My heart attack, I can't wait
I can't take anymore, or at least much more, of this. My job is killing me.
It's to the point where I'm looking forward to my heart attack. Some something or other, and then I end up in hospital, where I get to rest for a few days.
And get bitched at by doctors.
Can't wait.
A really hot wedding!
A funny story today, about a
Japanese bridegroom who set fire to the hotel where the wedding was scheduled...figuring that if the
hotel went up in flames, he wouldn't have to get married.
I think it was Henny Youngman who first said this:
"I didn't realize how happy I was until I got married...but by then, it was too late." I agree, completely.
My
first wife bugged out about 30 days after the ceremony, having met some other guy. Found out that she was tripping on acid during the wedding, too -- that was some kind of sign, I guess, but I didn't know this till after she was gone.
Second wife threw me out as soon as she got pregnant, which was 6 weeks after our wedding. I have a son as a result of our holy union, and that's the only good thing. The rest is an unholy mess.
So, if setting fire to the hotel got the guy out of his marriage, I say more power to him. He'll probably spend a
few years in jail as a result, but that's way
better than a lifetime in hell.
3:45am and all is well....
Nigel Jr. is fast asleep, it's cold outside, the heat is on, and something called "Knocked Up" which features the inexplicable
'talents' of a person named Seth Rogen (this guy is a movie star?) is on HBO. It's the
standard 3:45 am early wake-up for yours truly, which occurs for me even on weekends. Without an alarm clock.
Whipping around the
TV channels this hour of the morning is a trip. Between all the paid programming for
useless crap, re-runs of
"One Day At A Time", and talking heads yapping about
the election--why, it's a veritable panoply of mind-bending nonsense, right at the time your mind needs not so much the bending,
but very much the coffee.- Useless crap: this guy with the beard who screams at us about cleaning products, this Billy Mays--what is the deal with this guy?
He must have the dirtiest, most broken down house in America, what with all the new crap he's constantly trying and demonstrating and harping about. There's Mighty Mendit and Kaboom Never Scrub and the Steam Buddy and something called Zorbeez, too. Plus about nine million others. Hey, Billy, some advice: hire a maid service and also maybe a handy man, and leave us alone. Please.
"One Day At A Time": at the time this show was actually aired, it never occurred to me just how much Valerie Bertinelli and Eddie Van Halen looked alike. Now, watching the re-runs, it's immediately apparent. At right, a shot from their wedding--who's who? 
How weird would it be to marry someone who looked just like you? For me, that would require getting hitched to someone who looked like Anne Ramsey--you know, the old lady who terrorized Danny DeVito in the movie "Throw Momma From The Train."
- Election: give it to Obama, already, so we can go back to watching Billy Mays ads and re-runs of "One Day At A Time". Or, at worst, something else starring my new favorite actor, Seth Rogen.
Oh, no, the holidays are upon us!
Happy almost Halloween, shlubbies!
At left, what happens when you've had one too many at one too many Halloween parties.
Enjoy! HAHAHAHA!
Wherein your Nigel is tested, goddammit!
I see where there's some folderol relative to the
two Presidential candidates' experience, as in,
"having been tested." This, because of a comment made by VP contender Joe Biden the other day. Ol' Joe said something about how within the first six months of an Obama presidency, the Messiah (that'd be Obama) will be
"tested" by some big international incident....McCain, in response, jumped on this, claiming that he, McCain, had already been "tested" and was ready to take on presidential responsibilities from day one.
Whatever.But it got me thinking:
I, too, have been tested. Proof? Here goes:
- Driving test. Despite what that fucking little cockney gecko rants and raves about on TV (for those assholes at Geico), I'
m proud to report that I've taken four different driving tests in four states, and have passed most of them. Since I failed geometry in high school, that goddamm parallel parking got me twice. I went perpendicular instead, and blew the test. Who knew you needed to be able to do math in order to drive a fucking car? - Breathalizer/DUI test. Big FAIL for your Nigel,
despite having chewed three whole sticks of Juicy Fruit and gargled with absinthe prior to hitting the road. Maybe the absinthe did it? The cop wasn't very friendly, either. 
