scratched.

In response to — How come it is that Winnie the Pooh lives underneath a sign that says “Mr. Sanders”? The answer may surprise you.

The “Sanders” Question

Hello. I have a dilemma. I was discussing Winnie the Pooh with a friend the other day. (Don’t ask me why, we’re both grown adults). And he INSISTS that because it says “Sanders” above the door, that it is Winnie the Pooh’s last name. As in Winnie the Pooh Sanders. I told him this is not true, and showed him your web page where it states “It means he had the name (Sanders) over the door in gold letters and pooh lived under it”.

He still INSISTS that this means that is his last name. Would you PLEASE clear this up for us. We need to know which one is correct because we now have a bet riding on this. (We are very immature). Also, if it isn’t his last name, why does it say Mr. Sanders over his door? That’s just out of curiosity. Thank you.
:
Another answer comes from author Ann Thwaite in her biography, A.A. Milne: The Man Behind Winnie-the-Pooh (Random House, 1990). In her Notes (page 522, referring to page 262) we read: “under the name of Sanders The Sanders referred to was Frank Sanders, who had a printing works in the Snow Hill area of London.” This firm apparently printed some of A.A. Milne’s work, although all four children’s books are printed by Jarrold of Norwich. Information comes from Douglas Sanders, Frank’s nephew, 1989. Frank Sanders was certainly a friend of illustrator E.H. Shepard, but there is no reference to him by A.A. Milne that would confirm this private joke.

I always figured Pooh’s friends moved into the hundred-acre wood first, and Pooh wanted to follow them, but there was no room available after the other animals got all their houses built. Poor Mr. Sanders just got in the way. So Pooh, being a psychopath, butchered him with an ax and buried him under the floorboards. Sort of an “eminent domain” kinda thing.

That could be because I never really gave the “Mr. Sanders” sign too much of a thought, until after I’d read this some fifteen years ago (naughty language behind the link).

“She had this uncanny way of making him feel so, so small.”

Via Boortz.

With a neat, thin little black line around it. Twenty years ago you hadn’t seen it before, and now you type stuff into it multiple times daily…

Someone once told me that there is nowhere we are more honest than the search box. We don’t lie to Google. Period. We type in what we’re thinking — good, bad, and ugly. There’s probably no piece of information that would better show what’s on someone’s mind than their stream of searches.

Read the whole thing. And then Marginal Revolution‘s thoughts.

Hat tip to Dyspepsia Generation.

This amazing widget will go out and read your tweets, your twits, your Facebook wall, your blog, your LinkedIn contacts, and generally all of your pathetic attempts to get someone’s attention out there in cyberspace.

One issue I have with it: It appears to be entirely random. Either that, or it has a filtering process or two that could use some tweaking.

Blogger friend Buck found out he’s dumber than a stump…when he went by “Buck,” but when he entered his Christian name instead suddenly he was a freakin’ rocket scientist. My results were similar: Morgan K Freeberg uses emot-icons to the point of irritation, possesses average intelligence at best, is weepy, whiny, and something of a neurotic drama-queen flibbertigibbet. Morgan Freeberg, on the other hand, is a polar opposite, a stoic blogger of Viking descent, well-known only within a smaller community, does very little to engage in any kind of outreach, and possesses all kinds of smarts.

No, I didn’t save screen prints. I didn’t enter the same name twice to check out the “random number” theory. It didn’t pique my curiosity that much. I decided to just blog about it instead.