I almost forgot: today is Free Ice Cream Day at Baskin Robbins from 6–10pm.

Also, I forgot that Rumsfeld's mouth was hanging open while he was driving too. Not just once. Each time we saw him, his mouth was hanging open. And not like like he was in the middle of a howl or was indulging in a little Tuvan Throat Singing or anything like that. This was like he had just forgotten he had left his mouth open. Maybe later, when he got back to his lair, he would walk by a mirror (though I imagine Rumsfeld has all his mirrors blacked out, like Nosferatu but nowhere near as interesting) and go "Hey! My mouth's open! I wonder how long that's been like that?"

Maybe that would give him a fun idea like trying to see how many grapes he could fit in his gaping maw of evil with it hanging open that way. Because even Rumsfeld deserves to have a little fun every now and then by stuffing his evil mouth full of grapes.

For some unholy reason, someone combined Fatburger and Krispy Kreme, and here is the photo essay.

These are surely the end days.

[via Anil Dash]

Praise: I was staring. You are majestic. You could be a lion and walk in tall grass.

Hilarious eBay Feedback Comments by andy46477

(which will probably be deleted very soon)

The wife and I had a great time camping in Arroyo Seco this weekend with a bunch of friends, a dog, 4 guitars, scattered showers, vegetarian stew, large-mouth bass, poker and beer. Not necessarily in that order. A great time was had by all.

Also, on the way home, driving down The Hell That Is Interstate 5 (maybe that's a little melodramatic) we were harassed by Donald Rumsfeld in a black Toyota Camry. I'm pretty sure it was Donald Rumsfeld. Or at least someone that looked a lot like him. I'd pass him and then he'd speed up and cut me off. This happened repeatedly, or maybe twice. He'd come zooming up the slow lane, when I would considerately slow the Kafkamobile to avoid a deadly interloper like The Really Bad U-Haul Driver, and miss my bumper by mere inches.

The wife and I shook our fists in impotent rage. "Damn Rumsfeld! Get out of the way! Shouldn't you be bombing civilians somewhere?"

The nerve of that Rumsfeld. Out assing around on the interstate again.

Apparently, there may have been some confusion about what a Metatron is, a few posts ago.

The Metatron is the Angel who acts as the voice of God.

The Minaton is a giant, golden Minotaur ordered around by Tom Baker in a Sinbad movie.

I apologize for any confusion.

I went to Target today in spite of the fact that I hate hate hate it* and gazed at camping supplies for our trip tomorrow.

Among the odd Coleman items that seem to have sprung up in great profusion in the last few years was an "Egg Carrier", which was a little plastic suitcase in which you can hold one dozen eggs. I was tempted, but I shied away, fearing that my eggs would be the wrong size for the Egg Carrier. If it was designed for Large eggs, and I had Extra Large eggs, just imagine the chaos that would ensue, and the tragic loss of egg life.

I'd like to bring the Egg Carrier in to meetings at work, because it looks kind of like a miniature attaché case**, the kind that drug cartel overlords routinely transport large sums of loot and cocaine around in. I'd call in all the other Power Players at work, put my Egg Carrier down in the middle of the table, and say "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming on such short notice. I think you'll all agree we are at a pivotal time for Purgatory, Inc."

They would nod admiringly, some of them eyeing my Egg Carrier anxiously.***

"But first," I would intone, opening the Egg Carrier, upon which I would have installed combination locks and possibly a decal reading Baby on Board. "The eggs."




* Don't bother looking for any specifics as to why I hate hate hate Target. I just do.
** This not even remotely accurate. In fact the Egg Carrier looks like this
*** It is important to note that while this line sounds like it may have been co-opted from a Penthouse Forum letter, it in fact was not.

Boobah!

An impassioned plea:

Why must this bread taste like cake?

Bakers of earth, hear me! Stop making bread that tastes like cake! There is enough cake in this world. Leave the bread alone.

The bread has no voice to speak for itself, so I must be its representative on earth. The spokesman of the bread, giving voice to each kernel of wheaty goodness. If the bread was God, I would be the Metatron. And my rumbling voice would ring from the mountaintops: "No more cake-bread!"

Here ends the impassioned plea.

So I have been feverish and congested and basically miserable the last couple of days. That means I spent all of today lying on the couch watching sports, which is of course just fine.