AIDS test. In anticipation of someday perhaps actually having sex with a real woman again, I went for it. Passed with flying colors. All that remains now is to get the blow up doll tested, and we can go at it, bareback. Can't wait!
IQ test. Recently performed at the request of my family doctor, who's concerned about me losing brain cells daily. Something to do with my alcohol intake. I'm happy to report that I'm way high on one scale of measurement here: the Richter Scale. Yes, my IQ is "9.5". Proud, I am, of this, and I have one question: are you ready to ruuuuuummmmmblllllle?
Tested, and ready. That's me, your loyal Nigel. Ready, from day one.
Football is no place for girls...huh?
Aww, c'mon.
Story: a
14 year old girl named Kacy Stuart loves to play football--as a kicker. She plays for the New Creation Center Crusaders, in Spaulding County, Georgia, which is a team apparently in some sort of loosely defined
Christian school/Christian home school league.Comes then the East Atlanta Mustangs, who refused to play Kacy's team, because they have a
girl on the roster. These in-bred home school retards actually had the sack to
use Bible verses from the New Testament Book of Romans as part of their argument
against playing Kacy's team.Who knew that Jesus had such a problem with girls on the gridiron?
I imagine the verses they cited went something like this (hey, I went looking, but couldn't find anything in there about football--then again, I'm no Biblical scholar or anything...):
v.14 "For it is written: the woman is unclean who toucheth the pigskin using the feet of her limbs. Behold! For such a woman is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord, and also in the eyes of the NFL commissioner Roger Goodell."v15.
"For what shall it benefit a man who taketh the retard home school football championship unto his bosom, yet having winneth this by consorting with such a harlot? It is of no value, and he will be made to suffer the consequences of his transgression."
v16. "And it is known throughout all of Israel, the Lord is generous and loves his children, but for those who are shameless and line up in field goal formation where the work is that of this woman, yea, I say unto thee, it is the work of Satan and the Lord will smite these men from their heavenly reward."v17. "Verily verily I say unto thee, the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. And lo, the Spaulding County winner's trophy is but an empty shell and will be disawardeth should any man not heed the warnings in this book."Or some other such silliness. How's that for
King James Version prophecy?
E-mail from an angry customer
Last night I
wrapped up work about 9pm--this after having started the day at 4am! The
last email of the night went out to a customer who had
fired off a snotty little missive about some software not performing properly; it was worded in such a way as to raise ol' Nigel's hackles just a wee bit, which we all know is risky for those on the receiving end of said raised hackles.
The last line of the email he sent tells the tale:
"So I get this damn message from you idiots: For assistance, contact your network support team. Okay , you assholes on the network support team..consider yourself contacted."I ask you, is this any way to ask people for help? The very people who hold your future ability to perform your job in their nicotine-stained fingers?
So I fire back:
"Dear K---, first, I'm glad to see you're not letting your education get in the way of your ignorance. So, I do indeed consider myself contacted. Now, you can consider yourself fucked. While I'm busy not trying to assist you (because of the tone of your email), here are some suggestions as to how you might spend the next 24 hours. After all, you're gonna be dead in the water, work-wise, given that I'll be taking my sweet time diagnosing and fixing your problem:- Carefully straddle and then lower your testicles into a Waring blender. Select "chop". Better yet, "grate". Let me know how that works out for you.
- When asked by your boss why the software isn't working tomorrow, save your breath. You'll need it to blow up your date tomorrow night.
- Finally, spend some time trying to do this exercise: grasp your ears firmly, and then remove your head from your ass.
Sincerely, your buddy Nigel (who's going to bed now, instead of working to fix your problem)."Whaddya think, shlubbies? Diplomacy was never my long suit, but in this case I think I did pretty well--don't you?
If I win the lottery....
...my plan is to
get as far away from everyone as possible. With that in mind, below is a picture of
my dream house, to be acquired when the Mega Millions fairy waves her magic wand over me and my lottery ticket!
