Official restaurant of bloggers opens in Philadelphia.

"Here's a novel shot at a new restaurant concept: An eatery devoted to serving breakfast cereal. Cereality, a Boulder, Colorado, company this Wednesday opens its first full scale, sit-down restaurant, near the campus of the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia.

"The Philly location will serve 33 kinds of name-brand cereal, along with Cereality-created cereals, and specialty items like cereal bars…

"Cereality servers wear pajamas. The restaurants are starting out near college campuses, because as the New York Times reported several weeks ago on its front page, cereal is all the rage as the latest college eating trend. Cereality, which already has a cafe operating at Arizona State in Tempe, has all the air of a clever idea that will run its course.

Another one bites the dust. MSNBC outs ABC who fell for Fark fake.

With apologies to Flip Wilson… (Haven't gotta' clue who that is, but AHM says he was great.) ...the devil made 'em do it.

"La Mesa, Calif., police Sgt. Daniel Willis testified that Romero told him he was sorry for telling three women who went to his church the "devil would physically harm them and he could protect them if they had sex with him."…

"A woman…testified that she had gone to [Carlos] Romero's [National City, CA] church for about a year and came back in 2000. She said she met the defendant in Fashion Valley last January. "He told me that there was a revelation from God," [she] said. "He told me that I had already been attacked by the devil, that I could only stop this by having sexual relations with him."…

"Another woman testified that Romero told her the devil would leave her "gravely wounded" if she did not have sex with him."

And the scent of that story tracks straight to this reader's letter at NRO's The Corner defining "Satanaut."

"…a Satanaut is one who takes no responsibility for his transgressions, but, rather, blames someone else…

"Thus, if I were to libel someone by publishing forged Texas National Guard memoranda and if my calumny were to be exposed as a fraud, as a full-fledged Satanaut, I would exclaim, 'Hey, don't look at me; Satan ought to take the rap.'

"Ergo, Satanaut."

Hey, don't look at me…

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posted by Harrison at 10:26 PM

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And they're both gettin' down and dirty.

"London (Reuters) - The world's first known piece of printed pornography, described as the "quintessence of debauchery," is expected to reach up to 35,000 pounds ($65,040) when it is auctioned next month.

"Sodom," penned in the mid-1670s, has been attributed to John Wilmot, the second Earl of Rochester and is described by auction house Sotheby's as a "closet drama rather than for the stage" with pornography "in almost every line."

"We believe this is the first printed pornography in English literature, a unique copy of the quintessence of debauchery," Peter Beal, Sotheby's book specialist said. "It is one of the most notorious publications in literature and makes most pornography written 300 years later seem tame."

"The book centers on the decision made by a lustful King to "set the nation free" by allowing "buggary" to be "used thro' all the land" and then details the dire consequences."

Jerry Falwell, call God.

Dug up at Fark. (And I'm still waitin' for an answer about who's Googlin' on this stuff.)

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posted by Harrison at 11:44 PM

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I'm worth twice the price.

I'm worth $2,621,481.80! How much are you worth?

AHM barely broke the $2,000,000.00 mark. Nyah, nyah!

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posted by Harrison at 11:17 PM

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Red the Lurcher stars in a brand new video. He's getting' to be quite a media hound.

"The famous British dog who freed fellow canines from a pound is once again making headlines -- this time in his newly adopted home.

"Red" has taken to locking his owners out of their home.

"The British tabloid, The Daily Mail, set up a video camera at Red's new home to catch the four-legged Houdini in the act. On the tape, once his owners leave, Red jumps up on the door and locks his new family out."

Call your agent, pal. Oliver Stone's tryin' to reach you.

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posted by Harrison at 11:26 PM

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Follow the link in the left sidebar or go here.

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posted by Harrison at 3:35 PM

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Take the "god test" yourself.

UPDATE: AHM won't let me post hers, but it involves feedin' people with hot dog scraps while wearnin' nothin' (you really don't wanna' go there), and havin' "complete dominance and sovereignty over time and space and the infallible right to do with both" as she pleases.

