Baboon Pirates

Scribbles and Scrawls from an unrepentant swashbuckling primate.

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Location: Texas, United States

Tuesday, February 28, 2006


Close To Perfection!

Damn, that's some good TV!

Tonight's episode of The Shield was easily one of the best in the series. The ongoing struggle between Vic Mackey's Strike Team and Lt. Cavanaugh from Internal Affairs hit the climax, with an absolutely spellbinding final 10 minutes.

I won't give anything more away, but check out Lem's face when Mackey finally gets some leverage on Cavanaugh. It speaks volumes. The fallout when Cavanaugh realizes about the breach is equally shattering.

This show makes Hill Street Blues look like 21 Jump Street, and Cop Rock look like... well... Cop Rock. OK, bad example there.

Start lining up these DVDs in your Netflix queue, boyz & girls. Good stuff!

Tales Of Geekery & Woe

No Science Fair Awards Here...

A while back, Ellison 'fessed up to numerous counts of Aggravated Geekery in the 3rd degree, namely some experimentation with model rocketry.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I'll come clean as well. I was known to have launched a rocket or two in my youth. There was one major difference between his flights and mine, though.

Mine were mostly shot horizontally.

Back in my Junior High days, I ran around with two guys I'll call Heckle & Jeckle. We made a habit of combining scientific experimentation and juvenile delinquency in equal measures. We'd haunt junkyards and trashbins behind auto repair shops & electronics stores looking for materials we could use in our projects.

Heckle was a scientific whiz kid, one bright SOB. He was the one that crunched the numbers, and usually wielded the tools. Heckle's dad worked for the King Mopin air conditioning repair company in Houston, and via Heckle making a copy of his dad's work van key, we had access to a treasure trove of tools & supplies.

Jeckle was a quiet country kid transplanted into the big city. He had a good imagination and sense of humor, but usually ended up being the water carrier for Heckle & I.

Me? I was the Idea Rat. Back then, same as now, I read everything I could get my hands on, and as a result came up with the schemes that needed trying out.

Heckle's little brother got involved in model rocketry as part of Cub Scouts. Naturally, this led Heckle to make off with a few engines for experimentation. We quickly came to the conclusion that the little Estes "A" engines were for nerds and pussies. We wanted more power!

Enter Jeckle's mom, who was happy to see us involved in a project both wholesome and possibly good for extra credit. She supplied some funding, and off we went to the hobby shop.

Back then, "D" size engines were as big as we could legally acquire. They were pricy, so instead of wasting money buying rocket kits that took forever to assemble, we just bought the engines & some small nosecones.

A late-night trip to Heckle's father's work truck, and we had a 6' length of copper pipe, some wire, switches and battery packs. Some judicious work applying guidance fins and nosecones directly to the engines, and Voila!

A kid-sized Bazooka!

It wasn't enough to just launch the rockets out the tube. Oh, no. We needed an earth-shattering KABOOM! to go along with it. Trouble was, no one in their right mind was going to sell gunpowder to 13 year olds. Jeckle's dad was into black powder shooting, but he kept his stash locked up tight.

I'd read somewhere that the initial energy release from striking a match was equal to a rifle primer being fired. Heckle took that ball and ran with it, appearing on my doorstep one night with 6 boxes of strike-anywhere matches he'd boosted from Krogers. We three were strong on the scientific inquiry process, but unfortunately light in the ethics department.

We spent hours carefully scraping off the matchheads from hundreds and hundreds of matchsticks. Every 50 matches, we'd sweep up the powder, sulphur & phosphorus flakes, and the odd sliver of wood, and dump it all into a film can. After we had a sizable pile, we did some experimenting.

Heckle & I built a couple of "bolt bombs" by screwing lag bolts into an extra-long nut we'd pull off of the blinky lights from those road-hazard sawhorses that DOT used before the big orange barrels came into existence. Heckle would twist the bolt into the nut two or three threads deep, forming a cup in the center of the nut. We'd fill that up with the matchhead scrapings, then CAREFULLY screw in another lag bolt, gently compressing the mixture. I might add for the record that neither he nor I had a clue that safety glasses even existed.

We went out to the deserted road near the local bayou, and took turns chunking that double-ended bolt down the street until it finally landed dead-square on the bolthead. The insanely fast WHOOOOOO!!! as that fractured bolt screamed past our ears let us know we had the explosive we were looking for!

The engines we'd bought were booster engines. That meant (for a model rocketeer) at the end of the burn, it fired a brief burst of flame upwards to ignite the second stage engine. For us, that meant it would ignite the matchhead powder we'd crammed into the plastic nosecones.

Late one Saturday evening, we packed all our gear into a pack, lashed the bazooka to Heckle's bike frame (it was just a bit conspicuous, especially after he'd painted it OD green and applied electrical tape to look like a flash suppressor...) and took off for the bayou. There was a developer laying out houses & condos back there, and it was 'dozed and graded, with bits of poured concrete here & there.

We set up shop behind the big D6 Caterpillar that we'd already learned how to hotwire earlier that spring. One of us, probably Jeckle, had earlier realized that we'd have hot rocket exhaust blowing back at our faces upon launching, so we had made face shields out of some window screen that got pried loose from a vacant apartment. Tucking the screens into the brim of our ballcaps, we looked like redneck beekeepers. Well, except for the swim goggles we wore for eye protection in lieu of welder's goggles, which none of us owned. The goggles made us look like redneck geek swimteam beekeepers.

The bazooka performed like it was designed. The rocket was slid into the back of the tube. An igniter was wired up via alligator clips, and slipped into the rocket motor, then plugged to hold it there. The back hatch was slid shut, you tapped the firer on the shoulder, said "You're Live!" and backed away quickly.

A flick of the converted wall light switch (which looked almost like a trigger) closed the circuit, and the 9 volt battery ignited the engine, and sent it screaming down the tube.

It's when it left the tube that our difficulties started.

See, there's a reason rocket scientists exist. They know the math required to design tailfins and canards out of composite materials that will allow a rocket to fly to the end of its engine burn on a straight and level trajectory.

Math? Feh. We had duct tape and balsa wood! Epoxy and scotch tape! We also had rockets that would do the damnedest things once they left that tube.

The first one went almost vertical upon exit, then abruptly swung south and corkscrewed down in a broad spiral. It hit near the contractor's trailer, bounced once or twice and exploded. Rockets #2 & #3 flew almost normally, one even hitting the Port-O-John we were aiming at, but both failed to explode. (Note: you have to understand that, to a teenager, the thought of firing rockets at an outdoor shitter falls in the category of Unbelievably, Catastrophically Funny!)
Rockets #4 & #5 flew off on weird tangents, one sailing over into a nearby condominium community and exploding in midair.

That last one sent us scurrying for home, despite one rocket remaining. We'd already run afoul of those condo folks for hijinks the previous Halloween.

There was a police cruiser nosing around for a couple of hours, and we watched from the safety of the woods near the Episcopal church, which afforded a quick escape via either the cemetary or the apartments nearby. I'm sure our fingerprints were everywhere, but nothing was on file. Then, anyway.

A couple of weeks later, we're sitting in Jeckle's bedroom, wondering what to do with the last rocket. There was a plumber's panel van in the parking lot outside Jeckle's window, and it didn't take Heckle too long to convince Jeckle that we needed to bounce the last rocket off the side of the van. Apparently there's a rivalry between plumbers and A/C techs that was previously unknown to us. This last rocket we'd already pulled the explosive from the nosecone to make rat trap-based boobytraps for Heckle & Jeckle's younger siblings.

As Jeckle pried open the window screen, Heckle & I looked for the battery and got out the rocket. We couldn't find the last good igniter or the 9V battery. We had a partially broken igniter, and it might do the trick if we pushed some heavy current through the thing. It took about 10 more minutes of pestering before we convinced Jeckle that we needed to cut the cord off his bedside lamp in order to wire the cut ends to the broken igniter inside the rocket motor and achieve ignition. Our grasp of how electricity behaved in household-level voltages was fragile, to say the least.

