There's been an update to the "Nick Coleman is a Doo Doo Head" post. Personally, I'm not sure what to make of it, but I figured I should call attention to it all the same.
I think it would be great if I was financially independent. That would probably be pretty sweet.
If you'd like to contribute to the "Ryan Rhodes Financial Independence Foundation," you can mail me a check for the amount of your choosing. Cash would also be accepted.
Other than that, have a great Labor Day weekend! ThunderJournaling will no doubt be light.
Those Google ads up top, asking "Are you funny?," are starting to make me second guess myself.
Poop. Fart. Fart. Poop. Fart. Poop. Poop.
Yep, I still got it!
*cue laugh track*
From the sculptor who brought us Britney Spears giving birth on a bearskin rug, followed by titanically topless Hillary Clinton, he now unveils his latest work of art, a Yahoo.com/s/afp/20060830/od_afp/afpentertainmentusarts_060830194640">so-called bronze cast of Suri Cruise's first poop.
This sculptor, man, he just KNOWS how to get people's attention. He's the John Mark Karr of the modern art world.
Earlier this week, I stopped into a pizza place I'd never been in before. It was a nice pizza place. It was clean, it had video games and, most importantly, it served pizza, which is essential for any good pizza place. If a pizza place doesn't serve pizza, it's just a place.
I ordered a specialty spicy pizza—which, in America, spicy means they throw some jalapenos on the crust that are about as spicy as my day-old boxer shorts (which vary in their spiciness from day to day, admittedly)—and some cheesy bread, and I handed over my trusty debit card to pay for the circular Italian delicacy.
It was at this point that things became interesting. The credit card swiping machine was apparently having problems dialing into the great credit card processing deity in the sky, so the cashier continually swiped and swiped and swiped my card. And I started to sweat.
Here's the deal: I'm very. . . protective. . . of my money, primarily because I have so little of it. I watch over my money like a dragon lording over its horde, except that, instead of a horde, I basically have a couple dollars and some change. So, when I hand over my debit card to a third-party swiper, there's a considerable level of trust being exchanged. Additionally, thanks to countless media reports, I'm keenly aware of the dangers of multiple card swipes: with each swipe, the chances of problems arising increase considerably. Hence my sweating.
Eventually, my card swiped successfully, and I signed off on a $18.70 pizza bill. And it was a good pizza, although I'd hesitate to call it spicy. Generally speaking though, all was right with the world.
Well, the next day, I visited an ATM and conducted a withdrawal. When the receipt was spit out, I noted, with recoiling horror, that I was basically broke, even though I knew that simply couldn't be the case.
As with most instances when I'm confronted with information that simply cannot be true, I consulted the Internet, which always tells me what I want to hear. I called up my credit union account and, to my additional horror, the Internet told me the same thing the ATM receipt told me.
Now frantic, I called my credit union to find out where all my precious money went. The cheerful voice on the other end started reading off a list of my most recent transactions:
Subway: $8.20
Hy-Vee: $25.90
Pizza Place: $1,870
WHAT?! How much?! I mean, it was good pizza, sure, but not TWO GRAND good!
I immediately called the pizza place, and by immediately I mean I couldn't dial the phone fast enough. Smoke curled up from my fingernails from the sheer friction of my frantic dialing. According to the pizza place, they only tallied $300 in credit card sales the day before, so whatever happened didn't happen on their end. I was left with the dreadful thought that my $1,870 was possibly gone for good, lost in the credit card processing ether.
I called my credit union again and explained the situation as it now stood, while also asking the cheerful voice on the other end if a $1,870 pizza bill really made any sense at all given the history of my previous transactions. She graciously admitted that it did seem rather peculiar. Thank you, cheerful voice.
In the end, the processing error was rectified, and my $1,870 was transferred back into my account, and I collapsed onto the floor in relief.
But let this be a lesson to you: swipe once and only once, and if you see someone swiping your card more than once, tackle them and punch them in the groin.
Hey, it's what I'd do.
I think there's a case to be made that James Lileks plagiarized me just a teeny, tiny little bit.
Just kidding.
Mostly.
Every Minne
Down in Sota
Liked the State Fair a lot...
But the Nick,
Who lived just North of Sota,
Did NOT!
The Nick hated the State Fair!
The whole State Fair season!
Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be that his head wasn't screwed on quite right.
It could be, perhaps, that he's just not all that bright.
Yes, I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his brain is two sizes too small.
Yup,
We're quite sure the reason,
Is that his brain is just skinny,
So he stood there at the Fair, hating the Minnes,
Staring down from his glasses with a sour, Nick frown
At the warm lighted vendors selling food in their town.
For he knew every Minne at the Minne-Sota State Fair
Was busy now, eating junk food with nary a care.
"And they're riding on rides!" he snarled with a sneer.
"This can't end fast enough! I hate this time of year!"
Then he growled, with his Nick fingers nervously typing,
"I MUST find a way to keep continually griping!"
For, this week, he knew...
...All the Minne girls and Minne boys
Would walk down Dan Patch Avenue with unforgivable poise!
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!
Then the Minnes, young and old, would walk around and just feast.
And they'd feast! And they'd feast!
And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!
They would start on Pronto Pups, and food insanely greased.
Which was something the Nick couldn't stand in the least!
And THEN
They'd do something he liked least of all!
Every Minne down in Minne-Sota, the tall and the small,
Would stand close together, with radio broadcasts a'playing.
And he just couldn't stand what conservatives would be saying!
They'd talk! And they'd talk!
AND they'd TALK! TALK! TALK! TALK!
And the more the Nick thought of the Minne-neocon talk,
The more the Nick thought, "I must stop those war hawks!
"Why for too many years I've put up with it now!
I MUST stop the State Fair radio broadcasts!
...But HOW?"
Then he got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE NICK
GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
"I know just what to do!" The Nick laughed quite out loud.
"I'll make a quick call to my old Air America crowd!"
And he chuckled, and clucked, like he had swallowed some hair!
"I'll plead with Al Franken to put me back on the air!"
"All I need is some talent..."
The Nick looked around.
But since his talent is scarce, there was none to be found.
Did that stop the old Nick...?
No! The Nick simply said,
"If I can't find any talent, I'll fake it instead!"
So he turned on his karaoke machine, and he plugged in a mike.
Radio, he reasoned, is easy, it's like riding a bike.
THEN
He picked up the phone
And got through right away.
Because there are only about three AA callers
On any one given day.
Then the Nick said, "Hello!"
To the person who answered.
And they quickly hung up
Because Nick's radio cancer.
Undeterred, the Nick, he hatched a new plan.
He'd appeal to his reader, his single solitary fan.
Together with Eva Young, they'd storm the fairgrounds.
And fill up the airwaves with their own nonsensical sounds.
Strapping his karaoke machine to his back, and with Eva in tow,
Nick was determined to spread his cynical glow.
"I'm nobody's monkey!" crowed Nick to no one.
"And I forgot 40 years ago what it means to have fun!"
Once at the State Fair, the Nick turned on his karaoke machine,
And he proceeded to shriek, not unlike Howard Dean.
"Bloggers are evil!" the Nick started off.
"The Power Line guys have small manhoods, and so does the Prof!"
The Minne's stared in wonder at the Nick and Eva show,
But they were all in agreement that they pretty much blow.
Yet the Nick wouldn't stop. No, he continued to rant,
Until he was blue in the face, and he started to pant.
"Stop having fun!" gasped the Nick in frustration.
"Don't you know there are poor people being poor in this nation?"
"You should all feel guilty! You should feel as guilty as me!"
"And we should all spread massive guilt, and spread it for free!"
Still Nick continued, despite all the ignoring
And all the shouts from the crowd saying "My God you're boring!"
You see, the Nick was determined to bring every Minne down,
Even though it was obvious he was just a cynical clown.
Finally the Nick started to have an effect,
As the Minnes good times he gradually wrecked.
Yes, those in range of his broadcast found their moods slowly sour,
And the Nick smiled weakly at his joy-killing power.
Thus it was in a radius of about one city block,
The State Fair was stolen by the Nick's boring talk.
Mini doughnuts weren't bought, and rides sat unridden.
And all fun, according to the Nick, was strictly forbidden.
"Success!" thought the Nick, in his tiny small head.
"One eighth of the Fair is basically dead!"
"This is the world as I want it, morose and gloomy."
"Exactly the effect I had on my old college roomy."
Suddenly, the batteries failed in the Nick's karaoke machine,
And the effect on the crowd was like a jolt of caffeine.
The fun crept back in to the Nick's sphere of gloom,
Like a breeze airing out a musty old room.
For the Nick this was the worst thing, the worstest thing ever.
The worstest thing to happen to him in nearly forever.
With his spirit thus broken, the Nick slithered away,
And Eva Young followed, in total dismay.
In the distance the Fair continued its fun celebration,
Much to the Nick's total and complete consternation.
"Next year I'll bring more batteries!" he yelled, shaking his fist.
He then went back home, where he's still sitting there, pissed.
I actually killed Jon-Benet Ramsey.
*waiting for outrageous media swarm*
*still waiting*
COME ON! Where's my outrageous media swarm?!!
I demand an outrageous media swarm!!!!
Stupid unreliable outrageous media swarms. Can't even trust outrageous media swarms to come around when I make a false confession.
*pouts*
Last year, Melissa and I were hooked on the HBO drama, "Rome," which is out on DVD, and I highly recommend. Although, at $100 a pop, I understand those who don't take my recommendation.
This year, our Showtime addiction is the series "Weeds" which, if you get Showtime and you're not watching this show, there's no hope for you. Last night's "masturbation" speech was about the funniest scene I've seen on TV in months. You would never have guessed there were so many "Goo Glove" options available.