What kind of God are you?
Name
DOB
Favourite Color
Your earthly time was spent	Supplanting kingdoms, punishing tyrants and levelling the empires of the wicked with the breath of your nostrils
Your throne is	fashioned from thorns and human femurs, surrounded by writhing, howling servants, with a footstool of souls on the sizzling shores of the Lake of Fire
You wear	Golden, breathtaking robes, girded in the middle with silver chains
Your Godly superpower is	A flaming, indestructible sword with which you shall avenge the slain innocents and humble the arrogant
This quiz by pelagicboreas - Taken 32217 Times.

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posted by Harrison at 12:03 AM

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Turkey, turkey, turkey… Yeaaaaah!

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posted by Harrison at 3:03 PM

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I've been makin' fun of Target but there are a couple of things that should be noted in their defense. First, Wal-Mart actually started the no-solicitation rule. Second, there's a good reason (I guess) for their rules. According to this letter sent to NRO's The Corner from a lawyer, you can thank your friendly neighborhood labor union.

"…union organizing is the actual reason Wal-Mart and others are eliminating solicitations. The National Labor Relations Board has repeatedly held that if an employer allows an undefined amount of charitable solicitation on the premises, the employer cannot prohibit unions from coming on the property to solicit employees to join the union or sign a card calling for a union election.

"To make matters worse, the rule has no bright line -- no employer knows with any degree of comfort how much charitable solicitation is too much. If an employer unwittingly crosses the gray area, and then refuses to allow a union to come onto the property, the union can file an unfair labor practice charge alleging the employer discriminated against union organizing in violation of federal law. Wal-Mart, Target, and the rest are likely recognizing this risk.

"If you would like to see the application of this rule taken to its absurd extreme, review the opinion letter of the NLRB General Counsel issued shortly after 9/11 as it relates to charitable solicitations arising from that event."

Unions--they jumped the shark a loooong time ago.

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posted by Harrison at 10:18 PM

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…to know who over at Drew Fark's spends their time Googling the word "anal."

Okay--it's Boingers not Farkers. And now that this blog has gotten an "R" ratin', below are the updates on Target's entertainment store. Now I know why their spokesdog is wearin' that red bullseye disguise.

Wanna' protest Target's policy? Go here.

UPDATE I: For Nemmeran who likes backrubs… Another special DVD that may (or may not) hit the target for ya'. And if you MUST see the cover to believe what they're peddlin', here ya' go. Amazin' what can be called "holistic health" these days. I'm gonna' think about a career change…

UPDATE II: The cover of the previous DVD explains the cover of this CD, also available at Target: Anal Cabaret - A Tribute to Soft Cell by Leaether Strap. Yes, it is a real CD.

I'm goin' back to rubber duckies.

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posted by Harrison at 11:28 PM

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We'll get ya'--eventually…

Greg Hlatky at A Dog's Life was stewarding at a dog show the other weekend and this self-admitted terrierphobe was assigned (of course) to one of the terrier rings!

"One of the days I was assigned to the ring where most of the Terrier breeds were being judged. Stewarding for Terriers is excellent education for the novice steward. The small entries ensure you'll be on your feet most of the day."

Yep, that's us. We'll keep ya' dancin' all day long. But it also seems Greg is actually is beginnin' to like--okay, tolerate--terriers.

"[Sparring] works when the dogs are properly trained. These feisty critters puff themselves up, stand straight and give their rival the flashing eye. A wonderful transformation as the courage of these little fellows shines through."

He's got that right. So who would you want defendin' you from invaders--an out-of-it fe-lyin' or one of us "feisty critters?"

Not sure about that "puff themselves up" crack, though.

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posted by Harrison at 1:46 PM

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AHM had already decided not to shop at Target this Christmas (just like Hugh Hewitt) 'cause of their decision to ban the Salvation Army bell-ringers. 'Course she says the SA will probably rake it in big time at all their other locations from the public protest, so maybe they won't lose as much as they expected.

But for those of you who still intend to patronize the place--like that puppy blender person who buys his fe-lyin' supplies there (wha'd'ya' expect from a cat person!)--Target has another way to ring your bell this holiday season.

