Mr. and Mrs. ... Moose?

Further proof Jesusfreaks smoke crack, or at least meth. I mean WHAT is up with the visuals in this campy political ad to ban same-sex marriages in California? I thought I was watching the Animal Planet. Did Mr. and Mrs. Moose get their, uh mating, ordained by tha' Lord? And what does the bizarro reptilian face represent? The devil? Temptation? A Mardi Gras queen? Ellen DeGeneres? Or are all reptilian unions also ordained by tha' Lord?

W T F ?

Ahhh, bromance

Why focus on the negative when I can accentuate the positive of celebrity stalking?

Here's a zesty quote from Salon.com:
"I'm in favor of any form of distraction that doesn't result in liver damage, a broken marriage, consumer debt or excessive weight gain, so I heartily enjoy the rush of that exquisitely modern guiltless pleasure known as the (celebrity) Google stalk." -- Lily Burana, May 29, 2007


I'm now in possession of a copy of the latest TV Guide. Yes, that one. No wait, ... not that one. Not that he isn't cute an all. (Fucking McCain, it is YOU who have messed with popular euphemisms, you maniacal, geriatric gimp.) The pinnacle of the article? When Leonard says: "All I remember is there were scented candles and Hugh came out in a robe."

GASP!



To ... die ... for!

Whoopie Cushion

I had a Very Important Interview today out in Redmond at that software juggernaut that must not be named. It went pretty well but if I don't get this contract, I'm blaming my shoes. I bought a pair of used Keens at REI's discount re-sale dept. in July. I wouldn't have been so casual with my money BUT they retail for like $110 new and I got these for 30 bucks. They're solid black leather inside and out and have the famous, wonderful, angelic Keen soles that are sooo comfy on my highly deformed feet. The reason why the previous owner dumped them back into REI's re-sale bin? They squeak. More accurately, they fart. Yes, my shoes sound like Whoopie Cushions.



So there I was walking down the halls of yet another cavernous corporate building, making small talk with my interviewer and my shoes were going: "Wooopht! Hoooobbbft!" and even the dreaded "FffmphururururtT".

A couple of SQL developers were giggling when I passed their office.

Fuck, I may as well be a club-footed troll living in a shed out in the woods ... oh Gawd, I'm a Disney character!