One thing I did manage to see that was only vaguely sports-like was "Most Extreme Elimination Challenge" on "The New TNN". The New TNN is basically the old TNN but with more wrestling and Star Trek and less Dukes of Hazzard and fishing shows.

Anyway, "Most Extreme Elimination Challenge" interested me mainly because I saw on the promos that it was hosted by Takeshi "Beat" Kitano, director and star of vaguely surreal yakuza films like "Gonin" and "Brother", and the cute but still weird "Kikujiro".

Basically, this show was bits of the Japanese game show "Takeshi's Castle" in which various contestants try to do goofy video game-like challenges and end up hurting themselves (French site with images of the wackiness). In a word, it's hilarious. But what's disappointing about the TNN version of the show is that they dubbed the voices nonsensically a la "What's Up Tiger Lily?". Not only are the new lines not funny, they're pretty offensive. Kind of along the lines of "Oh look at the silly Asians". It's clear that the show would have been great if they had just straight dubbed it or subtitled it. Instead we get sub-Beavis and Butthead cracks from the voice talent.

Anyway, watch the show, but turn the sound off. And Takeshi Kitano's movies are good, so see some of them. Even if they kind of freak you out in spots, which they may.

I think I still have a fever.

The Anguish (of Michael Landon and a squid)

From the very nice Brandon Bird site. Brandon is apparently a fellow UCSC Banana Slug and likes Reese's Pieces.

Strangely, professionally cool Bungee Benji sent me the King of the Cage picture last week, which depicts Lincoln beating the tar out of someone.

Also, Dukes of Hazzard Cave Painting.

I start at the ankles and work up. I am like a spider binding him in my gossamer web. I do it tight with several layers. Soon Roy Orbison stands before me, completely wrapped in cling-film. The pleasure is unexampled.

Ulli's Roy Orbison In Clingfilm Website

Just one of many delights at Michael Kelly's Page of Misery

[via MetaFilter]

Oh. Also this last little while, while I was not here and was instead somewhere else, I had some chinese food. Namely Moo Shu Duck.

Moo Shu Duck is, of course, just fine, but it was the particular presentation of the dish that was so spectacular [readers of a weak constitution may wish to forgo the following passage and do something else. Maybe you could go for a stroll. Meet the neighbors. Maybe they'll give you pie. Then, after the pie, you could all go and fly kites together. I bet they have one of those bitchin' black kites with the spooky eyes. Doesn't that sound like fun?]:

The duck meat was laid out on a plate, with the drumsticks and the skin and all, but then, the coup de grace: the actual-and-not-fake duckhead itself was perched on the side of the plate, cooked and beakless.

That is some traumatic food right there.

I was with people of good breeding, so I was not able to indulge in a little whirling lazy-susan action with the cooked and beakless duckhead. It's really a good plan to figure out who gets to pick up the check: after the meal (presuming no-one has eaten the actual-and-not-fake duckhead*) you spin the lazy susan** thing in the middle of the table, and whoever the actual-and-not-fake duckhead lands on gets to pay. This could result in some sort of ritualized duckhead volleyball or "hot potato" type game in which the actual-and-not-fake duckhead is batted back and forth by frugal restaurant attendees***.



*I'm not saying there's anything wrong with eating a duckhead. If you really want to do that, you go ahead.

**Is that what you call the rotating circular portion in the middle of Chinese restaurant tables? I have no idea.

***I am certainly not condoning this sort of behavior. Volleyball with actual-and-not-fake cooked and beakless duckheads is probably wrong on multiple levels and against God's plan.

Hey! Look at the links I stole from 13 Labs today!

Possibly the ginchiest car commercial ever.

Ladies of The Evil Dead

(Apparently I also stole Johnny 13's mad typing skills because I made about 7 typos on these few words.)

Wings of Desire Special Edition DVD! Yay!

Not until July! Boo!

[DVD information courtesy of the wise and somewhat ethereal jpoulos]

I know.

I've been gone for a while.

I'm sorry. But you have to stop calling. And the gifts, while nice, are getting a little embarrassing. I mean, who can eat that many peanuts?

What really happened was that I was off continuing my life's work of collecting a bottle of Vicks Vap-o-Rub from every country on the globe. Let's see...with Mauritania out of the way, there's only 58 to go. I'm looking at Fiji next.

OK, none of that is really true (except for the Fiji part). What happened was that my sister got married to a wonderful woman and I was out of town attending. With such chaos in the world today, it was a little moment of brightness. Here's some people who have the right idea.