There's no picture at that link 'cause, well, Target wouldn't want kids accidentally seein' it, I guess. Could shake up a little child's world almost as seriously as those pesky Santa bell-ringers.

What they're sellin' is a DVD. And if you wanna' know what that DVD is about, go here.

Wonder if that's what Dustin Hoffman had in mind?

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posted by Harrison at 11:58 AM

3 comments

For all you humans plannin' a little--ah--fun this weekend, take my advice: know thy toys. I do:

"You successfully identified 14 out of 14 items.
You may be trusted with my dog."

Let me know how ya' do, 'cause I wanna' avoid anyone who thinks my pup's squeaky chew is a "marital aid."

Rubber duckies optional.

LiverSnap® to (who else) Drew Fark.

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posted by Harrison at 3:13 PM

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Gala celebrates the best of Bill Clinton.

"It's been a long time in coming," said [state Rep. Jim] Marcotte…" "There's so much potential there," [Marcotte] said. "…it's finally getting the recognition it deserves."

Brag, brag, brag…

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posted by Harrison at 10:32 PM

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UPDATE: Grouchy Old Yorkie Lady wonders if Fluffy tastes as good as bass. (Must see picture!)

PETA pushes penitence for piscatory persecusion.

Yeah, you read that right. The wackos are tryin' to tell us fish have feelings. I've lived with fish--well, they lived in their tank and I lived everywhere else, but you know what I'm gettin' at. All they did was swim and eat and poop. And make google eyes at us from the other side of the glass like some cartoon looney.

Now PETA would have us think of them as our brothers and sisters--provided you can figure out how to tell which is which.

"Touting tofu chowder and vegetarian sushi as alternatives, animal-rights activists have launched a novel campaign arguing that fish -- contrary to stereotype -- are intelligent, sensitive animals no more deserving of being eaten than a pet dog or cat.

"Called the Fish Empathy Project, the campaign reflects a strategy shift by People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals as it challenges a diet component widely viewed as nutritious and uncontroversial.

"No one would ever put a hook through a dog's or cat's mouth," said Bruce Friedrich, PETA's director of vegan outreach. "Once people start to understand that fish, although they come in different packaging, are just as intelligent, they'll stop eating them."

Ya' gotta' think these people have a tough time tellin' their families what they do for a livin'. I mean, how do you admit to bein' a fishy lawyer--unless you're John Edwards, that is? And have they talked to the fish about this campaign? Do they visit aquariums and stand in front of the tanks makin' silly fish faces hopin' to get an expert's opinion?

Actually they might need some character witnesses--and a dream team defense--for this big fish.

"The authorities in South Africa were considering last night whether to launch a hunt for the great white shark that killed an elderly woman off a Cape Town beach - the second attack on swimmers in the area this year.

"They were also debating whether to stop tourists feeding sharks, a practice that may have encouraged the animals to linger in the waters…

But it's such fun to pet that sensitive shark.

"Brian de Jager, a friend of Mrs Webb's and one of the 15 local people who witnessed the attack, told the Guardian: "I took my usual walk and I saw Tyna swimming. The next minute I saw this fin coming through the water and then the discolouration in the water. It was so quick, it all took place in only 30 seconds." Other witnesses said the shark had been six metres (19ft) long and circled Mrs Webb before attacking.

"A red swimming cap was all that was found, despite a sea and air search."

PETA needs to send Bruce Friedrich to South Africa so he can counsel this intelligent, sensitive, shark on the error of his ways. I'll donate the red bathing cap…

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posted by Harrison at 1:20 AM

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Okay, AHM and me are writin' a book. No, it's not part of that "write 50,000 words in November" program I've seen on some blogs, mainly 'cause I didn't know about it at the beginnin' of the month. And mine is takin' a lot of time since I always have to wait for AHM to type out my dictation, but I'm doggedly pluggin' away. It's not gonna' be one of those cutsey puppy books--it's gonna' be a murder mystery--with me as the star detective. (Cats have been floggin' themselves as great detectives for waaaay too long!) 'Course I have to let AHM be the narrator 'cause in a mystery story humans can go places those bigoted government regulators won't let canines set paw into.

