And now, for your enjoyment, I bring you the second installment of the raving lunacy that is the Stewartville Star's classified ad "Miscellaneous" conspiracy theorist/bona fide whacko." If you need further explanation, I suggest you scroll down a few posts.
MACHEYE. No further controls for the black pearl of the censor in the nose. Left elbow consisting of a high frequency known as 22-2-50. Low frequency 22-2-25. Right elbow storage center. By using high or low frequencies in the sun belt they can make optical illusions look real. They will try to fool you any way they can with lies, propaganda, falsifying paperwork and saying they don't know. Mr. President Bush now acts like a big fool. The only thing I can say, he just made a bigger fool out of all of us. Called we the people of the United States darn fool. R-13FCF.
PS The genetic number to the right that you don't want to forget: 22-2-284-green.
So, there you have it folks. A schizophrenic dude who hates W. Keep in mind, he hated Clinton before Bush, from what I can tell. He's so, um, difficult to understand, but he did hate Clinton. I know this because he cornered me once at the Stewartville library, in 1999, well before the election, and told me that the Clinton administration was responsible for some strange infestation in his hair. In his defense, his fingernails were smeared with a white substance, but I'm pretty sure it was dandruff.
I ducked into the local Hardees. And met Jessica Alba (I wish). I mean, Jessica Alba, how cool would that be. Jessical Alba, man, Jessica Alba. Jessica Alba. Jessica Alba.
It's so hard to reason with the insane.
In the English-speaking world, there is a little thing called a double negative, which, when spoken, makes a positive. A classic example of this is the Rolling Stones' "I Can't Get No Satisfaction." Now, what Mick meant to say is that "He can't get any satisfaction." But, by saying "can't get NO satisfaction," he's actually saying that he's absolutely rolling in satisfaction. What he CAN'T get, according to the double-negative grammar rule, is a relief from all that satisfaction. I know, I know. Shut up, Ryan, you're ruining a classic song.
Okay, so let's examine Pink Floyd for a second. "We don't need no education, we don't need no thought control." Applying the same rule, we discover that they DO need education, and they DO need thought control.
Fine, Ryan, whatever. Do you have a fucking point?
Just this. Everywhere you look in newspapers and Web sites, you see the term "anti-war protesters." Do you see where I'm going with this? Sooo, if you're an "anti-war protester," aren't you then, in fact, a war supporter? After all, if your aim is to be a "war protester," you should say "war protester." You're protesting war. You're not protesting anti-war. Or, maybe you are. Confused yet? Good.
My point is, it's sloppy grammar to say "anti-war protester," and I find it astounding that reputable news agencies can't catch themselves making such a common sense mistake, over and over and over again. After all, aren't they supposed to be experts with the written word? Maybe I'm looking too deeply into this.
Maybe I just can't get no satisfaction.
Being that I'm not a nuclear physicist, I've stayed away from the debate regarding the military's use of depleted uranium shells. But, in the back of my mind, I've always pretty much sided with the military. After all, it would have to be a pretty jaded military juggernaught that would specially train skilled tank crews and then load them into a tank chock full of radioactive shells.
But, there are those folks out there, the perpetual whiner known as Riverbend being top amongst them, who maintain that DU shells are responsible for everything from children with three legs to old men with bad breath. Being that she's an Iraqi (supposedly), I can understand why she casts doubt on everything around her, but I just end up thinking that her screeds against DU shells sound suspiciously like the rantings of a soul who has been fed Ba'athist propaganda her whole life. Hell, according to her, the 1991 Gulf War was overkill (note to Riverbend: blame Saddam on that one, sweetheart, I'm sure the Kuwaitis didn't appreciate being raped and killed by your overhyped military machine).
But, getting back to the issue of DU. I don't know all the science, but I DO know that UNDEPLETED uranium-238 isn't all that toxic in its own right. It's present in a lot of things on this planet, including tobacco plants. Sure, it can be refined to be more radioactive, but that's a different story entirely. To hear critics tell it, though, you'd think DU shells are miniature nukes, and that's just plain, well, wrong. Overly simplistic, and wrong.
