Big Blogger 2: Task Number Nine... Number Nine... Number Nine...

This week's task is quite simple, it only requires coming up with a few lines of text... so even I should be able to squeeze it in among moving and whatnot, right?
Wrong. (Of course) This has been one of the more difficult challenges Big Bloggah has thrown at me. Mostly because many of the cyberhousemates are my blogfriends, and if one wants to keep them as such, courtesy dictates politics and religion should stay out of the discussion. Shocking, I know - when did your pal Stew go soft and start obeying courtesy? Who's to say, my homies... but nevertheless, there you have it.

But still, if I want to win the big cash and fancy prizes, then blog I must. This week's task is to come up with two bumper stickers, one political, and one humorous. So let's see what I can pull out of my arse at the deadline, shall we? After all, I made the Final Four, so the least I can do is put forth a little effort... except that putting forth little effort is one of my strong suits. I come quite close to excelling at it, actually.

Regardless, for starters let's blow courtesy right out of the water by combining politics and religion into something sure to offend plenty of people on the road. If I had a Disgustipator-Mobile, this sticker would surely be on it:

"If you don't agree that islam is a 'Religion of Peace,' I'll cut your fucking head off."

Next up, another sticker that would go well on the mythical Disgustipator-Mobile... or on Billy Joel's car - you know, whichever:

"If you don't like the way I drive, stay out of your living room."

Come to think of it, if I don't find these stickers in one of the evil bastard boxes I'm lugging across town, I'll be an unhappy Stew. No worries though, I'm not unpacking those fuckers for like two years... moving sucks enough as it is, there's no need to go and complicate things by making a mess out of all those neatly stacked and organized boxes.

----
The Rest of The Usual Suspects:
Cazzie!!!
Mark
LanternLight
The Rachy
Hillbilly Mom
TimT
Redneck Diva
Scottage
and the interloper outerloper, Doctor Evil

----
Previous Big Blogger 2 posts:
Theyyyyyyyy're Mediocre!
Infectious Grooves
The Shame of the Monkeybars
Roses Have Thorns: The Kleenex Box Ode
Abe Dawg's Playing Poker
Postcards From the Hedge
Your Friendly Neighborhood Asshole
You can't HANDLE the TRUTH!
Get 'em while they're hot!
Peeping In Windows... Sort Of.

Our mum, she's so house-proud

The dreaded day has dawned. Today the Person's Republic of Hammistan packs it up and goes on its summer tour, 2006 - with one permanant stop in West Hammistan. Yes indeed friends, it's moving day for your old pal Stew.

I'm not sure how long it will take me to have the new place in order, or for the phone/DSL to be switched over, but knowing the phone company there's a good possibility I'll be on a forced
reduction in blogging for a week or so. I can still blog at work however, so my fellow cyberhousemates shouldn't get too confident that they'll coast through this week.

----
Previous posts about moving house:
Ha! There are none, suckers! I'm such a lameassed blogger.

Big Blogger 2 - Task #8 is laaate

A-hem. For the purposes of this post, we'll assume that the International Date Line is just a big sham foisted on the world by the vast right-wing and/or Zionist conspiracies... because that's a much more plausible explanation than the fact that I've been as busy as hell this week, and forgot that friday comes to Big Blogger a good 18 hours earlier than it does to Hammistan.

This week, we are supposed to stalk another cyberhousemate through their blog, and crack wise with all the goings-on that have been ongoing within. As I said, I've been busy as hell this week because it's the last week of summer school for this sesion of Hammistan U, (Go Hammhocks!) so I've been busy studying for a test, a final exam, and doing 3 homework assignments. Consequently, the only thing I've had the time to stalk is an accounting textbook... and it hasn't done much more than ride around in my backpack while it pisses me off.

Feh, what a lameassed entry this is. I didn't even get to look into anyone's window.

----The Rest of The Usual Suspects:
Cazzie!!!
Mark
LanternLight
The Rachy
Hillbilly Mom
TimT
Redneck Diva
Scottage
and the interloper outerloper, Doctor Evil

----Previous Big Blogger 2 posts:
Theyyyyyyyy're Mediocre!
Infectious Grooves
The Shame of the Monkeybars
Roses Have Thorns: The Kleenex Box Ode
Abe Dawg's playing poker
Postcards From the Hedge
Your Friendly Neighborhood Asshole
You can't HANDLE the TRUTH!
Get 'em while they're hot!

We Have The Lovers Of Night Making Sounds.