The food meme
From Annie's new blog,
Travel Treasures, comes this meme.
Here are the instructions:
1. Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2. Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3. Put in red any items that you would never consider eating.
4. Optional extra: Post a comment here linking to your results.
The VGT Omnivore’s Hundred:
1. Venison
2. Nettle tea3. Huevos rancheros4. Steak tartare 5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding7. Cheese fondue8. Carp
9. Borscht10. Baba ghanoush11. Calamari
12. Pho 13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart 16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes19. Steamed pork buns20. Pistachio ice cream21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras24. Rice and beans25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper27. Dulce de leche 28. Oysters29. Baklava30. Bagna cauda31. Wasabi peas32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl33. Salted lassi34. Sauerkraut35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O 39. Gumbo40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat42. Whole insects43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin51. Prickly pear52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini58. Beer above 8% ABV59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong80. Bellini81. Tom yum82. Eggs Benedict83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash88. Flowers 89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate91. Spam92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano96. Bagel and lox 97. Lobster Thermidor98. Polenta99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee100. Snake
Yeah, well...
whatever....
British handshakes....eeeewwwww!
No matter who wins the election, they'd better think twice before shaking hands with visiting British politicians. Turns out that people in Britain are dirty buggers.
A bunch of
scientists studying toilet hygiene spent time swabbing the hands of 409 commuters waiting at bus stops outside railway stations in five cities in Britain, testing for...shit. No shit.
Example of the nastiness discovered:
44 per cent of those surveyed at Newcastle Central Station had crap bacteria living on their fingers! Charming, eh? So now we know that not only do Brits have bad teeth, they also have an apparent shortage of hand soap in their loos.
Now, as many of you know, my fat disgusting English cousin Mary is coming over for Thanksgiving. This Mary is a piece of work, lemme tell you. She's wider than she is tall, so I'm not sure how she accomplishes the, um, finishing up once done athwart the throne (how does she reach all the way back there? 'Tis a mystery).
At left, Mary's husband Fergus, who's Scottish. He's just as bad. The photo is one of him taken doing his business in their outdoor, open-air shithouse. If anyone ever needed a certified psychologist/counselor, it's Fergus--not only for marrying Mary, but because of how happy he seems here, photographed unabashedly whilst releasing chocolate hostages.
But after hearing about this shitty hands business, I will
make the both of them wear surgical gloves the entire time they're in the house.
No TV for li'l ol' me!
I am
TV-less, for the first time in many years.
My trusty Toshiba, purchased in 1980 and repaired once, back in 1988, has finally given up the ghost. Wherever TVs go to die; well, it's there. I like to think of it now, up there "In Living Color",
playing back re-runs of the good stuff...you know, like the old Dick Van Dyke show, and Hogan's Heroes, and
the first Bob Newhart show (the one where Bob was married to
Suzanne Pleshette, who as his wife Emily caused simultaneous laughter and pants tightening for your humble Nigel.) Gratuitous photo of Suzanne in her prime, at left. Unfortunately, she's doing the great celestial dirt nap now herself, having left us in January...maybe she's up there watching my Toshiba? It's a nice thought.
Anyhow, everything took on weird colors, and then it all got fuzzy and blurry, and then it all went black. Oh, wait, that was how
my last drunken binge went. Seriously, the TV: the tube started acting funny, and I had to leave the damn thing on for like, two hours, before the picture would pop in.
Finally, death.This has turned out to be a strangely mixed blessing. I'm forced to drop my politics habit, wherein I alternately scream and throw things at
Sean Hannity and Barack Obama (I'm an equal opportunity asshole, shlubbies).
Now I'm back to reading books! Who knew? So, right now, I'm perusing the pages of the biography of Johnny Carson...also on the living room coffee table, "TV's Greatest Tasteless Stories", which is full of lurid details about things like "what were the girls really wearing when they were in the tub at the beginning of Petticoat Junction?"