Jeckle agreed to everything, provided he could fire the rocket. Fine by us! Jeckle crouched by the window, Heckle would hold the lamp cord in place, and when Jeckle said "FIRE", I would jam the plug into the wall.

Countdown... 5...4...3..2..1... Fire! I plugged in the cord, there's a huge puff of smoke, every light bulb and electrical appliance in the apartment goes dead, and the rocket heads for parts unknown, but not before sailing over the tennis courts and leaving a smoke trail right back towards Jeckle's apartment window.

Well, there was a reason back doors were invented!

Jeckle caught hell for that one. Heckle eventually got popped for testing out a radio-controlled bomb (powered by matchheads, of course) that worked perfectly, but flying gravel from the blast chipped some paint and a headlight on a new Corvette parked nearby, and the owner watched it happen. Neither he nor Heckle's parents were amused.

Me? I got busted for taking out lightbulbs in a parking garage from 100 yards away using a homemade air cannon constructed from an old treadle air pump, assorted valves & connectors, and (what else) "borrowed" copper tubing. It shot glass marbles, and the whole thing broke down in three parts and fit neatly into a backpack. It's always perplexing when the parents never see the genius of your engineering, and only focus on the piddling cost of a few incandescent bulbs...

More Heckle & Jeckle tales in the future, perhaps. They run kinda long!

Monday, February 27, 2006

Prayers Answered!

I'll Offer Up A Case Of Chef Boyardee As A Sacrifice!

Wow. Bolt from above, man, I'm telling you! The Noodly Appendage of the Flying Spaghetti Monster came down from on high, and smote METRO's Iron Bars of Inconvenience!

The bus stop I use every day is just about the worst-designed parking lot in the history of mankind. In order to make all the pedestrians cross at one location, there are these horrid iron fences surrounding all the parking areas. They force you to walk far out of your way to get into the bus area, and they are just a huge pain in the ass.

How much of a pain? So much so that I'd gone online and gathered up a list of vendors of various chemical agents in preparation for ordering enough goodies to make a batch of moldable thermite. Then, one dark night I was planning on taking out a section of fence so I could at long last walk a direct route between the parking lot and the bus stop.

Someone beat me to it! This morning, there was a section of fence down right by the 214 stop! Glory Hallelujah! Praise to the Flying Spaghetti Monster for his Noodly benevolence!

Bummer, Man

Grim Reaper's Harshing My Mellow!

Damn, lost a good one.

Dennis Weaver died last Friday. I just now read about it.

You old timers remember him as Deputy Chester Goode from Gunsmoke. When I was a youngster, I used to watch him most every week on the detective show McCloud.

Sure, he was a bit on the envirofreak/treehugger side, but he was never obnoxious about it that I can recall. Cancer got him at the ripe old age of 81.

Adios, cowboy. Happy Trails!

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Saxet Spelled Backwards Equals "Sardine"

Biggest Clusterf#*k I've Seen In Years

In this neck of the Texas woods, there are three main groups that host gun shows. You have the Houston Gun Collector's Association, who usually set up shop down in Reliant Center. You have the High Caliber Gun & Knife crew, who are most often found at the George R. Brown Convention Center, and you have the Saxet Shows group, that mostly play to the smaller towns and county arenas.

Each has its merits. You won't find any ammo at the Houston Gun Collector's Association show, 'cause Reliant Center doesn't allow it. You'll walk your feet off at the George R. Brown Convention Center, 'cause that place is bigger than Rhode Island.

This was my first Saxet show, and I was NOT impressed. The Lone Star Convention Center in Conroe was OK. A bit out in the sticks, even after considering the long drive up there. Still, it was a nice building, and parking was free, something you won't find in Houston.

The place was stuffed tighter than Dick's hatband, though. The vendor area was way oversold. Just too many damned tables in the room, leaving just enough aisle space to avoid a fire code citation.

Completely fracturing the fire code, though, was the amount of people they let in the room. There were so many people struggling to get past each other down tight aisles that there were many times you had to stand & wait for 3-5 minutes before you could take a step in any direction.

I got so pissed off after fighting my way down the first three aisles that I considered leaving. There was no excuse to have the place that crowded, and the only thing that kept me from calling the law was I'd drained my cell battery calling my pal Zibig to bitch about it.

Making matters worse were the high percentage of lookie-loos at the show. Nothing pisses me off more than to have a pocket full of cash, ready to make a purchase, only to have to wait 10 minutes just to get up to the table because two inbred yokels with 6 teeth between them ramble on about how they're gonna buy that $2000 Wilson .45 and go "BussaCapInDemPigs".

I'm not going back to a Saxet show if I can help it. I got so frazzled by the crowds and the high yokel factor that I completely forgot to pick up the .45 magazines I'm needing, and also forgot to go buy a 7.5 Swiss snapcap.

Got a good deal on a rifle, but I need triple that for my pain, suffering and anguish of that overcrowded hall.

El Capitan's New Swiss Rifle

I Must Fix The Cuckoo Clock In The Stock...

As I threatened earlier, I did indeed go out and procure another firearm. This one hasn't been on my list as long as a lot of others I intend to acquire, but due to the low cost and easy availability, it jumped to the head of the line.

I ventured 40 miles north to go to the gun show at the Conroe, TX convention center yesterday, hoping to find a bargain or two. Despite the crowds and the cramped space (more on that in another post...) I got almost everything I was looking for.

I was sorely tempted by a lovely Sveedish Mauser in 6.5 x 55 cal, and there were Mosin-Nagants aplenty, most in passable shape. I knew I'd hit the motherlode, though, when I found a table with half a dozen Swiss K31's on the rack. I had to wait quite a while as the dealer was calling in multiple orders to the *spit* ATF *spit* for approval, but that gave me a chance to dig out the pick of the litter.

And.... here it is!

OK, the old birdbath isn't the best photography platform, but that's where the light was best. It's a Swiss K31 Short Rifle, based on the Model 1889 Swiss Schmidt-Rubin. It's chambered for 7.5 x 55 Swiss, and according to was manufactured around 1955. I thought it was older based on the tag I found under the buttplate, but it turns out the date on the tag (1934) is the birthdate of the soldier that carried it, not the date of issue.

Like Swiss timepieces and banking laws, the rifle is intricate, precise and impeccably crafted. The straight-pull bolt takes some getting used to, especially after a lifetime of lift & turn bolts. The magazine holds 6 rounds, and it ejects out the top of the receiver.

Once I got the gunk out of the barrel, it turned out to have one of the prettiest, shiniest bores I've seen on a surplus rifle. I spent all morning with a cleaning rod, patches and Q-tips getting old cosmoline out of every nook & cranny.

The soldier's ID tag under the buttplate is kind of hard to read. Here's a look:

The Swiss soldier's name is/was Josef Their, or Stein, or Scheire, or something like that. Euro handwriting plus water damage is hard to translate. He was a rifleman in Company 4 in the 23rd Something-or-other. The 3rd line reads 'seminar' which leads me to believe he may have been a theology student attending seminary. The town name is also garbled, but ends in "bach" in the canton of Schwyz.

I had a brainstorm last night when cleaning the initial goo out of the barrel. I'd wondered earlier why all the K31s I'd seen had the toe of the butt all messed up. Mine doesn't look too bad, though as you can see there's damage to the wood and the metal buttplate.

I thought at first that the rifles must have been stored in such a fashion that the tips of the stock got immersed in water. That idea didn't wash, though, 'cause most times rifles are stored in crates, or kept in huge crisscross stacks on pallets.

Then, I saw this and it all became abundantly clear:

That's called a stacking hook, and it's why all the stocks are buggered up on the toe area. See, when you're out tenting tonight on the old campground with 800 of your close personal army buddies, you use that stacking hook to lock your squad's rifles into a cone-shaped arrangement so the action and barrels stay out of the muck. One part by necessity remains dug into the ground, the toe of the stock. Hence, all the damage on the old K31s.

I bought 50 rounds of surplus ammo while I was there, all I could justify at $4.95 for a box of 10. I'll get some more via mail order, but I wanted some on hand. Dunno why they call it surplus... the quality of the ammo and the packaging is nicer than a lot of commercial ammo you see these days!