Like I said, I don't profess to know all the science surrounding DU, but this blogger does, and his take on DU seems a lot more informed and a whole lot more level-headed.
Hat tip: Instapundit.
I don't normally give spam e-mails even a passing nod, but this one had me howling. HOWLING I tell you.
Dear Sir
With great pleasure and regards do please consider our request I got your contact from an email directory and I decided to contact you and seeker your
assistance to help me make claim of my fund. i am from Angola and my father was the rebel learder who was short dead on monday 25, febuary 2002, by the opposing force of Angola Army force, for the pass years now our country have been in political crisis and conflits, between the Unita rebel and government allied forces
Well, gee, how can I NOT take "great pleasure" away from that paragraph? He was short dead? Do the midgets of the world know of this life-threatening affliction?
PLEASE TAKE A LOOK AT THIS WEB PAGE FOR IT SAYS IT ALL.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/hi/english/world/africa/newsid_1839000/1839252.stm
I am living hear in the Netherland as asylum seeker and my family are in Gabon. Before the death of my father he has disclosed to me about fund he had deposited in a security company hear in Holland The total amount of which happened to be 32 million USDollars. The ducument covering the consignment fund was handed over to me by my father before his death,i carefully search and found the security company where i confirmed that the consignment were deposited in their security vauit in Holland.As the next of king to the depositor,the security company has accepted to release the consignment.
Well, he can't spell for shit, but he sure can concoct a whopper of a tale. Best line: "which happened to be 32 million USDollars." Well, if it just HAPPENED to be that much, I'll bite.
I am seeking your assistance because, my father has declared the record With security company stating that his foreign partner shall be the authorised person to make claim on this consignment because of his position in the goverment on which no name was giving by my late father as his foreign partner to this effect,i request to make you the beneficiary of this consignment.for your assistance,i am ready to give you 15 percent, from the the total fund.
Oh, happy, joyful, day! How lucky I am to be singled out for this wondrous financial windfall! I'll be rich, I tell you! Rich! My take in the whole deal will just HAPPEN to be $4.8 million!
Note this transaction is 100% risk free and of mutul benefit to both of us.In this situation every process to completely move this fund may exceed for 7 working days,with your co-operation to assist me and my family.
Well, it's a good thing he pointed out this is a risk-free endeavor. I was getting kind of suspicious there for a second. But, relax Ryan. All is kosher.
Dear friend include your phone,fax number address for easier communication and to notify the security company,you are the beneficiary who will make claims of the fund i will be very grateful to hear from you as soon as possible to know how to proceed.
Well, friend, let's proceed thusly. I will extend my middle finger, tell you to kindly fuck off, maybe brush up on your English writing proficiency, and then perhaps you can go to hell. Let's proceed like that, shall we? Please contact me if you have any questions on this process.
First off, don't ask me what's wrong with the comment engine. I don't know what's wrong with the comment engine. I will address the problem later, maybe, I don't know. In the meantime, e-mail me any comments should they be so important that they require saying. I apologize for any inconvienience. Actually, I don't.
Melissa and I went to the Minnesota State Fair Friday eveing, along with my friend, Marc, and Mel's friend, Alyssa, who we're trying to hook up so Marc can extricate himself from the nightmarish bitch known as Kelli and enjoy a somewhat normal relationship for a change. But, my, how I did just ramble on.
I was new to the Fair, having never attended the annual gathering. And, all I can say is, holy shit, what a massive celebration that is. I don't know if Friday night was some sort of fluke or what, but the fairgrounds, which take up many, many city blocks, were packed. We stood on a slight hill for a little while, watching an absolute sea of people below us. I haven't seen crowds like that since my days living in Tokyo when I would watch the phenomenon of street-crossing hordes in areas such as Roppongi and Shibuya. It was sort of exhilirating, in a way.
I had purposely avoided food all day in order to gorge myself on fair food, and my first stop was a mini doughnut stand. I followed that up with a bratwurst, and I followed that up with a pronto pup, and I followed that up with even more mini doughnuts, and I followed that up with the most God-awful taco thingee that very nearly rotted out my innards. And to think I actually paid for all of that ($4 for a bratwurst, for crying out loud). Oh, I also had a bite of Melissa's crepe thingee, which had a texture not unlike human flesh, and some cheese curds. I am soooooo going to two hours of hapkido tonight, which will probably only work off the pronto pup and maybe one bag of mini doughnuts.