Enquiring minds want to know!
How to find this blog
You people are sick, and I love it.
Here's a compilation of
some of the most recent keywords used to access this blog, courtesy of the metrics tracker thingy I use. Ready?
www.google.fr
torture videos of tearing off testicleswww.google.com
nancy pelosi is hotwww.google.com
benoit ballswww.google.com
"poop competition"www.google.com
spanking sarah palinwww.google.co.uk
im thinking of shaving my scrotumwww.google.com
scrotum oilingwww.google.com
30 year old fattieswww.google.com.au
mortuary hoistswww.google.com
SEW MY scrotumwww.google.co.uk
suck my scrotumwww.google.com
steve irwin scrotumwww.google.com
nancy pelosi's bustywww.google.ca
goo on my thongwww.google.com
so many sheep so little timewww.google.com
scrotum ramenComments:- The number one search term used to find this site includes the words "Nancy Pelosi" and references her as either "hot" or "busty". There are apparently quite a few sickos who enjoy perving on the House Speaker. I know I do.
- What "scrotum ramen" is, I don't know. I mean, I used to live in Japan and they eat lottsa ramen there...but nothing scrotum flavored, I don't think.
- Finally, it's a sad commentary about me that you sick bastards land on my site with these perverted, twisted search terms. Says a lot about the content here, huh? Keep up the good work, shlubbies!
Daddy takes Nigel Jr. to an air show
This Sunday, I'll be
bundling up Nigel Jr. and heading south in the AMC Pacer. Destination?
An air show.
We'll be accompanied by my
new
step-father war hero/ex-fighter/bomber pilot who will be providing Nigel Jr. personalized commentary regarding all the planes we see.
He's flown them all, including the P-51 Mustang WW 2 fighter (photo, left), the B-29 Superfortress (WW 2, Korea), and the
Republic F-105 Thunderchief and F4 Phantom II (Vietnam--photo, right).
At the show, they'll climb in and out of the various cockpits while "Colonel Mac" regales Nigel Jr. with stories of death and destruction he personally caused in three wars. He's not in any way ashamed of that, by the way, and quite happily recounts the results of his various aerial combat dogfights and gigantic blow-em-all-to-hell bombing missions. He was shot down twice and survived four separate plane crashes, so he has a rather whimsical view of the whole process. Refreshing.
This should be interesting, though. The last air show Nigel Jr. attended wasn't a show, per se--
instead, it was a practice session for the Navy's Blue Angel precision flying team. This was maybe six years ago, while vacationing near Pensacola, Florida. Practice sessions are free and open to the public at the Naval Air Station, so off we went. I was excited because the Blue Angels are baddasses; the testosterone was flowing, lemme tell ya.
We lasted all of maybe 5 minutes. The public viewing bleachers are amazingly close to the runway used by the jets, and the noise is beyond belief. The take-offs and touch and go landings were one thing--but what had us leave in a hurry was a precision move performed maybe 500 yards in front of us. Three of the planes, in formation, turned sideways about 200 feet off the ground and roared right in front of us--they came out of nowhere--you could literally see the air rippling around the jets as they swooped by at about 400 miles an hour.
Poor little Nigel Jr., who was 5 at the time, freaked out. He lost it--screaming, crying, shaking. The combination of the noise and the scary closeness of these jets did the kid in. I mean, I myself was scared--so imagine what it was like for him! So: we left, despite me stomping my feet and whining like the child I can be when I don't get my way. Dammit! Disappointing, to say the least, at least for me.
We'll see how he handles things this Sunday...
Drunk e-mailing...now, a thing of the past!
Google released a useful new
Gmail feature yesterday which could help
prevent drunks like me from sending
embarrassing late-night emails that inevitably are regretted the following morning.
When activated, 
the program (called "Mail Goggles") makes a user solve a series of math problems before allowing any message to be sent. Image at left; apparently you've gotta get the problems done within a time frame or you won't be able to send your email.