Out of the mouth of babes... (scroll down to the second post, the video is priceless)

I rest secure in the knowledge that Lil'Gabe's Mom is in on the act too, so he's either A) incredibly fucking lucky to have some of the coolest parents ever or B) a serial killer in the making... but it's OK because he'll use shit like glaives and chrysknives.

By the way, this is egg-zactly why you look for a potential date in the library. Do you honestly think that cheerleader you lusted after in high school would ever deign to utter the word "Murloc?" Like hell she would, Poindexter.

Maximum big suprise your smile is something new

A sad commentary on how far down the spiral the American political scene has devolved, that this campaign ad is now "shocking" for the politically incorrect things said, rather than the litany of problems it outlines. In light of this magnificient contribution to the political discourse, I hereby confer honorary Hammistani citizenship upon the candidate, Vernon Robinson, and encourage anyone residing in his district to cast their vote for him. (of course, given that most of my readers live in either Austrailia or St. Louis, my endorsement isn't all that effective)

Though I'm tempted to say it's the best campaign ad ever, I'll take the "I like Ike" campaign and Reagan's "Bear in the Woods" ad as my favorites. Still, Mr. Robinson (oh how I would like to live in his neighborhood) makes the top 5, easy.

I'm sooooo close to packing up Hammistan and moving it to North Carolina, just so I could vote for this guy. Vernon Robinson has huge political balls, and I'm surprised the leftards haven't already started pillorying him. I suppose they're caught up in the Ann Coulter frenzy, or maybe they're just short on campaign cash and can't afford to mount any sort of response.

Big Blogger 2, Lucky Task #7

This week, Big Blogger's taken all us cyberhousemates out for a bit of fun. Yes, we're off to the circus sideshows - the land of questionable safety practices, and health regulations be damned! What could be more fun than that, I ask.

But this particular sideshow is running short of bearded ladies, two-headed calves, and other assorted freaks, so all us bloggers have been trucked in to fill out the ranks. We've been tasked with designing a new sideshow attraction that will get peple spending their money like a Kennedy on a brewery tour.
It's a daunting task to say the least, but i think if we approach it scientifically a solution should present itself. I asked myself "Self, what will people buy with almost little regard to price?" It's a challenging question, but myself replied "I, you simpleton," (myself is an asshole sometimes, you know) "a cursory examination of economic principles would show that some of the most price inelastic goods are salt and hard drugs. Now, given that we're surrounded by carnie folk, we could probably expect atypically large sales of salt licks. However, I suspect profits will be greater if we go with crystal meth."

Usually, I trust myself implicitly, but since this is Big Blogger, I'm not taking any chances - so I combined the two ideas into one. If you're looking for me this week, you'll find me at the Fly-By-Night carnival. I'll be the guy running "Aunt Crystal's Old Tyme Lick-a-Torium." (We're right behind the Tilt-a-Whirl, and across from the Funnel Cake stand) I've even been working on my carney barker's spiel... check it:

That's right folks, hurr-ey hurr-ey, step right up and experience the finest salt licks anywhere in the free or other-wise oppressed worlds. Just one tiny tongueful of that classic Aunt Crystal's flavor, and you'll be wide-eyed with bliss. If you buy only one salt lick this year, you'll curse yourself a fool for not making it an Aunt Crystal's brand salt lick. Act now! Don't wait until people are lined up around the block to get a chance at purchasing a gen-you-wine Aunt Crystal's salt lick. Impress your friends, be the envy of your neighborhood when you're the first one on the block to have an Aunt Crystal's Old Tyme salt lick in every room of the house!

I just wonder what we'll do with the mountains of cash we'll be raking in.

----The Rest of The Usual Suspects:
Cazzie!!!
Mark
LanternLight
The Rachy
Hillbilly Mom
TimT
Redneck Diva
Scottage
and the interloper, Doctor Evil

----Previous Big Blogger 2 posts:
Theyyyyyyyy're Mediocre!
Infectious Grooves
The Shame of the Monkeybars
Roses Have Thorns: The Kleenex Box Ode
Abe Dawg's playing poker
Postcards From the Hedge
Your Friendly Neighborhood Asshole
You can't HANDLE the TRUTH!

Too many hands in too many pockets, Not enough hands on hearts

It's Flag Day everyone. If you're able, post the colors.

Seriously, you guys - fly 'em high. Otherwise, I'll have to come over there and cause trouble.

Nothing gets to you, staying fresh staying cool

If you were impressed by videos of the two doofusses screwing around in their driveway listening to Bill Gates, then you haven't seen jack shit yet. Mark and Seawitch have your required reading on thier blogs... pick one and go do your homework first, it only makes today's post more impressive.

No, really... go ahead.

...And a bit longer for everyone on dialup.