Anyway, it might be fiction, but I'm stickin' in all of my adventures over the years to keep it interestin'. All the names are different (naturally) and Silly Human Female is part of it--as comic relief--unless I decide to fictionally bump her off, that is. (Considerin' what she's been up to lately, that's a real possibility. More on that later.)

I've written a little about Silly Human Female when I first started bloggin' to explain why I hate felyings. She's just a fe-lyin' person pretendin' to be a canine person. When she was around we all knew that, but we humored her 'cause she kept givin' us treats so we'd like her. (Hey, I'm as mercenary as the next guy!)

"When I was a really young pup, Silly Human Female was AHM's roomie and we got stuck housing her fe-lying as part of the deal. It was a big, fat, hairy, tabby-colored Persian fe-lying…"

Now along comes this story:

"[Jennifer] Ward, 30, was driving on Moore Road in northern Polk County a few days after Hurricane Charley's passage through the area when she glanced to her left and saw something she says has haunted her ever since. She describes it as a creature with a human form that was covered in dark hair or fur and had whitish rings around its eyes…

"Ward found an enthusiastic ally in Scott Marlowe, an archaeologist… Marlowe has long had an interest in cryptozoology, the study of legendary or unconfirmed species. Upon hearing of Ward's experience, he told her about a long-rumored creature known variously as the Florida swamp ape or Florida skunk ape."

Skunk ape terrorism. Will it never end?

The reason SHF and skunks are connected in my mind--aside from the fact she is one--is somethin' I included in the book. See, SHF had a habit of dramatizin' everything. Still does, I suppose, 'though we're not around to see and hear it anymore. In the story I exaggerate stuff 'cause, well, it makes it funnier, but it's based on a real experience. So here's a slice of life with SHF.

Continued… (Now you can use that "Read More!" link if you wanna'.)

SHF and the Skunk

Then came the screech. It seemed to echo from all directions. For a moment I thought it was an owl beginning his evening hunt a few hours early. It took me a good thirty seconds of intermittent screeches to realize the racket was actually coming from the direction of the Pugsley house. Unbelievable. That was one world-class screecher to make a noise able to travel nearly a mile down the road to my place, even allowing for prevailing winds.

But it was unnerving and didn’t seem to be stopping. Harrison and Hemingway merely raised their heads to glare in that direction, irritated the noise had interrupted their nap. Years of living on a California ranch had made them all but immune to animal noises—from bellowing bulls to the hunting call of coyote packs.

Should I investigate? I already knew from sad experience how ElizabethAnn could create a panic over almost anything. This, however, sounded like real distress and, even if I couldn’t stand the silly woman, I just couldn’t bring myself to ignore what could be a serious emergency.

Grabbing my purse from the Deacons’ bench in the front hallway, I ran out the front door, slamming the bottom half in the dogs’ faces.

"I’ll be right back," I called, ignoring their protests and jumping in my car to tear out of the drive.

Since the garage was now full of boxes and furniture waiting a yard sale or a visit by various antique dealers, I was parking in the front drive. That gave me a few seconds head start on Bea, and I whisked past the end of her drive a bare exhaust fume ahead of her.

Slewing into the spot beside the tan hatchback, I was out of my car and suddenly gasping for air. The usual bird-induced stench had been joined by an eye-watering rankness that I was surprised hadn’t produced its own personal mushroom cloud over the property. I yanked my tee shirt collar up over my nose and mouth while fumbling with the backyard gate latch. The stinkin’ Lincoln came in for a sideways landing at the end of the drive, blocking everyone in.

"I called the police," Bea yelled as she got out of her car. I flapped my hand at her and plunged into what sounded like Armageddon.

The back yard was indeed the scene of the action. From beneath the porch came a rich array of growls, yowls, snarls, squalls, and hisses, along with the throat-gagging combination of cat pee and a really pissed off skunk.

ElizabethAnn was crawling around the base of the porch on her knees, one hand swathed with a hankie clamped over her face, the other poking at the ornate lattice that hid the underside of the raised porch. Valencia was wearing one of those paper painting masks and following close behind holding a wicked-looking gardening tool—the kind that’s honed to a triangular point on one side and has three sharp prong-claws on the other. ElizabethAnn was shrieking something unintelligible. Valencia was howling in Spanish—or Portuguese or ancient Latin, for all I knew, considering it was distorted by the mask. Her voice went up and down the scale in cacophonous counterpoint to the racket emanating from the battle zone.