The service is set by default to kick in only on weekend nights, but you can change the settings to apply whenever. So if you're a serial alky like your beloved Nigel, it's a 7 day a week dealybob. Fo' sho!
Now I need me something to handle the drunk texting....while I'm looking around, you wouldn't happen to have a drink handy?
I wanted to be a spaceman...
Comes now this story, in
today's NY Times, about how the USA will have to
rely on Russia to ferry astronauts into space between 2010 and 2015.
Seems there's a
5 year gap in our ability to shoot off, launch-wise, between the space shuttle, and whatever the next orbital thingy is gonna be that'll send USA spacies into the heavens. So for 5 years, we're gonna have to
pay the Russkies to get our boys and girls up there, perform their astronautical duties, and then return safely to the earth.
As someone who remembers the space race, and who fucking reveled in all the Apollo shit, from #9 up to and including #17, which featured
astronaut Deke Slayton actually masturbating in the lunar lander...well, hell, I'm pissed.
Now we're relying on the commies to get us up there? WTF is going on? Didn't we beat their
lardy, pasty, godless vodka-ridden asses 40 years ago? First swinging dick on the moon Neil Armstrong (looking old and decrepit now, at right), wasn't Neil Armstrongovich, lemme tell ya, but he may as well have been, based on this latest development.
And what benefits did we get from all the NASA sponsored stuff? Hmmm..lessee...
remember "Tang"--the orange flavoured stuff you'd mix with water, just like the astronauts did? That was a major fucking accomplishment, as was bringing back moon rocks you can now rub with your finger whilst visiting Washington D.C's Air & Space Museum. Oh, the joy.
Here's something that
tells you the difference between us and the potato based alcoholshoviks: back in the day, NASA spent millions of dollars developing a pen that would allow our astronauts to write upside down in weightless space. Something about a pump that would continually push the ink to the nib, irrespective of position or gravity conditions. Millions of dollars.
The fucking commie bastard Russians?
They used a pencil.
Who's smarter?
My dream....
Up early this morning, and so decided to go out for breakfast. Across the southeast US, where I live, there are two competing diner chains--
Waffle House, and Huddle House. These places are virtually indistinguishable from each other,
soul-less, plain restaurants where one can
choke down breakfast 24/7--or even a T-bone steak (though why anyone would order a T-bone from either of these places is beyond my understanding). Picture above left, though this is a stock shot--the one near me has no plants and no red booths--just plain wooden booths and torn up counter stools.
So I'm the only one in the Huddle House around the corner from my home, sitting at the counter, awaiting my breakfast of soft poached eggs over wheat toast with grits and coffee. As is my wont, I'm scanning the walls, checking the little posters and notes and junk they put up, including the health department rating of 43 out of 100 (FAIL!).
There, on the wall, framed, is one of these certificate thingys little kids fill out in elementary school. This one had a bolded first line that read:
I have a dream, and my dream is to....and below that, a blank space for the child to write in the one thing they wanted to do with their life. Below that, bolded:
What I will do to make my dream come true...and it also contained space for the child to write in action steps designed to ensure success in achieving their dream.
The one in the frame was from some poor little deluded African American kid named Andrew, who filled in the
"what my dream is" portion with the following:
"My dream is to work at Huddle House." I thought, this must be a joke: look, there's nothing wrong with working in a place like that; it's honest work. But this is your
dream? What ever happened to wanting to be an astronaut? A doctor? President of the USA? Even a gay porn star? I mean, really!
If the biggest dream you've got is slinging hash and sliding around a greasy cook pit for minimum wage while listening to a jukebox endlessly repeating redneck noise courtesy of "singers" like Willie Nelson....I mean, jeez...
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. must be turning over in his grave right now...
Tonight's debate
Am sitting here breathless,
awaiting the great VP debate. Here's my take, advance of the activity--you may well disagree, and that's fine, but buff my scrotum regardless:
Sarah Palin. Look, I know more about just about everything that she's gonna be asked, and without the need for prepping, preening, and practice.