You're back? Good.
Now that you're all educated on the equation "Mentos + Diet Coke = Holy Crap!" watch what happens when the professionals get to work. (It's a 13 MB file, so download it to your machine first by right-clicking and choosing the "save target as" option)

Although I tried, I wasn't able to get this to embed but you owe it to yourself to check out what - in a perfect world - should be the next Mentos commercial. It's just that good.

Did your inner geek just have to go adjust himself? Yeah, mine too.

----
Insta-Update: So, how and why does this work anyway? According to Lee Marek, (who did a M+DC demonstration on Letterman in 2003) it's not nearly as sinister as you'd think... despite all the creepy Germans in the Mentos ads.

It's not chemical at all, rather it's due to surface tension and the physical properties of Mentos... with maybe a little of the magic called "freshmaker" thrown in for good measure.
Apparently the surface of a Mentos is covered with thousands of tiny little indentations called "nucleation sites" that allow bubbles to form very easily. They lower the surface tension surrounding the CO₂ bubbles and cause the Diet Coke to release its stored carbonation rapidly. Additionally, the Mentos is heavy so it drops to the bottom of the bottle, and all the bubbles rising up through the soda allow even more bubbles to form, so the reaction builds upon itself exponentially.
The result, of course, will be teenage boys nationwide getting drenched in Diet Coke fizz. God bless America!

The sheik he drove his cadillac, He went a cruisin down the ville

This just in: All over the news this morning are reports that supreme fuckstick Abu Musab al -Zarqawi, leader of Al Qaida in Iraq, and the terror of young camels everywhere, was killed in an airstrike late yesterday. Whether your for or against the war, you have to admit that this is a good day for the free world. Zarqawi is responsible for the torture and death of thousands of innocent people, and Iraq's future looks a good deal brighter with him out of the picture.

Of course, this was inevitable. Zarqawi and his homies don't really know how to operate a machine gun, and without their New Balance sneakers, they're worthless as footsoldiers. They probably got their training at the same place as this peter-puffer.

Have a nice time in Hell, Z.

----
Update:
Blogger's been spotty all yesterday, and will continue to be that way today, so I wanted to have had this up earlier. Anyway, there's a fuckton of commentary out there about this news, but I wanted to be sure and point both my readers to the absolute stupidest person I could find.

So without further ado, congratulations Michael Berg, you're the dumbest person in America! Mr. Berg is the father of Nick Berg who you'll recall was beheaded by Zarqawi and his thugs in 2004. But of course, Mr. Berg doesn't hold Zarqawi responsible for it... even though he held the sword and did the chopping. Who does Mr. Berg blame? Bush.

"Zarqawi felt my son's breath on his hand as held the knife against his throat. Zarqawi had to look in his eyes when he did it," Berg added, pausing to collect himself. "George Bush sits there glassy-eyed in his office with pieces of paper and condemns people to death. That to me is a real terrorist."

You've let your hatred of President Bush consume you so much that you'll pimp out your son's memory just to take a swipe at him. What a classy guy.
But wait, it gets better. Mr. Berg also had this brilliant thought to share with the world:

I think al-Zarqawi's death is a double tragedy," Michael Berg told The Associated Press after learning a U.S. airstrike had killed the leader of al-Qaida in Iraq. "His death will incite a new wave of revenge." he added that al-Zarqawi's death is likely to foster anti-American resentment among al-Qaida members who feel they have nothing left to lose.

Because, you know, al-Qaida doesn't resent us now. In fact, just last week they sent us a really nice gift basket. It had flowers and fruit, and a little semtex teddy bear... that Osama's just a big ol softie when you get right down to it. The Bagdahd FTD outlet also issued a statement saying they would be going out of business now that Zarqawi would no longer be sending out all those "Star Gazer" bouquets.

Big Blogger 2 - Task 6, 6/06

Once again, I'm squeaking in at the deadline... but this time I have an (almost plausible) excuse! I've been researching my post thoroughly (at Maxine's Tavern) so as to present the fullest picture of the conspiracy among us.

While Big Rachy had tasked us with uncovering a new urban legend this week, I decided to go her one better and uncover an urban TRUTH! So today i unveil to you all the result of my week of hard work and dilligent reporting:

Cops hate orange trucks.

Just think about it... how many orange trucks do you see people driving around town? Not many at all, because most of them have been impounded or destroyed. In the past, it was primarily average citizens who bore the brunt of this harassment, but in recent years, the fascist forces of orange truckism have set their sights on bigger targets. SWEPCO, A large electricity provider in the southern US, used to have massive fleets of orange trucks swarming all over the region, keeping people happily electrified... util the orange truckists rolled into town. Now those orange trucks are a fading memory, and the company is no more.