It was tough to tell if Val was preparing to use her weapon on whatever combatants emerged from beneath the porch, or on ElizabethAnn for plowing through the immaculate foundation gardens, flattening everything in sight. My vote was to use it on Edaline who had draped herself over an aluminum glider on the porch, one hand dramatically clutched to her bosom, the other waving a scrap of lace in front of her face—still screeching.

"Great grizzly horny toads, what is that stink?!" Bea had to almost yell in my ear to be heard over Edaline’s wailings.

"Here, Bo Bo Baby—here kitty, kitty," ElizabethAnn hollered.

Bo Bo Baby? Someone had been watching way too much Nick-At-Night. Then again I vaguely remembered Edaline calling her husband "Baby Boy."

Undoubtedly there were some major unexplored issues in that family.

"Get away from there," I yelled, but since my mouth and nose were still buried in my tee shirt, it didn’t come out with the necessary authority. ElizabethAnn kept crawling and poking.

"God Almighty, it’s a polecat and a pussy!"

"Save my baby kitty," Edaline blubbered.

Knowing what sort of cats Edaline and ElizabethAnn preferred, that "baby kitty" was probably grouchy, lazy, ornery, and outweighed the skunk by at least ten pounds.

The abrupt whoop of sirens joined in and the scene took on the audio ambiance of Happy Hour in a Tijuana back street cantina.

Seemingly undaunted by the stench, Bea marched up to ElizabethAnn’s jutting backside. "Get away from there, you stupid woman!" she ordered, far more clearly than I had, and bent down to grab the waistband of ElizabethAnn’s shorts with both hands.

I tried to untangle myself from my tee shirt in time to warn her—I really did. Honest. You see, because of ElizabethAnn’s--er--confirmation, shall we say, I knew she always wore clothes with a loose, very expandable waistband. Bea grabbed and yanked. Once. Twice. The shorts moved. The underpants moved. ElizabethAnn didn’t move. And the cops charging through the back gate were mooned by a pair of very full moons.

Now ElizabethAnn was screeching and Bea was trying to help her pull the shorts back up. The cops were swearing and fumbling for their handkerchiefs. I think Edaline fainted. Val had dropped her weapon then dropped to her knees, covering her face with her hands and moaning appeals (I think) to all the saints and the heavenly host en masse. Of course she could have been laughing.

I was certainly laughing. And choking and coughing and crying. Leaning against the fence, I tried desperately to catch my breath while filtering it with my cotton tee.

"Shut up!"

The older cop bellowed at the top of his lungs and everyone obeyed, except for the sound of our gagging, desperate attempts to find just one atom of untainted air. Only then did the ominous silence from beneath the porch become apparent.

"Bo Bo Baby," ElizabethAnn cried, and made another lunge for the latticework.

This time Bea grabbed the back of her shirt.

"Bo Bo Baby’s gone bye bye," she coughed. "He’s toast."

"More like toxic waste," I mumbled into my tee shirt. The younger cop swiveled to glance in my direction. He, like his boss, had his handkerchief firmly planted over his mouth and nose, but I thought he was laughing.

The senior policeman had gone around the area and was in the porch checking on Edaline. "Better call the Rescue Squad," he said. "She looks like she’s just fainted, but I don’t want to take any chances. And we definitely need some oxygen."

"Mama!" ElizabethAnn belatedly realized her mother had been silenced and lurched toward the porch steps.

"Call Animal Control while you’re at it," he added as his younger partner headed gratefully toward their patrol car. "They’ll have to haul out whatever’s left under the porch. Get those cars out of the way, too" he finished.

"Gladly!"

Bea and I lunged through the gate to our cars.

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posted by Harrison at 12:26 PM

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I promise. Sort of. Unless Tennessee gets weird again.