I have a feeling this might replace the scattergun as the SHTF gun I keep in the Cad's trunk. It's got a lot more reach, hits harder, and if someone steals it (along with the Caddy), I'm only out a C-note and change.

I found one guy with a K31 bayonet. (which I buy for the primary purpose of annoying my friend Zibig, who has given me shit for years over my blade collection!) Unfortunately, I could have bought a second K31 for what he was asking for it. Maybe next year!

Saturday, February 25, 2006


11040 Bottles Of Beer On The Truck... And Also 26856 Cans!

Hmmm... it seems that a semi-trailer loaded with $26,000 worth of beer has gone missing in Wisconsin.

The missing stash includes:

384 24-packs of Miller Genuine Draft cans
560 18-packs of MGD 12-ounce bottles
980 18-packs of MGD 12-ounce cans
40 24-packs of Miller Light 16-ounce plastic bottles

Immediately, I thought of the one person I knew from Wisconsin who drives heavy trucks for a living, and could have pulled it off. But, no... he moved to Texas. Probably has an alibi, too.

Next on the list was this guy. I know for a fact, though, that he has much better taste in beer!

Shame it wasn't a truckload of Guinness. That would be worth the trouble of heisting it!

More Sheeple Bleating

Duty To Retreat, My Ass!

The sheeple constantly amaze me with their constant state of fear. Look at this poor schlub attempting to decry the "Stand Your Ground" legislation being proposed in numerous states.
Instead of embracing a citizen's "duty to retreat" in the face of a physical attack, states may be taking cues from the days of lawless frontier towns, where non-deputized Americans were within their rights to hold the bad guys at bay with the threat of deadly force.
As long as he's gonna parade the tired ol' Wild West theme that the hoplophobes constantly do, I'll join right in. What a load of horseshit!

I have NO "duty to retreat" from an attacker while I'm out in public. None at all. My right to conduct business or pleasure in public is not trumped by some goblin's wish to relieve me of life or property.

That being said, I DO have a duty not to go yanking out a pistol and go blazing away just because someone takes my parking space.

Far be it from the sheeple to ever give the masses credit for possessing a bit of good judgement or reasoning skills, though. As far as they're concerned, we're all mindless, brutish thugs. Hence, the constant references to the "Wild West" and "Dodge City Shootouts" and "vigilante justice" that accompany any legislation that would allow us to protect ourselves from unwarranted lawsuits following a societal goblinectomy.

Give it up, gun-grabbers. You've been slavering for "Wild West" shootouts ever since the concealed-carry laws have swept the nation. Hasn't happened yet, and it ain't gonna happen.

Bah. Effing sheeple piss me off. Now I'm so torqued off, I'm just gonna have to go buy another gun!

Friday, February 24, 2006

Warning! Arsenal Alert!

Now, I Just Need My Own Rural Compound...

OK, I'm on my way to joining the militia-types and survivalists. In about a week, I'll have joined the ranks of the gun nuts that have a stash of thousands of rounds of ammunition!

Well, to be honest, if you count up all the assorted bricks, cans and boxes of .22 ammo, I've been there for a while now. Those add up pretty quick.

I finally took the plunge and ordered a case of 8mm Mauser surplus ammo for my BRNO VZ 24. 900 rounds for $64.95. $20 shipping charges tacked on, 'cause that stuff weighs a ton. Got it off the web at Sportsman's Guide.

It comes out to less than 9.5 cents a round. Not too awful, especially compared with the .45 Colt, which usually goes for around 40 cents a bang, and double that for premium ammo.

There's a gun show up in Conroe this weekend. I'm gonna go and see if there's anyone sitting on a stash of surplus 7mm Mauser. Samco had some in stock last year, but I dithered and dawdled until they sold out. You can find commercial stuff, but it's kinda pricy, and Venezuelan autoloaders run through that stuff PDQ.

I'm also keeping my eye out for a Swiss K31 in good shape. They're still selling online for around a buck & a quarter, with premium specimens charging an additional $50 or so. Most of the ones I've seen have good bores, clean actions and passable wood, but for some reason, the toe of the stocks are really buggered up. I'm not sure why that is.

Ammo for those critters is pretty spendy for surplus stuff. Cheapest I've seen it is at AIM Surplus, with sleeves of 60 rounds for $21.

They're said to be extremely accurate and well-made. If I can get a good price, I'll find out for myself!

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Oh, No... This Can't Be For Real!

There Oughta Be A Law...

All those high school questions got me thinking about the 80's. Specifically, what was BAD about the 80's.

The fashion was pretty horrific. I'd run down a list of the assorted fashion quirks of the 80's, but those that lived through it won't want the reminder, and those that came later don't need any impetus to push for a fashion revival.

So, I'm Googling up "clownsuit", trying to find a picture of the worst of the worst fashion faux pas we survived, and amidst all the John Wayne Gacy references, I came upon a site devoted to 80's styles. Eeek.

And then, it led me.... to this abomination! A website that sells parachute pants!! They've got hundreds of the damn things in stock!!!

The horror... the horror...

Zibig, email me your waist size! I just found your birthday present! I'm gonna get you a bright red pair, and maybe a skinny tie, and a Member's Only jacket, and a pair of those Buckaroo Banzai glasses, and some of those Vans checkerboard shoes, and a bunch of cutesy buttons to wear, and some rubber 'O' ring bracelets, and also some Porsche fold-up sunglasses, and...

The High School Meme

It Was 20 Years Ago Today, Mr. Caston Told The Band To Play...

Got this from Sheila. Of course, I must pass this meme along to others. I won't point fingers at anyone specific, but I'd love to see what some folks on my blogroll have to say about their time in high school!

1) Where did you graduate from and what year?
Spring Woods High, Houston, TX in 1986

2) Did you have school pride?
Not really. As a band geek, we HAD to be at all the pep rallies. Didn't mean we liked it...

3) Was your prom a night to remember?
Eh, not so much. Jr. Prom was OK. Sr. Prom was a bit of a letdown. Mr. Friendly did go spelunking both nights, so they weren't all bad.

4) Do you own all 4 Yearbooks?
Yes. They're out in a box in the garage somewhere.

5) What was the worst trouble you ever got into?
Heh. Where to begin... I'll keep the dial set to "Trouble Occurring On School Grounds". Low-to middlin' grades, resistance to authority, booze, weed, cigarettes. Officially, the worst thing was a 2 day suspension for smokin' in the boy's room. There's a hell of a lot that the screwheads missed, though.

6) What kind of people did you hang out with?
Band folks, speech & debate folks, a bit of the stoner/metalhead crowd. No jocks, no clownsuited bowheads, no drill team!

7) What was your number 1 choice of College in HS?
Heh. More like, who's gonna let me in with these grades?

8) what radio station did you rock out to?
KSRR 97.1 FM, KLOL 101.1 FM

9) Were you involved in any organizations or clubs?
Band, Speech & Debate, Latin Club, Industrial Arts Club, The Under-The-Tennis-Bleachers Cannabis Appreciation Society.

10) What were your favorite classes in high school?
Latin, Metal Shop, Band, Chemistry

11) Who was your big crush in Highschool?
9th grade: an unnamed sophomore in the band's flag corps.

10th grade: Changed on a daily basis.

11th grade: The main squeeze

12th grade: The main squeeze, year #2

12) Would you say you've changed a lot since high school?
Well, I've certainly put on pounds, no doubt about that. I'm still pretty much the same self-absorbed asshole I was back then, but I'm better at hiding it these days.

13) What do you miss the most about it?
Performing with the band on the marching field, the endless free time to just be young and alive. Hold on to sixteen, as long as you can! Changes come around real soon make us women & men!

14) Your worst memory of HS?
The new Texas "No Pass, No Play" law. Algebra II and I did not get along, and I missed a lot of extracurricular activities due to academic ineligibility. Funny thing was, I was only taking Algebra II 'cause it was a required class if you were enrolled in Chemistry. I made A's in Chemistry. Go figure...

15) Did you have a car?
Sorta. I had the use of whatever family vehicles were currently operating, but my main transport was a Honda Aero 80CC scooter. Loved that thing!