It's simple: Pakistan--fuck 'em. India figured these Mohammedites years ago, and to their credit, have been able to keep 'em down, irrespective of Kashmir and the curry they slurp up endlessly. Their gods have way too many arms and legs, and they burp and wipe their butts with their hands. Enough said.
Next: Afghanistan--fuck them, too. They can't figure out electricity. I say, wipe them all off the face of the earth, quick-like, and let's be done with them. Plus their president, Karzai, can't figure out how to wear a fucking overcoat: earth to Karzai, the arms go IN the arms of the coat. You're not Robert Mitchum, so there's no point wearing the damn thing over your shoulders. OK?
The economy--who knows?
Plus, Sarah is way better looking than Joe, and that has to count for something.
Joe Biden. Experience, combined with hair plugs. A killer combination. I say, Joe, open up with some rousing speech delivered previously by someone else. How about: "We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France,
we shall fight on the seas and oceans,
we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be,
we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds,
we shall fight in the fields and in the streets,
we shall fight in the hills;
we shall never surrender..." ok, maybe not, considering that was Winston Churchill's thingy about the fucking Germans back in 1942, but since you have a history of ripping off others word-for-word, let's make it good, ok?
Seriously, Joe needs to not be nasty or condescending, and just let Sarah swill in her own shit, which based on the Katie Couric interview of this week, she'll have no problem doing.
Should be fun, boyos and girlos. Can't wait to recap for you, Nigel style, which I shall do as soon as the debate be done!
My first wife bugged out about 30 days after the ceremony, having met some other guy. Found out that she was tripping on acid during the wedding, too -- that was some kind of sign, I guess, but I didn't know this till after she was gone.
'talents' of a person named Seth Rogen (this guy is a movie star?) is on HBO. It's the standard 3:45 am early wake-up for yours truly, which occurs for me even on weekends. Without an alarm clock.
He must have the dirtiest, most broken down house in America, what with all the new crap he's constantly trying and demonstrating and harping about. There's Mighty Mendit and Kaboom Never Scrub and the Steam Buddy and something called Zorbeez, too. Plus about nine million others. Hey, Billy, some advice: hire a maid service and also maybe a handy man, and leave us alone. Please.
"One Day At A Time": at the time this show was actually aired, it never occurred to me just how much Valerie Bertinelli and Eddie Van Halen looked alike. Now, watching the re-runs, it's immediately apparent. At right, a shot from their wedding--who's who? 
How weird would it be to marry someone who looked just like you? For me, that would require getting hitched to someone who looked like Anne Ramsey--you know, the old lady who terrorized Danny DeVito in the movie "Throw Momma From The Train."
Happy almost Halloween, shlubbies!
I see where there's some folderol relative to the two Presidential candidates' experience, as in, "having been tested." This, because of a comment made by VP contender Joe Biden the other day. Ol' Joe said something about how within the first six months of an Obama presidency, the Messiah (that'd be Obama) will be "tested" by some big international incident....McCain, in response, jumped on this, claiming that he, McCain, had already been "tested" and was ready to take on presidential responsibilities from day one.
m proud to report that I've taken four different driving tests in four states, and have passed most of them. Since I failed geometry in high school, that goddamm parallel parking got me twice. I went perpendicular instead, and blew the test. Who knew you needed to be able to do math in order to drive a fucking car?
despite having chewed three whole sticks of Juicy Fruit and gargled with absinthe prior to hitting the road. Maybe the absinthe did it? The cop wasn't very friendly, either.
AIDS test. In anticipation of someday perhaps actually having sex with a real woman again, I went for it. Passed with flying colors. All that remains now is to get the blow up doll tested, and we can go at it, bareback. Can't wait!
IQ test. Recently performed at the request of my family doctor, who's concerned about me losing brain cells daily. Something to do with my alcohol intake. I'm happy to report that I'm way high on one scale of measurement here: the Richter Scale. Yes, my IQ is "9.5". Proud, I am, of this, and I have one question: are you ready to ruuuuuummmmmblllllle?
Aww, c'mon.