I know what you're saying to yourself out there. "Self, ol Stew has done flipped his lid." Well Commentor Dan, the only lids I've flipped are my EYELIDS, because they are wide open and I am seeing the truth at last! But I'm just one person, and I don't have the resources or clout to fight the powers that be. I had thought to make sure that my next vehicle purchase would be an orange truck, but convienently enough, it turns out the manufacturer has discontinued orange as a color option.

So the next time you see an orange truck on the street, take extra precaution. You don't know how many cops are lying in wait for the unsuspecting trucker, or what lengths they'll go to in order to exact their cruel revenge.

----The Rest of The Usual Suspects:
Cazzie!!!
Mark
LanternLight
The Rachy
Hillbilly Mom
TimT
Redneck Diva
Scottage
and the interloper, Doctor Evil

----Previous Big Blogger 2 posts:
Theyyyyyyyy're Mediocre!
Infectious Grooves
The Shame of the Monkeybars
Roses Have Thorns: The Kleenex Box Ode
Abe Dawg's playing poker
Postcards From the Hedge
Your Friendly Neighborhood Asshole

Out there in the spotlight, you're a million miles away

200 Posts, 2600 hits. Still going.




----
Previous Milestones to the Grave:
Volume 1 Endcap
It's Very Pwominent in Wome
Sunday Phone Levon, Tray's Bein' On Some
Requisite Introductory Post

I see the telephone post, I watch a sparrow fly

Today, I've got another helping of the finest Zen Blogging known to me. This intallment is inspired and dedicated to the guys at Google.uk who sent a search my way within an hour of my post about Haditha Math. For my lameass little blog, that makes Barry Allen look like he's standing still.

So obviously, first up is a generic "Haditha" from Google... after that, it gets fun.

Immediately preceeding is the omnipresent internet lusting for snot-related searches, with "coughing up white chunks." "Orange snot" however took top honors for most common search string... again.

A fellow OOTS'er dropped by... no telling if he was a fellow devotee of Banjo, because he didn't leave a damn comment. *grumblecakes*

I've still got some nasal hair aftershocks from last time, with a half-dozen variations on the theme.

A (slightly, and sadly) exciting occurence would be the first email link I can recall... well, the first one that didn't come from me, anyway. A more exciting occurence was my discovery that I was the #1 result for "Stewed Hamm" ... but I already mentioned that.

Now that I've made you read all this in anticipation of the weird shit at the end, I can only hope you aren't disappointed. The weird searches: (starting with the ones I get just because "Scotland" is in the page's titlebar)

• "Scotland Bitches" - Sorry homes, I'm the only bitch here.
  
• "Scotland's Lunch Today" - Probably haggis... but I doubt they've all coordinated their meals, so there will be some slight variation
  
• "Relationship Love Blogspot" - Definitely not this corner of blogspot.
  
• "Fourty-Plus Hot Babes" - Why be greedy, I'd settle for just a few.
  
• "Lubbock Shithole" - do you really have to use the internet to know this?
  
• and last, but not least, I'm the #2 result for "kelan and joe need a little sleepy." Why, I have no clue, but I suggest they take a fucking nap already.

Also, completely unrelated to search strings, I'd like to mark the 62nd anniversary of George S. Patton, the Golden-Age Disgustipator, delivering the famous speech to his troops. Naturally, you've seen the version immortalized in the George C. Scott film, but few people know how watered-down and tame the Hollywood version actually was. Damn but we could use another two or three of him.

----
Previous Search String Inanity:
The Intertron is Spazz-tastic!
It Snot Me, It's Inertia
Eleven Psychotic Search Strings
Listen up you primitive screwheads: this is my GOOGLE!
Zen Blogging
Misspelling Bee
Boobies for the Frog Brothers
Phlegm Redux
The Mystery of Soul Bitches

Mathematically turning the page, Unequivocally showing my age

I've been too pissed off about the media coverage of the "newest" incident in Haditha, Iraq to comment on it. Even now, I'm not going to get dragged into a dumbass argument about how it's Vietnam all over again, so I'm limiting the scope of this post to one small issue.

During one of the press briefings, by Gen. Pace I think, it was pointed out that this one incident shouldn't be used to portray the other 99.9% of the soldiers who are doing their incredibly difficult jobs every day, and making a positive difference in the world. While I wholeheartedly agree with this statement, the smarmy little geek that lives in my hollow soul can't let the staggering math error go unchallenged. 99.9% is far too low a number, by a couple orders of magnitude.
The twelve Marines involved in the Haditha Dam firefight represent 0.0067% of the Marine Corps, and only 0.0000085% of the total US Armed Forces - a number 11810 times smaller than our troops are being given credit for. The most accurate commentary I've seen is over at the Rottweiler Empire, and even then it's too high.