16) What were your school colors?
Black & Gold

17) Who were your favorite teachers?
Janice Reed (Latin), Robby Caston (Band), Cecil Childers (Chemistry), Coach Egan (Biology), James Fraughton (Metal Shop)

18) Did you own a cell phone in high school?
Cell phones? Hah! Here's a quarter. Use that phone on the wall over there.

19) Did you leave campus for lunch?
Only once or twice.

20) If so, where was your favorite place to go eat?
Anywhere far away from campus. The screwheads used to patrol the nearby places looking for students.

21) Were you always late to class?
Actually, I'm pretty punctual.

22) Did you ever have to stay for Saturday School?
WTF is Saturday School? Had plenty of afternoon detentions.

23) Did you ever ditch?
Mistakes were made... (we called it 'skipping', not ditching)

24) What kind of Job did you have?
Minimum wage sucky jobs, mostly.

25) When it comes time for the reunion will you be there?
Went to the 10th. It wasn't that much fun. The 20th is this year. Haven't made up my mind, but I'm 90% sure I'll skip it.

26) Do you wish you were still in high school?
Jeez, if I could go back and do it again, only knowing what I do now, I'd do it in a minute. I'd rule that pile of bricks. Otherwise, forget it.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

One More For $hits & Giggles

Remember, Booze, Dope & Guns Don't Mix! Unless You Use A REALLY Big Glass...

Ok, Deathknyte just let me know that I'd forgotten another fun activity I enjoy, one that also happens to annoy the crap out of the liberal wussy PC sheeple population.

So, let's add some guns!

Here's my current wish list.

My life won't be complete without:

An M1A
A nice Garand
A Belgian-made Auto-5
A nice .44 Mag Redhawk
Gotta have a BAR
My newest obsession, the S&W Schofield
SIG's .45 Auto
As long as we're dreaming, howzabout a Tommy gun!
And a Mauser Broomhandle
And a pair of Ruger SP101 snubbies
Don't forget the M249!!
Finally, a gigantimous, Liberal-frightening Barrett Big .50!!!

And that's only the tip of my collecting iceberg!!

Sliding Towards The Abyss

This Might Lose Some Readers...

Booze, wimmens, yammerin' at the tops of our lungs...

Might be time to chill out.






Busted, down on Bourbon Street... Set up like a bowling pin... knocked down, it gets to wearin' thin! They just won't let me beeeee-hee-hee!

Damn, This Is Kinda Fun!

Something For The 12-Steppers Now

OK, we've had impolite non-PC speech, then some jiggilation from the nekkid wimmens.

Naturally, we need some booze to go along with it.

Tie some of these on...

Modern Drunkard Magazine

Maker's Mark

Bombay Sapphire

Gran Centenario

Captain Morgan

Monopolowa (Grey Goose can't hold a candle to this stuff...)



Shiner Bock

Stroh's (I miss this stuff... like I miss a rash!)

Ace Pear Cider

Strongbow Cider

Blackthorn Cider

(Can ya tell I likes the cider? With more punch per ounce than American pisswater lager beers, you'd best try and match me bottle for bottle before you turn up your nose at it!)

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Continuing The Trend

Might As Well Go Whole Hog

As long as I'm being non-PC, I'll add male chauvinist pig to the mix as well.

Here's a good online boobie stash. Go forth, my brethren (and women who swing that direction) and OBJECTIFY!!

This link is NOT safe for work...

Keepin' Ma Mouf Shut

The PC Po-Leece Strike Again

Got called on the carpet yesterday. Apparently, when a woman has issues with a local school 'cause they've allowed her children to view television, and, according to the same woman, *everyone* knows that television is how secret subliminal messages are sent by people intent on mind control, it is apparently not kosher to refer to said woman as a "nutjob".

Never mind that my comment was made out of earshot of John Q. Citizen and behind locked doors, it showed "an appalling lack of sensitivity to the plight of the mentally ill".

Yeah, well, sometimes a nutjob's a nutjob, and no two ways around it. If she's locked in a rubber room and rolling her poo into little balls while claiming to be Joan of Arc, sure, I'll show some compassion. When she's seemingly normal in all other aspects, but sees the hand of Satan reaching out through the TV, that ain't mentally ill. That's just being slightly unhinged.

Hence, a nutjob.

I don't foresee any long-term downchecks over this episode, but it irks me nonetheless. It irks me even more that someone saw fit to make an issue out of it.

Sigh. I'm not surprised, though. You shoulda seen the stink floated when a guy in another section said "sometimes you gotta call a spade a spade" in a staff meeting.

Monday, February 20, 2006

Moving & Cleaning

Both Physical And Mental Makeovers!

There's an extremely thoughtful and (for me, anyway) relevant post by Jeff Harrell, who's doing some moonlighting over at Wizbang.

Go read it, and do some cleaning of your own!

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Catching A Cat

Oh, No... I've Already Got Two Of 'Em!

Woke up last night to some plaintive yowling outside my window. It's a bit cold out for cats to be doing the nasty, I thought, so I pulled on some clothes and went out to see what was going on.

Way down on the far end of the front porch was a multicolored kittycat, hunched up between the trellis and the shrubbery, just yowling fit to break your heart. I expected it to dash off when I squatted down next to the door, but it came right up and started chattering at me. The critter had a huge head, I thought. Seemed to be a full grown cat. No collar or tags, and though it seemed a bit skinny, the fur was glossy and in good condition. The cat had a stumpy tail, but it was either congenital or long-healed, not a recent injury.

It let me pet it, but I didn't want to scare it off by turning it upside down to determine gender. I suppose I coulda just reached around and felt, but I'm an old-fashioned guy and thought I probably ought to buy it dinner first.

I did feel quite a few fleas running under the fur, so bringing it inside was out of the question. I've finally got my kitties flea-free, and I wasn't going to import any vermin or kitty diseases. I decided to go get a can of cat food and while the cat was eating, go dig out the cat carrier from the garage. A cat this friendly, someone's gonna want it, and the local SPCA's just down the road from my bus stop.

Of course, by the time I'd excavated the carrier from the garage, El Gato Stumpo was long gone. Hmpph. Eat & run. I probably got suckered by a band of Irish Traveller cats. One begs for food in a piteous manner, the rest spray my driveway with used motor oil and bill me $1200 for "asphalt resurfacing". Little scammers...

If my visitor comes back, I'll try again. Heck, I once caught a litter of 4 week old kittens and a momma cat who were living in a rusted-out '51 Plymouth with an old-fashioned box-trap. You know, the one with the stick propping it up and the long string to yank the stick away? Got my friend Flygirl a houseful of cats that way.

Heh. Haven't thought about that in a while. Got 'em all, except for one of the kittens. Finally got that one late the next night, and called Flygirl to come pick it up. She had the cat carrier, so the only place I had to store the pissed-off ball of teeth & claws was an old Igloo water cooler. I popped the top, dumped the hissing little scratch machine inside, and went inside to watch TV.

When Flygirl got there, we discovered that there was about 1/4 inch of water in the cooler, and now not only was the little hiss-monster captured, its paws, legs and little bottom were soaked through. Boy, that little guy was angry! It just sat there down in the bottom of the cooler and cursed up a blue streak at us! Hiss! Hiss! Hiss!

Flygirl, of course, had to name it Alger!

Holy Cow! It Worked!!

The Power To Nag Is The Power To Heal!

Well, your efforts paid off! Zippo The Pirate scraped the barnacles off his keyboard, and posted on his blog!

Thanks so much for the comments you left! It's good to see the ol' buccaneer back in action.

For your next intervention, drop these folks a line, and let them know I need to match six numbers this week. If it works out, I'll foot the bill for BlogFest Bahamas!

Friday, February 17, 2006

Unexplained Antisocial Urges

Probably Something I Ate...

Ever have one of those days when you're just inexplicably antagonistic to the entire human race? Not just a "Blah, people suck" kind of day, but one where you just really feel the need to piss on someone's cornflakes, right after you max out their credit cards on liquor and whores.

Dunno what set me off. This didn't help.