No matter who wins the election, they'd better think twice before shaking hands with visiting British politicians. Turns out that people in Britain are dirty buggers.
Now, as many of you know, my fat disgusting English cousin Mary is coming over for Thanksgiving. This Mary is a piece of work, lemme tell you. She's wider than she is tall, so I'm not sure how she accomplishes the, um, finishing up once done athwart the throne (how does she reach all the way back there? 'Tis a mystery).
My trusty Toshiba, purchased in 1980 and repaired once, back in 1988, has finally given up the ghost. Wherever TVs go to die; well, it's there. I like to think of it now, up there "In Living Color", playing back re-runs of the good stuff...you know, like the old Dick Van Dyke show, and Hogan's Heroes, and the first Bob Newhart show (the one where Bob was married to Suzanne Pleshette, who as his wife Emily caused simultaneous laughter and pants tightening for your humble Nigel.) Gratuitous photo of Suzanne in her prime, at left. Unfortunately, she's doing the great celestial dirt nap now herself, having left us in January...maybe she's up there watching my Toshiba? It's a nice thought.
We'll be accompanied by my new
step-father war hero/ex-fighter/bomber pilot who will be providing Nigel Jr. personalized commentary regarding all the planes we see. He's flown them all, including the P-51 Mustang WW 2 fighter (photo, left), the B-29 Superfortress (WW 2, Korea), and the Republic F-105 Thunderchief and F4 Phantom II (Vietnam--photo, right).
instead, it was a practice session for the Navy's Blue Angel precision flying team. This was maybe six years ago, while vacationing near Pensacola, Florida. Practice sessions are free and open to the public at the Naval Air Station, so off we went. I was excited because the Blue Angels are baddasses; the testosterone was flowing, lemme tell ya.
We lasted all of maybe 5 minutes. The public viewing bleachers are amazingly close to the runway used by the jets, and the noise is beyond belief. The take-offs and touch and go landings were one thing--but what had us leave in a hurry was a precision move performed maybe 500 yards in front of us. Three of the planes, in formation, turned sideways about 200 feet off the ground and roared right in front of us--they came out of nowhere--you could literally see the air rippling around the jets as they swooped by at about 400 miles an hour.
the program (called "Mail Goggles") makes a user solve a series of math problems before allowing any message to be sent. Image at left; apparently you've gotta get the problems done within a time frame or you won't be able to send your email.
Comes now this story, in today's NY Times, about how the USA will have to rely on Russia to ferry astronauts into space between 2010 and 2015.
Now we're relying on the commies to get us up there? WTF is going on? Didn't we beat their lardy, pasty, godless vodka-ridden asses 40 years ago? First swinging dick on the moon Neil Armstrong (looking old and decrepit now, at right), wasn't Neil Armstrongovich, lemme tell ya, but he may as well have been, based on this latest development.
And what benefits did we get from all the NASA sponsored stuff? Hmmm..lessee... remember "Tang"--the orange flavoured stuff you'd mix with water, just like the astronauts did? That was a major fucking accomplishment, as was bringing back moon rocks you can now rub with your finger whilst visiting Washington D.C's Air & Space Museum. Oh, the joy.
Up early this morning, and so decided to go out for breakfast. Across the southeast US, where I live, there are two competing diner chains--Waffle House, and Huddle House. These places are virtually indistinguishable from each other, soul-less, plain restaurants where one can choke down breakfast 24/7--or even a T-bone steak (though why anyone would order a T-bone from either of these places is beyond my understanding). Picture above left, though this is a stock shot--the one near me has no plants and no red booths--just plain wooden booths and torn up counter stools.
If the biggest dream you've got is slinging hash and sliding around a greasy cook pit for minimum wage while listening to a jukebox endlessly repeating redneck noise courtesy of "singers" like Willie Nelson....I mean, jeez...Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. must be turning over in his grave right now...
Am sitting here breathless, awaiting the great VP debate. Here's my take, advance of the activity--you may well disagree, and that's fine, but buff my scrotum regardless:
