Stuff in my car theatre
Sunday, I went with Soylent Ape to his parents’ lakehouse.
I hate the outdoors. It’s filthy, smelly, and the bandwidth sucks. While everyone was wondering around in the sun like retarded cavemen, I made art.
I’ve never actually seen the movie portrayed. Somehow, I think that adds to the charm. Anyone who can guess the movie doesn’t get a slap in the face.
Ration Reality Comics: Feel The Love
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Things that are difficult to say when drunk
It’s a FWD. I hate FWD’s. I never read anything I suspect may be a FWD.
But damnit, this one is fucking hilarious.
THINGS THAT ARE DIFFICULT TO SAY WHEN DRUNK:
1. Innovative
2. Preliminary
3. Proliferation
4. Cinnamon
THINGS THAT ARE VERY DIFFICULT TO SAY WHEN DRUNK:
1. Specificity
2. Anti-constitutionalistically
3. Passive-aggressive disorder
4. Transubstantiate
THINGS THAT ARE DOWNRIGHT IMPOSSIBLE TO SAY WHEN DRUNK:
1. Thanks, but I don’t want to have sex.
2. Nope, no more booze for me.
3. Sorry, but you’re not really my type.
4. Taco Bell? No thanks, I’m not hungry.
5. Good evening, officer. Isn’t it lovely out tonight?
6. Oh, I couldn’t. No one wants to hear me sing karaoke.
7. I’m not interested in fighting you.
8. Thank you, but I won’t make any attempt to dance, I have no coordination. I’d hate to look like a fool.
9. Where is the nearest toilet? I refuse to vomit in the street.
10. I must be going home now as I have work in the morning.
Sacrilege Sunday!
Sacrilege
(Latin sacrilegium, robbing a temple, from sacer, sacred, and legere, to purloin.)
Sacrilege is in general the violation or injurious treatment of a sacred object. In a less proper sense any transgression against the virtue of religion would be a sacrilege.
Theologians are substantially agreed in regarding as sacred that and that only which by a public rite and by Divine or ecclesiastical institution has been dedicated to the worship of God. The point is that the public authority must intervene; private initiative, no matter how ardent in devotion or praiseworthy in motive, does not suffice. Attributing a sacred character to a thing is a juridical act, and as such is a function of the governing power of the Church.
It is customary to enumerate three kinds of sacrilege: personal, local, and real. St. Thomas teaches (Summa, II-II, Q., xcix) that a different sort of holiness attaches to persons, places, and things. Hence the irreverence offered to any one of them is specifically distinct from that which is exhibited to the others. Suarez (De Religione, tr. iii, 1-3) does not seem to think the division very logical, but accepts it as being in accord with the canons.
-The Catholic Encyclopedia
Ok, so Sundays are generally going to be known around here as ‘Sacrilege Sunday,’ and it’s where I’ll get to hop up on my soapbox and proclaim heresy. You may find, on occasion, a kernel of seriousness deep, deep at the nougaty center.
In the beginning, there was DOS. And it was difficult to use. Idiot-proof, one might almost say, because it was, well, proof against idiots But the damn companies, in their quest for bigger profits, have made computers easier to use and so now we have idiots worldwide, against whom the computer is no longer proof, spewing stupidity all over teh intarwehbs. All too many of these idiots are the ultra-religious. (more…)
You Can’t Make This Shit Up
“Ooh, Baby, baby, it’s a wild world“, sang FM lite-rocker Cat Stevens 35 years ago. While those with better tastes were probably listening to Steely Dan or even Bad Company at the time, it goes without saying that the lyric still rings true — especially in light of the fact that the unassuming Stevens is now a Muslim whose (alleged) associations with the radical Hamas organization has left him on the Federal no-fly list.
With the words of Mr Yusuf Islam fresh in our minds, let’s ponder some incidents that highlight just how wild this world is:
Prostitution Solution
After some heated discussions in the opium smoke-filled backrooms of Ration Reality Inc., it was determined that I should solicit some prostitutes, “test drive them” and return to the nest report in hand. I was given a 10 gallon water jug filled with Bagel and Ape’s loose change from the last 5 years (how was it not spent on crack? Ah, sweet, sweet crack…) and promised bail money if I was picked up by the PO-lease. I am carless at the moment so I borrowed my Uncle’s banana custard colored ’82 Cadillac El Dorado, you know, to blend in.
Ration Reality Comics: How to Choose a College
Hey folks, sorry this one is up late! I got hung up doing some other things this morning, and totally forgot that today was Thursday! Without further ado, here’s the comic!
All right folks, listen up: webcomics are serious friggin’ business. You see that little graphic up above here? As I’m typing this, it says #1762. That means that we are ranked #1762 out of around 9300 webcomics. Last time I posted a strip, we were at 1709. This means that you, the readers, are not clicking enough! I need your help to move us even further up the list. What do I need you to do? Click on this link RIGHT HERE, and then click on the link back to this site. Also, if you’d like, you can sign up for an account there and favorite us. That’s going to help us move up the rankings. It’s easy, and it will take just a few seconds of your precious time. So, go do it. Now. And thanks for your support. [/Gallo]
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Daddy says we is gunna be movie stars!
New comic will be up soon as Jesse drags his sorry ass outta the bed.
Stupid west coast and their inferior time zone!
While you’re waiting, two shiny new lolcat pics I made just for you!
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Ten Gallons of Crazy in a Five Gallon Bucket
The following story comes to us from the pages of Emergency: True Tales from the Nation’s ER’s
I’m really not sure what the unholy fuck to say about it, aside from ‘holy fucking shit, that’s crazy.’ I’m torn between uncontrollable horror and uncontrollable laughter. I mean, wow. This is a big fucking box just chock filled to overflowing with crazy. Does this make me a bad person? Maybe it does. But, in the words of the immortal Bill Hicks (may his black little soul rest in peace), ‘I don’t mean to sound bitter, cold, or cruel. But I am, so that’s how it comes out.’
In an upper-income community hospital Emergency Department, a fifty-year-old matron complained of mild abdominal pain and fever. The patient was on an antidepressant, but she had no other significant medical history. Her physical exam was unremarkable. Lab tests did little to further the diagnosis. I decided to proceed with a pelvic exam. A female nurse set the patient up in the GYN room.
As I approached the room, the nurse shook her head in disbelief suggesting we were getting close to a diagnosis. The pelvic exam revealed that the patient’s labia were pinned together with three large, rusty safety pins.
The patient apparently had a long psychiatric history, including obsessive behavior focused on her inability to bear children. Two weeks earlier, the patient had purchased a small chicken at the market and had inserted it, piece by piece, into her vagina. She had pinned her labia to keep the chicken in place and was waiting for it to develop into a baby.
The patient was subsequently admitted to the psych unit, but not before she was washed out with two liters of Betadine and the entire chicken was accounted for.
Oh my fucking god. What a world we live in.
Hat tip to Tony at Archaeoblog.
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Hair ‘em, Scare ‘em
Recently, my household got a broadband connection. Realizing what I was now capable of, I immediately went to YouTube, since anything ever captured in a video format is accessible there I watched some long-forgotten music videos from my adolescence.
Seeing all the flashy spandex-clad bands awakened a former obsession of mine: rating and armchair quarterbacking lead guitarists from the “hair metal” era. So… here’s a few of my favorite hair raising guitar-slingers from the era of scarves, spandex and neon orange Kramers (in no particular order) and why they rule the VH-1 Classic wasteland. You should tell me some of your faves, why you like them because, after 20 years, I’m sure I’ve missed someone.