Saw that pic on the main page for the City of Houston. Buncha yuppies congregating on some high-rise balcony, probably the SkyBar down in the 'Trose.

For all I know, they're a crack team of microbiologists from MD Anderson Cancer Center celebrating their discovery of a new anti-cancer pill.

OTOH, they're probably exactly what they look like, a buncha smug yuppie @$$holes desperately in need of a taste of the lash followed by a rock salt/lemon juice rubdown.

'Specially this guy. What a knob-gobbler. Over the rail with you, scumbag!

Sigh. At least it's Friday. 5 more hours, and I can go home.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

A Moment Of Kitty Zen

I've GOT To Quit Babytalking To These Cats...

But tweet widdle puddy tat's so cyoote and adowuble!

Pookie Cat doesn't get a lot of blogtime, 'cause she's really camera shy.

Caught her napping this time, though!

You Can't Fight City Hall

But You Can Give Yourself a $47k Bonus, Apparently

Don't expect your business with the City of Houston to be concluded with any dispatch this week. If there's any City employees NOT spending all day discussing the latest scandal by the water cooler, it's because they're out on vacation.

In a nutshell, 4 of the staff in the Mayor Pro Tem's office took it upon themselves to grant bonuses totaling $130,000 to... themselves.

Mayor Bill White is not amused.

Council Member & Mayor Pro Tem Carol Alvarado has denied any knowledge of how this occured. She may be a delayed graduate and a bit of a foul-mouth, but I have to say I've never heard any rumors of dishonesty about her personally.

The four employees in question have been suspended with pay, their keys and access badges confiscated pending the results of the investigation. I expect this case will have the Office of Inspector General turning over stones for weeks looking for any trace of rot.

The Harris County DA has been called into the case. With Mayor White's recent push for ethics in local government, look for these four to be drawn, quartered and roasted at the stake as an example to others.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Jumpstart A Blog!

Time For An Intervention...

Tomorrow, Feb. 16, will mark the second straight month since my good friend Zippo The Pirate has posted anything on his blog. No updates, no jokes, no silly quizzes... basically, we got bupkis from the Zipster. He's in mortal danger of being dropped from blogrolls and forgotten completely!

Now, Zippo has been busy with the job scene, and there's no doubt about that. Still, there's busy and there's BUSY. You'd think in 2 months (that's 62 days, or 1488 hours, or 89,280 minutes, or 5,356,800 seconds) we could at least get an "I'm Alive!!!" post!

So, it looks like it's time for some friendly persuasion. Head over to Casa Del Zippo, and drop a comment in the last post. Hell, drop in two. Be nice! Just let him know we miss his presence on the 'net, and it'd be great to hear from him again.

If we get enough folks asking, maybe we'll hear a "YARRRR!!!" across our starboard bow once again!

Thanks, y'all!

Tuesday, February 14, 2006


A Message From Hizzoner

Holy Crap! A Raise!!!

Dear Lowly Orc Peons:

I have directed the senior Nazgül of the Realm of Sauron to implement a 1.5% pay raise for all full-time orcs to begin in April 2006. Eligible orcs will receive the pay hike effective April 1, and April 8 for goblins and the Uruk-Hai. The raises will appear on the checks received April 21 and April 28, respectively.

The 1.5% increase will be given to permanent, full-time orcs who were hired/rehired before or on October 1, 2005, and whose most recent Orc Performance Initiative Evaluation (OPIE) rating is not less than 3.00.

In addition, I will propose a 2.0% pay allocation in the Fiscal Year 2007 Budget. Plans for the pay increase will be implemented at the beginning of the Fiscal Year, or the pay period following the Council of Nazgül's approval of the budget if that occurs after the beginning of the fiscal year. Each orc horde is being asked to submit to me by June 12 a plan for how that money would be allocated. It could include some across-the-board pay increases for defined job categories and/or some merit pay, depending on what plan directors decide best suits the goals of their hordes.

You work hard to make Minas Morgul efficient and responsive to that which we work for, the Great Burning Eye. Thank you. I am proud to be working with you.

As always, fresh hobbit flesh and elf viscera may be substituted in lieu of gold as the budget allows.

Sincerely, Hizzoner
Sweet. Maybe I'll go to the movies. By myself...

Monday, February 13, 2006

February '06 Range Report

Where We Learn We Are Woefully Underequipped

I went out shooting last Sunday with Zibig & the Cisco Kid. Mostly .22 plinking with S&W 422's and a Beretta NEOS, but I brought along my Springfield Armory .45ACP and the .45LC Vaquero just for giggles. Cisco Kid also brought along his 9mm Browning Hi-Power.

We were having a pretty good time flinging rounds downrange, despite the chilly weather. We'd trade pistols back and forth, letting everyone get a feel for unfamiliar firearms. I got bit pretty hard by the hammer on the Hi-Power. I'm spoiled by the extended beavertail safety on my .45!

Big Bada-Boom! Zibig tries out the .45 Auto!

Winner in the unfamiliar category was the Vaquero. Despite his nom de blog, this was the Cisco Kid's first foray into single-action revolvers. I could tell he didn't groove on the slow reloading process, but he liked how it handled recoil. He shot OK with it, once he figured out how to "walk" the rounds into the bullseye.

I finally tried out the Cor-Bon defense loads for the Vaquero that I picked up over the New Years break. Holy recoil, Batman! After those anemic black-powder equivalent reloads I've been shooting, these were a handful! Quite accurate, though.

Little did we know we were about to be visited by.... Ferrari Man!!

He arrived driving a fiery steed!

We were in awe of his sartorial splendor. How could our humble jeans and khakis measure up to the Crimson Stallion Windbreaker? With matching red Ferrari hat and earmuffs? The pants with velvet racing stripes down the leg! The Ferrari Man knows they cannot!

Even the Ferrari Man's red Ferrari shoes and red Ferrari range bag radiated good taste and breeding!

Those shoes... The Manolo would give his eyeteeth for those vent-equipped streamlined claret sabots... They will be mine!!

So, there it is. A good trip to the range, interrupted by the stark realization that we were not worthy to continue in the presence of... Ferrari Man!


I Berate Thee, O Mover Of People

Long wait in cold rain
No sign of commuter bus
Fictional schedule!

Plush commuter bus!
Local routes use rusted wrecks
Being poor must suck

Dark Transit Center
Winos pee on brick shelters
Smell blooms with the dawn

Little weasel girl
if you desire a husband
shave those furry legs

Driver missed my stop
Ignorant motherfucker
I'll burn your house down

Older bus today
Rattle & Hum isn't just
a U2 album

Lady on cell phone
please, we all just beg of you
shut your bloody yap!

Sharp high speed corners
shrieking wheels, pulling hard G's
Maniac driver

I'd like to sleep now
Long ride downtown, hard work day
please stop your farting!

Pretty girl on bus
I'd like to lick her earlobes
Damn, she's just sixteen

Big puddle of oil
fast bus, hard bump, pierced oil sump
Driver fucked up good

Bus supervisor
sleeping on company time
your drivers mock you

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Blogroll Updates

About The Best I'm Gonna Do On A Sunday...

Bad Juju
Grouchy Old Cripple


Mr. Minority

Forgot To Fix:
Blown Fuse

Did I miss your blog?? Let me know...

UPDATE: Added Shoe, she quit blogging 3 hours later. Effin' kiss of death here...

Got the message, MGlory. You're covered.

Friday, February 10, 2006


I Know Too Much Now...

Ever see something you weren't meant to see? Something that might lead to your person being placed in immediate peril? I think I just did...

Got home last night, choked down a Sonic chicken sammich and some cheesy poofs while watching an episode of BSG I bought off of iTunes. Then, instead of the usual 2+ hours of blogsurfing and/or gaming, I fell victim to the bed's gravitational pull and hit the rack very early.

Usually the cats come & go all night, and I can usually feel them hop up on the bed. I was absolutely dead to the world last night, and even Betsy Cat's puffy tail across my nose barely made me stir.

I woke up about midnight, sort of disoriented and woozy, and saw that the bedside lamp was still on. Betsy Cat was parked next to me, and somehow she looked... odd.