I'm so proud of you both. Here's to you!

When is the exact moment when a salad ceases to be good for you?

There exists a theoretical double-curve you can use to figure out such worrying salad problems. On one curve, you can plot the inclusion of such treats as grated cheddar cheese, hard boiled egg, salami, BacOs and really excessive items like half a can of Crisco or a ham hock. The other curve plots nutritional value and is therefore buoyed up by things like bell pepper, beets and radishes. Non-commital items like celery and the pleasing but sadly non-physique-enhancing iceberg lettuce have no effect. I will not sully these proceedings with the inclusion of ridiculous salad interlopers like edible flowers. If you're putting flowers on your salads, you are clearly not interested in the salad sciences and need a nice lie-down.

The magical meeting of these two curves is the singular moment where your salad has achieved perfect balance. This is also known as the Salad Horizon Theory*.

I would like to believe that my salads dance upon the Salad Horizon, toeing the line between healthy and unhealthy in a beautiful dance of calories and fiber not unlike the eerie rotation of a gyroscope, but frankly I am unsure.




*"Event Horizon" is a movie which honestly could have used some leafy greens. Also, not having Sam Neill in it would have helped.

Captain's Log, Supplemental: Is it maneuver or manouevre? Obviously, this is a word that needs to get its story straight.

Oh man. Daylight savings.

My least favorite day of the year.

I had originally planned to try to hold off on setting my clock ahead, and just see if I could get away with it until Fall. I think if I could swing it for the first three months, the rest would be gravy. Sadly though, my scheme did not last long, as the wife set the clocks and the cat told me in no uncertain terms to "get with the program".

So I am at work with that fairly crunchy state of mind that comes from not sleeping all that well, and experiencing the crushing self-doubt that comes from the knowledge that one little hour of sleep can mess your shit up but good.

The My Life As An American Gladiator Fun Quiz That Is In Fact Only One Question Long:

Q: How many accidents will be caused today by people trying to reset their car stereo clocks while they are driving?
A: A lot.

We need to adopt some sort of world-wide standard for car stereo clock setting. I try to ignore the clock being wrong for as long as I can, but sooner or later, someone's going to get in your car and freak out on you. "ELEVEN?!" they'll say. "That's like, not right."

Of course, you don't want that sort of dramatic scene taking place in your car, so you have to attempt clock setting procedures. If your car stereo is like mine, chances are you will be faced with a faceplate that has lots of buttons whose meanings are ridiculously cryptic. I even have a button that says APN on it. What the hell kind of an acronym is that? I don't know what that button does. Frankly, I'm a little afraid to press it and find out. It could be Antimatter Potato Nibbler or something.

When I'm faced with an array of enigmatic high technology, I regress into "primitve man throwing rocks at the sun" mode and just wail away on the buttons. This is a similar strategy to the one I adopt when playing a "Fighting" video game like Street Fighter 2 or Microsoft Access: press all the buttons at once and hope things work out for the best.

Of course, I was stymied after five minutes working with the stereo. I saw some good results by pressing APN, APN, DISP + FM, but the wife informed me this was only a Foot Sweep and I would have to do better. I held all the buttons down for about a second and a half, then performed an elaborate manoeuvre in which I tapped the EJECT button repeatedly while alternating between the CD and AM buttons.

I am pleased to report that not only did I set the time correctly but I pulled off the rare Flying Dragon Kick, knocking my car stereo off the crumbling bridge, where it ended up impaled on the spikes below.

"Now we can say that it attains a size larger than the giant squid. Giant squid is no longer the largest squid that's out there. We've got something that's even larger, and not just larger but an order of magnitude meaner."

Giant ornery Super Squid pulled out of stygian depths!

[via Brian Kane Online]

So I had an advertising rep from a magazine visit me at work today, and try to sell me on their bitchin' advertising plan for Purgatory Inc.

Proudly, he brandished his laptop, and started his PowerPoint presentation "Advertising Themes and Strategies in the 80s, 90s and 00s".

With a sparkle in his eye he said "I even have some music on this presentation," as some eerily familiar notes rang from his tinny laptop speaker. It was Piano Man.

"I tried to think" he grinned. "Who's been at the top of music in every decade since the 80s? Billy Joel!"

Billy freakin' Joel.

If there's one thing that can make a tedious bullet-point PowerPoint presentation even more enjoyable for me, it's got to be the dulcet tones of Billy Joel.

God help me.