Woman Keeps License in Duck Toy Dispute

"Spring Hill, Tennessee (AP) -- Town officials have restored a woman's business license weeks after accusing her of trying to sell a sex toy - a vibrating yellow-ducky sponge - at a flea market.

"The Nashville suburb agreed Monday to allow Katherine Williams to keep the license for her Passions & Pleasures intimate gifts business if she does not display her wares in public. Williams typically sells her lotions and adult novelties at home parties."

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posted by Harrison at 12:27 AM

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AHM has been fussin' with the template again, tryin' to set up somethin' for extended posts. Thought she had it right, but now every post seems to have a "read more" link at the bottom, no matter what she does. Guess that's what happens when somethin's free, right?

Anyway, if I'm gonna' be writin' a reeeal long post (which I am) I'll put a "continued…" at the bottom. Otherwise, don't bother followin' that "Read More!" link 'cause there isn't any more.

And if someone knows how to make that extended post business specific on Blogger, we'd really appreciate learnin' new tricks.

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posted by Harrison at 11:55 PM

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(Fe-lyings need not apply)

I was pawin' through BlogExplosion and ran across a blog that linked to this story. (Lost the link to which one, so if it was you, I'm sorry.)

Anyway, I think this is a great idea. Now, since TIME will probably try to ignore me (like they'd listen to a bloggin' dog, right?), lots of other bloggers should write. Lots of conservative bloggers so they'll have a hard time ignorin' all of us.

"Each year around this time going all the way back to 1927 the editors of TIME magazine sit down to debate and select their Person or People of the Year.

The Person of the Year is defined as folllows: "Person of the Year is an annual issue of TIME magazine that features a profile on the man, woman, couple, group, idea, place, or machine that "for better or worse, has most influenced events in the preceding year"

"For 2004, I cannot think of a single person or persons that had a greater influence on society than the bloggers. Let's remind them by making our voice heard. If you think about American politics, media, business - no one, no one had a greater influence for better or worse than the bloggers. Not Osama Bin Laden. Not Sadaam Hussein. Not John Kerry. No one. The bloggers absolutely deserve to be this year's People of the Year. If you agree, then make your voice heard. Send an email to the editors of TIME and explain why the bloggers deserve to be this year's choice."

Go get 'em!

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posted by Harrison at 4:43 PM

0 comments

Yeah, right. Just try it, Sparky, and you'll find out how much of a pacifist I am.

Ya' know, I thought with the elections over those Hollywood Kerry-litter types would move out--or at least stay out of sight for a while. Guess not.

"Dustin Hoffman says man could learn how to preserve world peace by the following the example of dogs. Hoffman says there would be less conflict if, like dogs, humans first sniffed each other out before deciding whether or not to fight.

"Writing in the December issue of Playboy, The Graduate star says, "If a lot of dogs are on the beach, the first thing they do is smell each other's a***.

"The information that's gotten somehow makes pacifists out of all of them. I've thought, 'If only we smelled each other's a**, there wouldn't be any war.'"

Couple'a quick notes, here, Dusty. First, I'm guessin' most of the dogs you see runnin' the beach don't have all their equipment--especially the part that pumps the "gotta'-have-it-now" juice due south. And the bitches are probably in the same condition. Unaltered canines cavorting loose along the shores of the Pacific end up in the pound, at a vet's office bein' reassembled--or as some clever headline over at Drew Fark's.

Second, have you ever seen what really happens when a strange canine sticks their nose in a place it isn't wanted? There are no pacifists on that battlefield. Trust me on this one. I know what I do when that happens…

'Course if you wanna' experience the butt sniffin' scene, feel free to drop in at my place. I'll let ya' crawl around after me sniffin' to your heart's content.

(Memo to AHM: recharge camera batteries…)

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posted by Harrison at 1:42 PM

0 comments

Arafat will finally lie a'moulderin' in his grave.



*George Sewell

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posted by Harrison at 11:07 AM

1 comments

Well, now that the election is over and the losers are being properly medicated, I can get back to lookin' for more silliness among you humans.

Everyone out there seems to think the loonie lefties are all anti-religion. Not so. They just need the right kind of religion with the right kind of savior--maybe somethin' like the one led by Pastor Jack J. Stahl. 'Course, considerin' he's from CA, I suppose it's not unusual…

"Dear Beloved Friend,

"I pray you & your loved one's are enjoying peace, love & perfect health.

"My ministry, The Progressive Universal Life Church (aka The Church of Tom Jones) offers Spiritual Degree, Diploma & Ordination Programs by Mail to the members of our congregation. Many of our Certificates are Awarded for Life, Work or Educational Experience! Get yours NOW! www.pulc.com."

Now there's an idea. Think I'll get me one of those. How d'ya' like the sound of "The Reverend Harrison?"

Better get that "spiritual degree" soon 'cause someone needs to exorcise this web site.

"Hello Kitty and friends welcome you to the exciting and fantastic Hello Kitty World!"

I think it's some sort of interactive game but I didn't stick around long enough to figure it out--except to discover there isn't a canine anywhere. Always knew those catnip junkies were livin' in an alternate reality.

Finally, here's what happens when you stick two elderly Omega humans in one car. Ya'd think this couple was from Tennessee. (They're not.)

"A Florissant couple is safe after they were missing for nearly 24 hours. They were finally located early Sunday morning…

"Violet wanted to stop for help. She says her husband didn't, "I told him I had seen two different cops and I think I'm going to one cop and tell him I'm lost and how do you get back to Florissant and, he says no I don't want you doing that."

"The couple also didn't stop to find a place to eat or a place to sleep. Instead they drove through the night. They did stop three times for gas…

"[Violet] says she's going to buy a cell phone in case they get lost again."

And what makes her think hubby's gonna' pay attention to directions comin' from a cell phone?

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posted by Harrison at 12:40 AM

2 comments

UPDATE: Kellipundit, one of the Homespun Bloggers, pointed me to this collection of Demo-cats' "…naively accepting as valid a 'blurred model' for…reality" over at Right Wing News.

"I cannot possibly put into words how disappointed, angry, and perplexed I am right now. The reported results coming out of Florida and Ohio simply make no sense to me. I cannot comprehend how we could have such a massive increase in turnout and not win the election." -- Skinner at DU

[Will not make snide comments about skinnin' cats in endless ways…]


AHM and me have been readin' a lot about some new buzz words flyin' around leftie circles. They're workin' overtime to figure out why they lost--which they can't--so they've decided to become the "reality-based community."

Now we canines really know about reality. We live in a minute-by-minute reality--if you can't see it, hear it, smell it, lick it, chew it, eat it, paw it, scratch it, poke your nose into it, or lift your leg against it, it ain't real.

Don't think that's the same reality Demo-cats are livin' in, though, at least not according to what this guy Eric Scheie writes.

"Slightly more than half of the citizens of this country simply do not care about what those of us in the "reality-based community" say or believe about anything." -- Eric Alterman

"The latest example of this phraseology ("REALITY BASED COMMUNITY") abounds in leftish circles of the blogosphere, and it involves the use of the word "reality" to denote opposition to Bush, opposition to the war in Iraq, and opposition to religious influences on policy making. The phrase "REALITY BASED COMMUNITY" appears on leading leftist blogs and [T-shirts] are apparently selling like hotcakes:

[…]

"The word "reality" is invoked in a way suggesting that those who use it have a monoply on truth, and it reminds me of the way the word "bright" was used (although the latter never quite got off the ground). It strikes me as a bit arrogant to suggest that anyone who supports the war is out of touch with reality, and the term almost seems designed to mock the "red state" people for simplemindedness.

"It's understandable that the "reality based community" is upset over the reelection of a man they consider hopelessly out of touch with reality -- by people they believe to be out of touch with reality."

Now all this reminded AHM of Schrodinger's Cat. (LG thought she meant the neighbor cat and was out the door barkin' her head off before we could stop her.) 'Course I made AHM show me this fe-lying (which, it turns out may or may not be real) and this is what she read to me:

"A cat is penned up in a steel chamber, along with…a Geiger counter [in which] there is a tiny bit of radioactive substance… [The substance is] so small that perhaps in the course of one hour one of the atoms decays [or], with equal probability, [no atoms decay]. [If an atom decays], the counter tube discharges and…releases a hammer which shatters a small flask of hydrocyanic acid."