Normally, Betsy Cat is a smoke-colored cat. She's got pure white belly & down layer topped with dark grey guard hairs, making for a nice two-tone effect that's enhanced by her abundant fuzziness.

When I woke up though, I would swear on a stack of stroke mags that Betsy Cat was a dark beige shade, kinda like the color of a cardboard box. I remember saying "what the hell??" and reaching out to pet her.

See, I thought she'd been spelunking under the bed again, and was maybe covered in dust. No cloud erupted from her back when I ruffled her fur, so that wasn't it.

Well, surely she wasn't rolling in the Clorox bleach. Still kind of half-asleep, I got up, went to the laundry room just to make sure. Nope, everything was shipshape and Bristol fashion there.

I get back to the room, turn on the overhead light, and Betsy Cat is grey-colored. Just sitting there, slowly twitching her tail as she gave me The Stare. Uh oh.

I could swear this cat had changed colors. Come to think about it, it *would* explain a lot of the ongoing cat mysteries. All those times you just can't find the cat. The episodes when the cat escapes and gets outside, this could easily be solved if the cat was blending into the wallpaper by the front door!

Methinks I awoke unexpectedly, and caught Betsy Cat in mid-change. Doubtless a leak like this would be a huge catastrophe in the Cat Coalition's eternal struggle for planetary domination, except for the fact that no one's gonna believe me. I'll end up like the UFO & Bigfoot nutters and the Tinfoil Hat brigade.

I think I'm locking 'em out of the bedroom from here on out... I probably know too much, and will have to be eliminated!

Cats can't really suck your breath out, right???

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Running Low On Gas

Kiss This Saturday Goodbye!

Sigh. I shoulda asked for today off, but there was just too much going on that I couldn't reschedule it all.

So, instead of doing what I'd like to do, which is spending the day skulking around Houston's nether regions with FlyGirl (who's on a layover until late this afternoon), I'm hooking up caffeinated sodas intravenously in order to keep the motor running until tonight when I can get home & crash. I'll end up sleeping all morning Saturday too, but that's what they're for, IMHO.

Met FlyGirl ("Don't call me a stew!") in the wee hours last night up at El Mondo Aeropuerto when her plane got in. Thanks to her huge conglomerate of an airline's newfound liquidity, it was on time, just arriving really frickin' late at night.

Killed time after work by heading up towards the airport and doing some book shopping, and also amusing the waitress at a Thai restaurant by using my satay like one of those Lik-M-Aid sugar dipping sticks, dunking it into the peanut/chili sauce and slurping the sauce off before finally taking a bite of the chicken. Damn, I loves me some Thai peanut sauce. Gonna whip me up a bucketful one day and dunk my haid in.

Later, at a 24-hour airport Squat & Gobble, FlyGirl and I ordered cheese-stuffed jalapeños and a faux-chocolate waffle with seaweed-laced ice cream (on different plates, mind you...) to munch upon while we discussed the problems of the world. I avoided any mention of Ted "Three Drink Minimum" Kennedy, and she avoided mention of G.W. "Borders?? Who Needs Borders?!?" Bush, so for the evening we were able to avoid resorting to fisticuffs, which was nice for a change. ;-Þ

Forgot to twist her arm about being assimilated into the blogging collective. Heck, if she can make money hawking secondhand Masonic dishware on eBay, surely she can get a handle on Blogger.

BTW, FlyGirl, the Illuminati called. They want their teapot back...

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Out & About + A Gratuitous Site Plug

I Need A Day Off!!!

Hardly in the office today due to meetings far abroad. Same for tomorrow. Sleep is also gonna be thin on the ground until the weekend, so posting's gonna suffer. I'll try and make it up to y'all somehow...

In the meantime, I highly recommend you check out on a daily basis.

I used to read that site constantly back in the day. For some reason, I quit dropping by (probably due to leaving jobs and losing that set of browser bookmarks!) but I'm gonna try and keep up with them again.

This is the group responsible for such classics of webhumor as:
Top 15 Lines Edited Out of Dr. Seuss Books

I do not like them hot or cold,
Those eggs are green because of mold!

The noise was from little Cindy Lou Who,
Who shot the Grinch dead with her dad's .32.

And to think that I saw it go down on Eight Mile.

Actually, "unless" means "unless I get me a posse of Barbaloots in brown barbaloot suits to go medieval on your onceler ass."

Why did that cop hop on pop?
Isn't this a routine traffic stop?

"I'll put eyes in the ceiling and ears in the wall,
'Cause a threat is a threat, no matter how small."

The Cat in the Hat said, "We'll have fun in batches,
And the best fun of all comes from playing with matches!"

I did not do her, near or far.
Okay, maybe once, with a Cuban cigar.

Did I ever tell you that Mrs. McCave had twenty three sons and she named them all You-Are-Getting-A-Vasectomy-NOW-if-you-EVER-Want-So-Much-As-Another-Whiff,-Mr. McCave?

The Cat in the Hat didn't coo, didn't purr;
He choked and he coughed till he puked up some fur.

Would you dangle him from a tree?
Could you from the balcony?
Would you? Could you? Jacko, please?

I would not, could not with a fox,
Unless she looked like Courteney Cox.

Poor Arthur Anderson cried and he cried!
"Yes I counted the beans, but I never lied!"
"It's all a mistake!" he would plead, he would say.
But no one believed him, not even Ken Lay!

Our reason isn't too strange, is it?
Butter-side down toast tastes like shizzit!

and the Number 1 Line Edited Out of Dr. Seuss Books...

Thanks to the Whos and their friends down at Pfizer,
The Grinch grew not one, two or three -- but *four* sizes!

Also: (my personal favorite)

Julia Child's Euphemisms For Death

16) Pushin' Up Parsley
15) Put in the Crisper
14) Fettucine Al Dead-o
13) Has Reservations at the Chateau Eternity
12) Sleeping with the Quiches
11) Filleting the Soul
10) Face-Planting the Meringue
9) Basting the Formaldehyde Turkey
8) Donating the Liver Pate
7) Peasant Under Grass
6) Marinating in Soil and Worms
5) Promoted to Subterranean Truffle Inspector
4) Just Add Maggots
3) Sampling the French Onion Soup with a Salmonella Spoon
2) Cooking for the Kennedys
and the Number 1 Julia Child Euphemism for Death...
1) Slowly Cooling to Room Temperature

Check out their Greatest Hits page!

Oh, how'd I rediscover the site?? I was doing a Google search for "Brown Barbaloot Suits". No, don't even ask about it. I keep my Barbaloot urges to myself.

That's it for now. See y'all whenever.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Saying What You Mean, & Vice Versa

Ugly Truths Revealed? Well, Maybe...

Warning: Post may contain offensive language & attitudes. Put on your helmet.

I've been sitting on this post for a while now. Couldn't decide whether to run it or not. Guess it's your lucky frickin' day.

Got a message from a long-time regular that something I'd written a while back could be considered offensive to others. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have emailed the flippant response that I did, but the way the comment was worded rubbed me the wrong way. See, it's one thing to tell me that others would be offended, but most often when a person uses that phrase it really means "*I* am offended by what you wrote."

I don't really do 'stream of consciousness' blogging here. Everything I put down is read, reread, and read one more time before the "Post" button is clicked. So, if something appears in a post that's potentially inflammatory, I can assure you that it isn't just a slip of the lip or a casual bon mot tossed off on a whim. Generally, I mean exactly what I say, even if it has the possibility of putting me in a not-so-favorable light.

The phrase in question WAS in poor taste. It's not PC, it's divisive, rude, racist, and really shouldn't be used in polite company. However, the person to whom is was applied is absolutely deserving of the label after all the occasions he's inflicted his personality, ethics and policies on the public at large. According to my opinion, anyway. Your mileage may vary. If I offended you by using the term, well, you were offended. I don't really feel it's my place to apologize for what another person doesn't like about my writing, so I'm just not gonna do it.

