Hey hey, everybody's got a new face

Maybe you wanted to see this, and maybe you don't... but I'm not the type of guy who mollycoddles those with sensitive stomachs. If you've got economic girly-men for intestines, then you'll want to stay away from the blog for a while, lest you see:

Thanks (or blame, if you prefer) to Michelle Malkin for reminding the world.

No, you're right, that wasn't very fair at all. I'm the goatse of the Halloween Costume world. But it's all in keeping of the disturbing horror of the holiday at hand... rather like East German art films.

Anyway, in order for you to avoid having your dumb mug plastered across the intertron for smarmy-assed punks like me to make fun of, try this on for size. (Thanks, blogthings!) My only complaint with it is that it does not contain a possibility for one's ideal costume to be Raj, from What's Happening!!
Overshadowing that one error is the fact that it contains a short list of bizarre phobias, a subject I've always thought interesting, but was too apathetic to spend energy on learning. Therefore, I thought I was cool by proxy for knowing triskadekaphobia, (Fear of the number 13) but that's far outclassed by Helmintophobia.
A much longer list of other exciting phobias can be found here (thanks, Google!)

If you're not doing anything else tonight, shoot me out an email - we're still looking for a Dwayne.

High rise, high rent, before it's earned it's all been spent

I've seen this thing floating about the 'sphere for a week or so, but Rachel and her smartass readers (among which I proudly include myself) gave me the impetus to click for myself.

My blog is worth $2,258.16.
How much is your blog worth?

Pssh. That's not even worth demanding non-sequential tens and twenties over. I need to go invent some dramatic news or something...

Maybe I could buy a canoe like NBC.

If you'd like to talk for hours

Two quick items that crossed my notice just now... or rather, will cross my notice this afternoon. Because I'm posting from the future. The future where we all will live some day.
So mark my words well friends, because future posts like this will affect your life in the future.

First off, a big hoo-ah! goes out to Mohamed from Aberdeen. Thanks for dropping by, bro. If there's anything else I can help you with on your dissemination / censoring mission today, just gimme a shout-out. Act fact though, it's been documented that reading my blog is suspicion enough to start proceedings for a section 8 dismissal.

Secondly, the most recent Something Positive is hilarious. Couple that with the fact that the esteemed Mr. Milholland has a picture of the greatest Halloween costume ever, and I might have to switch to depends.

Chali Zapata, persona non grata

Some of the blogs I read have a standing report on their search strings. Others just post up whatever crazy-ass shit comes down the pike. Both are valid and entertaining ways of pointing out the insane fuckers on the internet and laughing at them.

I prefer a more zen method, rather akin to Zen Driving. I wait until the internet tells me it's time to post. As it should so happen, (or else this would be a pretty fucking pointless post) today is that time.

Starting with the impetus for today's sharathon:
http://blogsearch.google.com/blogsearch? "tamales"
Tamales? How in the hell my blog popped up for tamales I have no idea. If it was Hot Tamales, I could understand... I used to eat the hell out of those things in junior high. I lean more towards Mike & Ike's now.
I have family in San Antonio that live down the street from a run-down little shack on the side of the road. Within that shanty are made quite possibly the best tamales on earth... in true Texan fashion, they'd get 4 or 5 dozen of those tamales and invite the entire family over every X-Mas. My aunt would also have enough cookies baked to feed a small army... none of that, however, should propel my blog to the top of anyone's list of tamale sites.

I've also had a couple hits for Eddie Steeples, as usual. I've plugged the Steeplechaser blog in the past, and am long overdue for a mention of "My Name Is Earl," the Jason Lee show that features Eddie in the soon-to-be-Emmy-nominated role of Crabman.
Let me rectify that by saying unequivocally that I absolutely love the show. I'd wait for the commercial break to pull off a dog gnawing on my leg, it's so good. How can anyone deny the awesomeness of a show that professes the following:

"Never underestimate the power of confidence. And never underestimate fifteen beers, a little enlightenment, and the power of Rob Base and DJ Easy Rock."

The usual webcomic hits abound as well, with my personal Jesus, Banjo the Clown, leading the pack. I'd have a fine collection of Banjo merchandise if it didn't come from those cheapass whores at Cafepress... but don't let that stop you guys from shelling out a couple bucks.

The discerning reader will be expecting the usual mention of phlegm, spittle, and other mucus-related byproducts. You shall not be let down, good sirs, for I bring unto you:
http://www.google.com/search? "phlegm spit"
Note that in most western countries, this category doesn't include bolus. If you read from the Pacific Rim or Antarctica, your mileage may vary.


Rounding out the highlights of the past month or so, comes another prizewinning masterpiece of spelling errors:
http://search.msn.com/results.aspx? "real government alien pitchers"
Zen Blogging would have me immediately post that, but as it came directly on the heels of the "Dodge Turks" (and likely because of it) I deferred. After all, it's just the fucking universe... what the hell does it know?

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Insta-Update: Naturally Rachel has to go make my searches look sad and pitiful by comparison. Damn you Rachel, for having much sicker readers than me! (How do you manage to know exactly when the Cosmos wants me to post, and pull out something far more revolting?)

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Previous search string inanity:
Misspelling Bee
Boobies for the Frog Brothers
Phlegm Redux
The Mystery of Soul Bitches

It was the sound of a crescendo

By now I'm sure you all heard that Michael Jackson was called for jury duty in California recently. Personally, I find this a refreshing change of pace. Criminals with approaching trial dates are said to be relieved... they're finally getting a jury of their peers!

Too bad Jacko's sneaking off to Bahrain... the 5 bucks a day would go a lot farther over there. For example, He could afford twins.

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Previous uses of the anatomically correct dolls:
Court Party II: The Pajama Jam

But did you ever, ever notice, the kind of thoughts I got?

I've had a thought pestering me today. Actually, I get these sorts of thoughts regularly, but I only recently started to take my own advice and write stuff like this down. Now, I can share it with the world...

You know those cars with the bigass stereos... not just your average bigass stereos, mind you, but the kind with enough bass to set off the San Andreas fault. Anyway, why is it whenever you see (or hear) one driving by, they're always playing some sort of rap, metal, or rap/metal, and never blasting John Tesh or Kenny G?

Or Michael Bolton? Man, that would so kick ass... we could just hop in my sweet sweet ride, and cruise downtown pumping out some "Time, Love, and Tenderness."

Rawk On, you guys!

And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad

Dear unwashed hippie sitting in front of me this morning:

I didn't get a chance to thank you this morning for showing up to our Chemistry test in your particular... "aromatic" condition. Your all-night effort to free your consciousness from the chains of unaltered perception (and your body from the chains of soap) was a great help to me and the other students sitting in your vicinity.
Thanks to you and your radiating stench of pot and stale sweat, we couldn't tell the difference between quarks and Mr. Creosote, much less ⁸⁷Sr and ⁶⁰C. I think about halfway through, I gave up on attempting to answer questions, and started filling in the Scantron bubbles to make foul words.

That tiny little bandana you're wearing as a hairnet today isn't helping you either, girl. It only serves to accentuate the nappiness of your pseudo-dreds.

Furthermore, I also blame you for this. Whatever connection you have to the Broccolis, you need to work it like your momma did the UPS guy and fix that shit.

Frozen soul, frozen down to the core

As two of the wisest men ever to grace the silver screen once said: "GAME ON!"

I'm just now coming off a hockey-induced brain overload, and damn damn DAMN am I a happy Stew once again. Right now, I'm so stoked, I don't even mind the idiotic return of shootouts.

Case in point - if you missed the Stars opener against the Kings, you missed a special night of hockey. After going down 4-0 in the first period, it looked like the start of a lizzong year on the ice for Mr. Di & company... but as Sergei Zubov put it "[It's the] New NHL, man. Special teams are... special." You said it, Z.
The Stars came back to win 5-4, with Zubov scoring twice. Jason Arnott had a four-point game as well, adding a goal and three assists... and it's just the first game.

Obviously, this year's incarnation of the game has been opened way the hell up. We should be seeing a metric fuckton of scoring once teams get used to the new rules. To be honest, I'd say that defenses have been cut back too much, but then I enjoy watching a play develop and spend half the game watching defensemen do their magic. But I digress, before I geek the fuck out over here, and run both you readers off.

Anyway, with the new salary cap, marquee players and their expensive salaries have scattered to the corners of the earth like a hand of 52-pickup. It'll take time to figure out who's good and who's crap... except in Detroit. Those fuckers must be sacrificing virgins on an altar or something, because they pasted St. Louis two nights in a row. Fear not, you octopus-throwing bastards, you'll make the playoffs.

About the only thing I really feel like complaining about today is that I'm concerned that with the Gretz coaching in Phoenix, that Brett Hull won't get enough time with reporters to say as much crazy-assed shit as fans are used to hearing.
I'll have plenty of time this season for more in-depth bitching. Right now, I'm enjoying this time hockey and I have together. These are the salad days, before it all goes horribly wrong, like a Frasier episode. There's plenty of time left for slashing hockey's tires and sleeping with all it's friends... let's just enjoy today.

Game On, you guys. Game On.

I'll buy your tchotchkes. Sell me your watch, please.

What with them being banned from some workplaces in the UK, they should be popping up all over the E-Bays from Britons hoping to smuggle them out to good offices abroad.

From the article:

Workers in the benefits department at Dudley Council, West Midlands, were told to remove or cover up all pig-related items, including toys, porcelain figures, calendars and even a tissue box featuring Winnie the Pooh and Piglet.

Councillor Mahbubur Rahman, a practising Muslim, backed the ban. He said: “It’s a tolerance of people’s beliefs.”

"Unless, you know, you happen to be non-muslim. But then, I could care less about the infidels' beliefs."

Other prominent members of the community expressed differing opinions. One youth, who only spoke to us on condition of anonymity, was concerned for his safety and had turned to his friends for protection on the street. "G-g-g-osh P-p-pooh. Will I have to w-w-wear a b-b-burqua too?"

Big Dumb Sheep: England's got 'em in spades, kiddoes. (h/t to Michelle Malkin, for the whole sad spectacle)

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Insta-Update: Great minds think alike. Lost Budgie beat me to the punch with the man ham-on-the-street interview, of course. (I hope Piglet's not turning into some kind of Greg Packer wannabe...) Budgie's also got a nice list of other porcine items that are unwelcome to the UK's rapidly emerging religious police.
On a quick perusal, one title jumps out from the others: the George Orwell classic Animal Farm! Good Lord, I can taste the irony from here.

Kathy at Relapsed Catholic is starting a "Free Piglet" campaign. I'm all for it... so long as it's strictly Piglet, and not Willy, that's being freed.