And if the atom doesn't decay, neither does the fe-lyin'. So--is the silly fe-lyin' alive or dead? Who knows? Who cares? Ya' never saw me…can't prove it…wasn't my idea to stick the dumb fe-lyin' in a box full of radioactive particles 'til it kicks off.

Oh…yeah…I had a point here. Sorry. Got excited thinkin' of one less fe-lyin' in the world. Anyway, that story is how Schrodinger tried to explain quantum physics. (Have to look into that if it involves disposin' of fe-lyings.) He says it's how to transform stuff in the atomic domain (waaay too small to see) into somethin' that can "…be resolved by direct observation."

In other words, reality exists when ya' actually see it (or smell it or chew it or…well, you know), not by sittin' around debatin' over what it might be. Or: "That prevents us from so naively accepting as valid a "blurred model" for representing reality."

Okay, the way I got this figured, the lefties are staring at their "blurred model" of reality--the outside of the steel chamber--and inside the fe-lying may or may not be dead. Now they sure as hell don't intend to open the box to find out which is which 'cause they know real reality starts when you look at real evidence. And when they do that… Well, I don't know what, but I'd guess a few explodin' heads might be litterin' the landscape.

Besides, they're enjoyin' their hatefest so much they'll never admit the cat's already out of the bag.

Whew! I gotta' stop hangin' around that Mr. Peabody.

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posted by Harrison at 1:35 AM

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So typical.

"A missing cat turned up 30 miles away - after climbing in a limo.

"Spunki, two, jumped in the motor which had been hired out by neighbours for a hen night reports The Sun. Driver Paul Vaughn found the cat in the back at Lydney, Gloucester, and it took him a week to trace her owner in Bristol.

"Owner Lydia Crocker said: "She's never done any thing like this."

Excuses, excuses. Fe-lyings' human puppets are always offerin' excuses. Spunki is just another fe-lying pretendin' to be 'plain folk' while its flunky spouts the official talking points to the MSM!

In other news (a bit late), another Demo-cat fighter has been added to the White House staff:

"President Bush marked Laura Bush's birthday Thursday by announcing he would give her a Scottish terrier puppy that is a relative of the current first dog, Barney.
Miss Beazley, as the first lady and twins Barbara and Jenna have already named the pup, was born October 28. She is due to arrive just before Christmas."

Barney and Miss Beazley. There's a book in there somewhere.

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posted by Harrison at 9:12 PM

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Reeeeaaall bad.

Now Tom Daschle bitin' the dust was a pretty embarrassin', but this story shows how far the "Donks" have fallen. They finished third in a three-man…ah…person…ah…being mayoral race in KY--behind a black lab and a brittney spaniel.

"At least one race in the Tri-State was easy to call. In the tiny town of Rabbit Hash [KY], Junior the black lab was voted in as mayor by some 5,000 votes. Rudy the brittney spaniel came in a close second and Higgins the donkey third. About 8,000 ballots were cast in Rabbit Hash on Election Day." [Emphasis mine]

Dug up at Drew Curtis' Fark.

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posted by Harrison at 11:22 PM

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Oh…yeah…so was President Bush.

Terriers rule!

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posted by Harrison at 12:49 PM

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The Intimidator

Yeah! That's me! I'm bad.


Twenty dangerous pounds of terrier intimidation.

Wouldn't let me near the polls. According the person AHM asked, dogs make "some people" (read Demo-cats) nervous.

Guess they're right, though. After she was at the polls, AHM and me got in the car to drive around checkin' other places. The Demo-cats in this part of VA have teens standin' on streetcorners with "Don't Forget to Vote Today" pasted to the top of "Kerry-Edwards" signs. We stopped at a light to ask one kid how much they're gettin' paid, and I leaned out the window. Kid damn near fell into the shrubbery. So we asked another at the next corner--on AHM's side of the car. They're gettin' $75 bucks each! Hrumph! I would have done it (without the K/E sign, 'natch) for $50.

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posted by Harrison at 5:14 PM

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