So... Knowing that El Capitan has breached the bounds of acceptable behavior, you, the reader, are at a crossroads. If you're really offended, you can always make a stink & de-link, as was done to this guy a while back for a similar faux pas. You can disappear forever, though that option would make me very sad. Maybe you could also realize that after 800+ posts where nothing of that sort has been said before, maybe I'm not really a closet Klansman, and I was being deliberately provocative offensive just for the shock value, or because my disdain for the person in question outweighs my desire to use socially acceptable language.

This woman brought up a good point recently. Sometimes we *don't* really put the whole truth out there on the internet. FSM knows that's true in my case. Maybe what y'all have been reading for the past 16 months has been a carefully crafted collection of BS meant solely to deceive. Perhaps my true goal is to worm my way into your hearts and minds so you'll invite me over and I can filch all your gherkins and olives out of the fridge in the dead of night. Wouldn't THAT be a kick in the head!

OTOH, perhaps I'm kinda like a big ol' tasty-looking apple, meant to be savored and enjoyed in spite of the couple of brown mooshy bits on the edges. Like Mom always said... just eat around 'em! Then again, maybe I'll fuck up your whole barrel. You just never know. (OK, I'm trying to work in an "Eat Me!" joke here, but aside from being horribly inappropriate, it's just not working out. And besides, I look more like a pear than an apple...)

Dunno what else to say. Feel free to say nothing yourself. It's been a trend lately.

Monday, February 06, 2006

Iranians Go Batshit Crazy At Austrian Embassy

A Mostly Parody Piece. Mostly.

Iranians Go Batshit Crazy At Austrian Embassy

TEHRAN (al-Reuters) - A crowd of about 200 Islamofascists pelted the Austrian Embassy in Tehran with kitten whiskers and warm woolen mittens on Monday to protest against the re-release of 'The Sound Of Music' on DVD in Iranian Quik-E-Marts.

The protesters, chanting "Doe, A Deer, An Infidel Deer" and "Edelweiss, Flower Of Satan", smashed all the diplomatic mission's windows with brown paper packages tied up with string and then tried to hurl jam & bread inside. When asked why such unconventional projectiles were being used instead of rocks, grenades and RPGs, the most common answer was that they preferred using some of their favorite things.

Austria currently holds the position of Mother Superior of the European Union. Protesters also waved nun's habits and shouted slogans against the EU's stance on being 16 going on 17 and not being allowed a taste of champagne.

The brown paper packages exploded in flames against metal grilles guarding the windows, but the building did not catch fire and the flames were quickly put out by police with fire extinguishers.

Iran has withdrawn its ambassador to Denmark due to a shipload of Danish hams accidentally being labeled as cans of hummus, and Iranian Commerce Minister Massoud "Uncle Max" Mirkazemi said on Monday that all bookings with EU talent shows have been severed because of the DVD re-release, first offered for sale in September in a Tehran 7-11.

"Iran has reached legal age, Inshallah, and we no longer need a governess!" he was quoted by the Iranian student news agency ISNA as telling a news conference. Reporters from Iranian student news agency ISNA were completely baffled by that last remark.

Mirkazemi said from Tuesday Iran would stop any Sound Of Music DVDs from entering its customs' areas, even if they had to climb every mountain to get them all.

Trade ties were under review with all countries where the Sound Of Music DVDs have been shown at public screenings, he said. Islam prohibits any depiction of the Prophet Julie Andrews, specifically after she insulted Islam by flashing her tits in 'S.O.B.'.

Further demonstrations were planned for later on Monday outside the Danish and Norwegian embassies in Tehran. The demonstration planned for the German embassy in Tehran was cancelled after Mirkazemi was told by an anonymous Navy captain that "You'll never be one of them!"

Danish diplomatic missions in Syria and Lebanon were set ablaze and ransacked over the weekend because of the DVDs.

The demonstration was announced in advance and organized by members of the official Basenji militia, a volunteer force affiliated to the hardline Canine Brigades, but apparently incapable of barking themselves.

Don't Know Whether To Laugh Or Cry...

Ask The Anonymous Muslim Man!

Saw this gem at Something Awful, and thought I'd share a snippet. What with the big kerfuffle over a set of cartoons, it seemed relevant.

Dear Muslim Man Complaint Box

Inshallah Muslim Man Complaint Box,
My child was drawing pictures for school and this is forbidden. What makes the situation worse is that the picture was of our whole family and also blessed Mohammad. It was not a very clear picture of Mohammad and I think his likeness would be considered obscured by the scriptures. Just to be sure I hanged my son and burned his body and then my brothers burned the school and also hanged the teacher. What I want to know is what can be done about the ability to draw? Any child can go about creating blasphemous rendering of Mohammad! This is lightning in the hands of the unprotected. My son is in the afterlife now because of these crayons and "construction" paper, which I say is "destruction" paper. That is a little joke, but I am not laughing. Something must be done.

Dear Muslim Man Complaint Box,
Hey, I don't know if you noticed, but my entire family lives in a fucking bomb crater eating leaves all day. I know Death to Israel, Death to America and all that but do you think you could take a look at installing a floor in my crater or something? I'm on your side, I'm Muslim, I just think we need to prioritize better. Maybe ease back on the "death to X" stuff and look into paved roads and running water. When I can afford to buy a car I promise to load the trunk full of fertilizer and drive it into a Jewish wedding. Let's just get me to the "buy a car" part first.

Dear Muslim Man Complaint Box,
My daughter was raped by my neighbor and we burned her alive because she was tainted. My issue is that I think I should be able to rape his daughter back instead of having to burn my perfectly good daughter. So she was raped, so what? All of her parts still worked. She could still cook a meal. She could still find a good husband. She could still catch a beating like a net. I think this situation is unfair.

Go check out the whole set!

Buddy, Can Ya Spare A Shrimp?

A Real Kidneystone Of A Superbowl

Well, it wasn't all that bad, I suppose. Two teams I couldn't give a rat's ass about playing in a town I never want to visit, with a halftime show performed by the undead. What's not to like?

Well, for starters, you can get out of your car at Zibig's house, set your icy-cold Super Gonzo Gulp full of Diet Coke on your car roof, then set your 2/3 full bottle of bourbon next to it. Then, when you open your trunk to pull out the food for the Superbowl party, you can watch the Super Gonzo Gulp tip over, bumping into the whiskey bottle and sending both crashing to the pavement below. Fun!

Fortunately, that episode of alcohol abuse was the worst bit of the evening.
OK, the Whopperettes commercial was even worse, but at least it was over in 60 seconds. The misery of having no bourbon to cushion my brain through all the crappy commercials lasted all night...

Was a good night for gorging on shrimp, though. I brought over 4 pounds of cold boiled shrimpies and a $h1tload of spicy cocktail sauce. The Cisco Kid showed up later with another 2 lbs of nice spicy shrimp. That and the guac & chips and sammiches and Zibig's crappy beer led for a nice cozy feeling by the 3rd quarter.

Zibig's party pals "J" and "R" also came over, and while we all begged Zibig to release his death grip on his BBQed Little Smokies, we were ultimately denied. Rumor has it Zibig likes 'em so much, he's inserting them into every available bodily orifice for ultimate pleasure.

So, another Superbowl come & gone. One of these years I'll actually remember to put some money down on the game...

Friday, February 03, 2006

I'm So Glad I Avoided Med School...

Fun Stuff From The Student Doctor Network

Found this link at someone's blog... Sorry I can't recall where. You know who you are, so feel free to lambaste me in the comments. Heck, it's not like anyone else has said anything much this week.

Without further ado...

Things I Learned From My Patients

Doc: What meds are you on?
Pt: Peanut butter balls.
Doc: What?
Pt: Peanut butter balls! Peanut butter balls, for my seizures!
Doc: Do you mean phenobarbital?

When you get tired of vaginal or anal sex.. try transverse colon.. there are individuals out there who will pay 1000 bucks a pop to screw a colostomy patient (yes.. the colostomy).. more amazingly is there are prostitutes who sell their colostomy..

Hey, we had that in our ED! A gay dude that ended up with rectal CA, and got a colostomy - then ended up with the clap in his colostomy!

Sitting on the porch minding your own business is the #1 cause of knife wounds.

Despite popular belief...coat hangers are not a cure for constipation

If you diagnose a patient with gonorrhea, be sure to ask if she has any family members she would like to treat as well, because I was at a loss when I was asked the question "Should I treat my dog, too?"

The fact that you put a condom over the electric toothbrush lodged within you does not make it 'safe' anal stimulation.

Latex paint, despite being thick and creamy, does not coat your stomach and provide the same relief as pepto bismol.

If you are going to get into a fight, and have a prosthetic eye, make sure you take it out first.....and, for safe keeping, shove it up your vagina.....the, realize that you cannot get it out and go to the ED for removal.

If it burns when you pee and you have the drip don't get angry at me for being the lucky one to tell you that you have GC. Furthermore, I don't care if "that bitch" swore she was clean. It won't change your current situation. When I suggest condom use in the future don't say (not making this up) "Well maybe that's OK for you but I'm a REAL MAN. I ain't using no thing."

The Law of Inverse Value: the less you contribute to society, the greater the trauma you can sustain with minimal to no physical sequelae

No matter how badly constipated you are, a vodka enema is not a good idea.

When your 15yo daughter gives precipitous delivery to a bleating, underweight infant 30 minutes after presenting to triage c "gas pains", you should run around the department loudly yelling, "I don't know what y'all did or who that baby is, but my lil' girl warn't pregnant when she come in here!"
The horror... the horror...

We Do It All For You!

Waitaminnit! I Think That Was A Wendy's Slogan...

Got me an idea for some humorous blogfodder. By 'humorous', of course, I mean funny for you, probably not so much for me. Can't decide whether or not to actually go through with it, though.

Saw on TV that Mickey D's is offering up buckets of 50 Chicken McNuggets for only $7.99 this weekend on account of the Superbowl.

Somehow, I've got it in my head that it would be pretty damned funny to liveblog myself attempting to choke down 100 McNuggets during the game, and see if I can avoid having them reappear via the upper hatchway.

Since I'll likely be over at Zibig's, sitting over his lovely oriental rug as I do this, it also becomes a wagering spectacle on whether I'll have to pay for a steam-cleaning if I urp.

Methinks Zibig might banish me to the backyard once I pass the halfway mark.

I'll have to think about this one for a bit...

Too Much Blogging, Maybe?

Warning... Gross-Out Factor Is Kinda High!

I found this animated .gif being used as an avatar on some web forum, so naturally I had to steal it at share it with y'all of the blogging persuasion.

Is it wrong that I collapse into hysterical giggles when the dude's right eye starts flinging around like an out-of-control paddleball?


Thursday, February 02, 2006


No Other Word For It, Really...

Ever have one of those weird occurences that were triggered by a long chain of unrelated events?

Here's one for you. We had really high winds roll through downtown recently, causing a whole bunch of the newspaper vending boxes to blow over. They tend to be chained to one another, so when one tipped over, others followed.

As a result, quite a few of the paper vending boxes on my block got relocated to the leeward side of the building. They might have been moved down towards the center of the block on the windward side, but we've been having a crew clean the outside windows on that side of the building, and they've got that area cordoned off.

So, the Houston Press paper box that normally sits on the corner is nowhere to be found when I leave the building Wednesday evening. I normally grab a copy of the Press on Wed. evening, 'cause by the time I get in on Thursday morning, they're mostly all gone.

It's a rainy, blustery night last night, though, and I don't feel like walking up to the next block to find a copy. I just huddle under the inadequate bus shelter until my bus arrives, and head home without my weekly newsrag.

I like to cross over into Tranquility Park in the mornings before work just to grab a bit of peace & quiet before heading inside to greet The Man. Plus, I can grab a copy of the Press from a box on the far corner, if there's any left.

With the Ken Lay/Enron trial in full swing, though, you can't swing a cat in Tranquility Park this week without hitting half a dozen journos from all over the country. They're all camped out 24/7 in hopes some aggrieved ex-Enron employee decides to pull a Jack Ruby at some point.

So, I cross the street a block early, dodging a huge collection of paper vending boxes that have congregated there. There's not one, but two Press boxes there, so I pick the first one, hoping there'll still be a copy available.

Yup, there sure is! There's an added bonus, too!

Two CDs in jewel boxes still in the wrapper, sitting underneath the top copy of the weekly newsrag. I figure it's some sort of giveaway, kind of like when AOL crams their "drink coasters" in your mailbox, so I ignore them.

Something caught my eye, though. I could swear that CD label had the word "Undulating" on it...

I walk back, open the box, and sure enough, there's two CDs entitled "Baxter" from Brad Thompson and His Undulating Band sitting there.

Now, Brad's Undulating Band & I go way back, sort of... Don't really know the man personally, but a student group in college that I was chairing at the time hired his band for an event back in the early 90's and we ended up hanging out for a bit. I got a copy of his newest CD at the time, and absolutely grooved on it. He's been playing small gigs at coffeehouses and bars for ages now, and really ought to get a shot at bigger audiences.

Connecticut Yankee and Danger Ranger both like Brad Thompson, so I snag 'em both, figuring I'll keep one, and let them fight over the other one. Turns out the CDs aren't albums, just a couple of CD singles.

Who knows why those CDs were in there. As far as I know, BT&HUB weren't in town for a gig, so they shouldn't have been "salting" the CDs here and there. I may drop him a line via his website just to ask.

Of course, there's always the possibility that, in a final unrelated event, El Capitan gets arrested for possession of stolen property, namely two CDs he was observed removing from a paper vending box...

UPDATE: Figured it out!

According to the song lyrics (helpfully printed on the inside liner), the song's about J. Clifford Baxter, the Enron vice chairman found shot to death in his Mercedes near his home in Sugar Land in Jan. 2002. Baxter quit as vice chairman of Enron after conflicts with other Enron execs over the irregular accounting being used to loot billions of dollars. The death was eventually ruled a suicide, though I have to note that Ken Lay hung out with the Clintons, who could easily have loaned him a copy of 'Vince Foster-izing For Dummies'. (Hee hee! Haven't tweaked my liberal readers in a while!)

The lyrics are full of references to Lay, Skilling and other Enronites. Looks like someone's staging a low-level musical protest of the proceedings over there across the street in the Federal Court...

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Ya, Mon! Mush, Mon, Mush!!!

Think They Piss-Test Those Sled Dogs For Ganja??

Following on the heels of the 1988 Jamaican Olympic Bobsled Team, we have a new contender for the WTF? segment on Wide World Of Sports.

It's the Jamaican Dogsled Team.

Yup, it's a genyoowine "No Shit!" moment here at Baboon Pirates. Some Jamaican guy named Devon Anderson (who had never seen snow before) liberated a bunch of mongrel dogs from an animal shelter, trained 'em how to pull a sled, and he set off to Scotland for the Aviemore Dogsled Championships, the largest event of its kind in Europe.

For you Parrotheads out there, one of Mr. Anderson's sponsors is none other than Jimmy Buffett!

Mr. Anderson did pretty well for a novice musher, finishing 27th out of 40 competitors.

Oh, I gotta plug Cool Runnings, the movie based on the Jamaican Bobsled Team. It's a pretty darned cute movie, and it's suitable viewing for folks equipped with little house-apes.

Welcome Back, Graumagus!

That Vacation Took Too Darn Long!

Looks like Graumagus is back in the blogging game! After an extended hiatus, he's back to putting posts up at Frizzen Sparks, and he's just as curmudgeonly as ever!

As an added bonus, Mrs. Grau has tossed her bonnet in the blog ring as well! Two-Fer!!

Now, if we can just get them to come down from the People's Republic of Illinois for the Texas Blogger Bash in April... We might just convince them to leave that blighted land for good!

Side note to Zippo: I'm gonna give Grau your slot on my blogroll, and demote YOU to the "Good Stuff But Infrequent" category if you don't post something!!! C'mon! Just a quick "I'm Alive!!" message! Wottsamotta U?? Forget your Blogspot password??

Western Union Stops Sending Telegrams

I'm Surprised It Took This Long...

Check this out...










Via Drudge