After the fair, we all went to Ol' Mexico for some drinkee goodness, and then Marc disappointed Mel and I by being a complete and total bonehead by not asking Alyssa for her number, or even angling in for a goodnight kiss, even though it had been their THIRD evening out together, and even though Alyssa practically had a buzzing neon sign on her forehead flashing "Interested!!" Marc's excuse? Well, he really didn't have one. He's totally into Alyssa, and he practically suffered a stress-related coronary getting ready for the date, but it all boils down to a demented shyness on his part, combined with a total inability to read obvious signs. Hell, Alyssa could have stripped naked and whispered "take me now," and Marc would have asked "Sure, where do you want to go?"
Saturday was the most decadent day in recent memory. Melissa and I stirred awake at about 11 a.m. She got up for a little while before sliding back into bed, initiating a fantastic bout of sex. Then we fell asleep until 2 p.m., waking up only for another romp. Then we went back to sleep until 5 p.m., waking up for, well, you know. We didn't officially get out of bed until 6:30 p.m., at which point we took a stroll to the local Rainbow Foods to buy ingredients for the meal I had in mind that would center around a batch of Japanese curry I liberated from my parents' kitchen awhile back. We also stopped at the local MGM liquor store for a complementing bottle of merlot. Back at the apartment, I cooked the main curry sauce, which was probably one of my most successful attempts EVER. I put Melissa in charge of the rice, and she did a fantastic job as well. Following the meal, we watched a little too much Trading Spaces, and then wrapped up the evening by sexing it up on her coffee table. It was the most lazy, perfect day we could have ever hoped for.
Sunday morning there was a knock at the door. We didn't answer, but I shuffled over to the door to retrieve the note slipped underneath. It was from the caretaker telling Mel to call the landlord. Turns out, the woman living below Mel complained bitterly about the noise over the previous two evenings. Noise? Oh. Right. Coffee table sex. Gotcha. Melissa apologized profusely and then hung up. Then, we engaged in, well, you know. Around that time, we heard a cacophony of noise erupting outside: sirens of every type screamed down the street, and I knew something rather substantial must have happened not too far away. In fact, this happened. Oh well, we were safe and sound. Once again, we lazily lounged about the apartment until 4 p.m., at which time we finally decided to get off our arses and go rollerblading. For three hours. I couldn't WAIT to get those things off my feet. Then, it was off to Ol' Mexico for dinner, trivia and drinks. Our night concluded at about 11 p.m. Despite all the sleep over the two previous days, we were strangely pooped. Must have been the rollerblading.
Monday, Labor Day, we slept until noon. Honestly, we slept so much over the three day weekend, I think we almost entered another dimension. We lounged around the apartment for most of the day and, well, you know. At 5 p.m., we drove to Lake Calhoun, where we took a leisurely stroll along the shore and soaked in the waning summer odors and felt the tickle of encroaching fall in the air. It's almost imperceptible, but there's a cool tinge to the air, and the angle of the shadows as the sun descends hints at the planetary tilt of the earth on its axis, rocking us ever so gradually towards winter. Taken together, autumn can be felt in a real, tangible way, and it's a little bit depressing, while at the same time it holds promise for holidays and little enjoyments of the darker, colder seasons.
A little after 7 p.m., I kissed Melissa goodbye and started the hour long journey back to Rochester. It was a strangely surreal drive home as the sun disappeard, with Mars a piercing beacon of red low in the sky in front of me. Summer is over. It really is. Melissa starts school this week, and my weekly visits to her and from her will be drastically curtailed as she works toward her degree and I just, well, work. I'm not complaining, mind you, just reflecting. Once again, it was such a madhouse of a summer, things happened almost too fast to realize that things were happening. I hope that won't be the case always, but I'm pretty sure it will be.
Welcome to September, everyone. Time marches on.
