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...
Blogger friend Buck is placed in a position in which he must ponder the benefits of the more rugged sex flashing gam, with the nylon adornment more traditionally festooned to our leggy sisters.
He does not ponder long, and his reception is about as cold as ours.
The champion “astute observation” over there has to be the third one:
That model looks as unhappy as those cats you see on the web who are “dressed up”.
Let us get this one thing straight once and for all. Regardless of which way you swing, the Good Lord designed us so that there is a certain persuasion that is built to use the lower limb as an accessory of casual aesthetic pleasure for the viewer.
And it isn’t us dudes. It isn’t going to happen — we just don’t look this good, and aren’t going to look this good, to anyone:
This is one of those things that should be left unsaid, and in a sane universe, could be left unsaid. But things are spiraling out of control, and now someone needs to jot down the obvious, in the hopes that those who need to see it somewhere, will see it somewhere.
Male legs are tools, period. They lift our butts off the ground, they kick the butts of other men, they step on the gas brake and clutch — goddamn right there’s a clutch — they step on imaginary brakes on those rare occasions when she’s doing the driving. And you’re goddamn right that’s rare. They swing our feet upward so we can drop them on the coffee table where we shouldn’t be putting them. They carry things, they destroy things, they have been molded and shaped by tens of thousands of years of evolution during which time we were hunting. They get things done.
They are not put on the planet for the purpose of being viewed. Women do not appreciate this quite as much as we appreciate theirs…which is to say, it doesn’t have that day-brightening effect on them if they catch a glimpse. So know that, but if you must reveal your big knobby man-knees to the fresh air & sunshine, maybe that’s by way of big baggy clown-shorts, maybe it’s “tennis whites,” maybe even an extra-extra manly-looking kilt enters the equation…but mark this…hose does not & should not have anything to do with it. At. All. It’s not our bag.
There. Now ya know. Let us all forget you ever had to be told.
Speaking of kilts. Here is some wisdom: They are like diaper bags. You can keep your man-card if, and only if 1) you have some non-negotiable reason to be appearing in public with the damn thing, and 2) it is manlied-up, manlied-up, and manlied-up some more. No birds, no flowers, no “Hello Kitty” artwork, and for color you can have brown, gray or black. Possibly camouflage green. Even adhering to all the above rules, it’s thin ice.
That’s just your old-school, “respect the women by letting them keep their stuff” tradition. It’s served us well.
Update: In addition to brown gray black and camo-green, let’s add all the clan colors. Provided they’re real clan colors. Good suggestions from wise men in New Mexico that just might keep a blogger from swallowing his own teeth Tiger Woods style, if the wrong True Scotsman runs across my careless words.
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Even adhering to all the above rules, it’s thin ice.
Unless you live in… and are a citizen of (expats shouldn’t be wanna-bees)… a city such as Aberdeen, Edinburgh, or Glasgow. At which time the following rule applies: YOUR clan’s tartan, and no other.
Thanks for the link, yet again! 🙂
- bpenni | 12/22/2009 @ 12:39Yeah, thanks for the addition. I was thinking of all those clan colors and how well justified the “blokes” that own them would be in giving me a righteous ass kicking. So that exemption definitely goes in, because I do not want to get into a dust-up with someone who can toss one of those cabers.
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