To put it another way: If one tenth of one percent of the Marine Corps was treating Iraq like Hogan's Alley, this would be the 19th such incident we've heard about this year alone. Or the 119th incident by the armed forces worldwide.
Even though the MSM would love to have us believe there's a new My Lai happening every 3 days the reality falls far short of that. I know a number like "99.9999915%" doesn't make for snappy press or press conferences, but it highlights the hell out of just how isolated this incident is in the overall war. Maybe it's time the DoD started using it after all.



*all statistics are based on raw data provided by the DoD's Statistical Information Analysis Division, and mathematical skills provided by Mrs. Strohmeyer, my third grade teacher.

We need a bus cause we got no grunt

Recently, I was afforded the dubious pleasure of a road trip outside of Hammistan. Generally, I'm a travel enthusiast. I subscribe to the road trip manta that the journey is just as important - if not moreso - than the destination. However, I don't think that philosophy took into account the possibility of loathing the destination... in this case, Branson.

Lemme just start out here by saying that I despise Branson. It's a traffic-snarled Vegas wannabe trading on lameass bumpkin "comedy" shows that couldn't make the cut on Hee-Haw and aging "stars" desperately milking their one or two quasi-hits from fourty years ago. Further clogging the catastrophicly ill-planned city streets are all manner of hucksters for worthless plastic crap. Sprinkled amongst that ballast are one or two real talents (Ray Stevens, Boxcar Willie, Yakov Smirnov) and a couple of really good buffet restaurants. In short, the few things worth going there for just make you sad to see them pissed away in the surrounding wasteland.
Now, I'm well aware I'm treading on dangerous ground with some of my fellow BB2 cyberhousemates. They're quite obviously big fans of the Branson Massacree, with the full orchestration and five-part harmony, and all kinds of things... wheras I am so not that.
In deference to my loathing of the town, my road trip compatriots agreed to just do Branson-Lite. No "Dolly." No buffets. No Yakov. (perish the thought!) So I signed on for a drive across the lake and a whole day of Silver Dollar City.

Maybe it's just me here, but did SDC go out of their way to find the slowest most incompetent people possible to work their foodservice, or what? Their big feature this spring is "The House of Barbecue" or somesuch. When my posse of rib-eatin motherfuckers rolled up at 12:30 - square in the middle of lunchtime - they didn't have jack shit for barbecue. All that was left were a few chicken legs and a plate of sausages. I dunno about you guys, but if you're going to bill yourself as the house of Barbecue, you'd damned well better have some barbecue laying around the joint. You'd also better have more than three kinds of BBQ sauce... and it shouldn't come out of a 5-gallon pump container you bought at Wal-Mart, either.
Hell, they only had half the stands in the "House of (Very Little) Barbecue" open for serving people, and who do you suppose they were staffed by? One. Person. Each. That's right, one slightly confused elderly gentleman was left to do the work of taking orders, filling plates with a "variety" of meats and sides, taking cash, making change, and moving on to the next customer.
So naturally even though there was only a small line, it took us a good half-hour to get within earshot of the guy working the booth. When we heard him telling customers that they were out of everything tasty, I assure you there were some flavorful words spoken on my part. What a waste. We decided to bail on the HoVLB, and seek our fortunes elsewhere.

Thinking old man slowpants was an abberation, we went up the way a bit to another food stand and got sandwiches. Luckily for use, there was no line when we rolled up. However, when the Lunch Lady at the sandwich stand had given us our food and taken our money, I glanced back and saw a line 6 people deep. No idea how long Lunch Lady took to do her job... I didn't think to check.

Maybe my trip was just a one-off, and they had special people imported for the "HoVLB" deal. Diva or Hillmomba might be able to provide some objective measurement if they've been to SDC this season... but they'll probably just tell me I should have known better than to eat in a Dolly-free restaurant.

Anyway, all that is just window dressing. What made the trip worthwhile was the drive home, because I saw the coolest sign ever. I do so wish I had a picture to share with you guys, but I had the camera safely stowed away as we drove past the offices of Dr. Stiff, Gynecologist.

I shit you not.

The best part is that I tried to Google the good doctor tonight and point you all to his website to back up my claims. Unfortunately, Doc Stiffy's web presence is miniscule, but I did learn his first name:

Richard.

Road trips fucking rule!