'APPY BASTILLE DAY!

Today for breakfast I made French roast coffee with a French press and French toast using French bread, for lunch I had French fries and French onion soup, for dinner I had a French dip with French dressing, and for dessert I had French vanilla ice cream with French's mustard.

Then I played the French horn, watched "The French Connection", visited French Lick and the French Quarter, got a French kiss from a French maid, put on a French tickler and did the French Mistake.

NOT THAT I REALLY GIVE 23 SHITS, BUT...

As a Buckeye and Buckeye fan, I would have liked to see Lebron James go to Ohio State. Wouldn't that have thrown everyone for a loop?

But again, I couldn't care less. I more or less gave up on the NBA after Detroit's "Bad Boys" era ended.

I did, however, sing "The Heat Is On" at karaoke right after the announcement was made. Never let it be said I'm not topical.

Now to sit back and watch the rioting begin in Cleveland. They'll probably set that river on fire again!

ANAGRAM OF THE MONTH: MAHUT-ISNER = HUMANS TIRE

But when it comes to long sporting contests, Mahut vs. Isner was nothing compared to Roberts vs. Huron:

BREAKING NEWS!

MR. COLOREDWELL: "I'M OUT!"

Well, okay, that's not exactly breaking news, but...

Duxoop here, with an important message for all my loyal, regular readers (yeah right, excuse me for a moment while I laugh at my own delusion).

So, yeah, just in case there's anyone out there who's actually been reading this blog on a regular basis, you'll notice that all of Mr. Coloredwell's posts about the World Cup have been deleted, upon his request.

Frankly, we shouldn't have started in the first place. We almost cancelled the whole thing during the first weekend due to all those retarded vuvuzela-blowing douchebags.

The deal should have been, either the vuvuzelas go, or we go. The deal ended up being, if Argentina goes, we go. The Argentinians (and their beautiful uniforms) were eliminated today, thus Mr. C, in tears, asked me to pull the plug, and I obliged.

Shame on FIFA for not banning vuvuzelas. They have completely ruined the entire tournament. I am not watching another second, and neither is Mr. C. We must take a stand. And shame on South Africa and their soccer fans, for the worst sound created by humans since disco!

Hopefully come 2014 in Brazil, intelligence will somehow prevail and vuvuzelas will be banned. Then we'll try all of this again.

Also it is my sincere hope that Mr. Coloredwell will gracious agree to do a weekly feature here on the Pond when football season starts. If so, he will be covering college football froom the get-go, but he would of course join me in boycotting the NFL season for the duration of Ben Roethlisberger's undeserved suspension.

One last message from Mr. C.: "See you in September!"

"PARKAY..."

I was quite amused to learn Big Butter Jesus was hit by lightning and destroyed. Good riddance! But what really shocked me was when I learned that it was actually made of styrofoam and fiberglass, etc.

I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S NOT BUTTER!

SEPARATED AT BIRTH, THROWBACK EDITION

Due to my previous post, I thought I'd re-post a similar one I did a few years ago:

Marilyn Manson and Chief Blue Meanie

SEPARATED AT BIRTH:

Sen. Robert Byrd (D-WV) and Yoda

HERE'S TO YOUR FUCK, FRANK...


DENNIS HOPPER
1936-2010

THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE

After hearing Buzz Kilman talk about it on the Steve Dahl podcast last week, I had to make the hour-long drive to the Main Art Theatre in Royal Oak (near Detroit) to see this movie. It was well worth the drive. This film is gloriously fucked-up! Those of you with weak constitutions will probably want to take a pass on it. (Wusses!)

Those of you who can handle it, just take your sense of humor in with you and keep in mind it's just a movie, it's not really happening. Mind you I'm not really a horror movie enthusiast, but there are quality kills here, and pity the poor girl who ended up being the 'middle piece' of the 3-person centipede. Oh, the fresh hell that is visited upon her by the end! But that's what you get for trying to escape.

One guy sitting near me had apparently seen it already, and brought 5 of his friends to see it. During the particularly disturbing "Feed her! Feed her!" scene, which isn't even really graphic, all it took was the mere IMPLICATION of what was happening to send at least 3 of this guy's friends running out of the theatre! I am not kidding. He high-fived me and everyone else within reach. It was an awesome moment.

A sequel is due next year, with a 12-person centipede! I can't wait. In the meantime, I strongly recommend you make the trip (however far) to GO SEE THIS MOVIE. Enjoy your popcorn. And keep the empty bag handy when you're finished!

FLAVOR FLAV

Let me ask you a couple of questions. And by you I mean those of you who eat ramen noodles. And by that I mean those of you who prepare them the same way I do, since these questions may not apply otherwise. (Por ejemplo, I don't of anyone who eats them in soup form.) I crush the block of noodles before cooking, I drain them and eat them dry, adding the full flavor packet plus a little butter (and by butter I mean any butter-like substance) to help distribute the flavor evenly.

So the first question is, do you experience the same fleeting moment I do in the middle of preparing/eating ramen, where the word "MAGGOTS" flashes in your brain? It's very brief, it passes, and you continue. But let's all face the hard truth here. At some point, ramen resembles maggots. Usually right after you drain them. Frankly, it's the slimy quality that really sells it IMHO. (Of course many of you may not have had the same experience I had many years ago when I had a neighbor who didn't keep house too well and I offered to wash the heap of dirty dishes in their long-abandoned sink and at a certain point I picked up one dish and saw a tiny little party going on in the dish underneath and ran away screaming.)



Now the second and more important question I have about ramen noodles (and I ask for your feedback on this one especially at ducksoup2009@yahoo.com) is this:

Can you tell the different flavors apart?

I can't. I've tried just about every flavor there is (well, not mushroom, that would be disgusting) and I simply cannot discern any diff. Am I the only one? But what do you expect for 20 cents? Whatever profit Maruchan is making is clearly not going into flavor development. They just make them varying shades of brown or yellow and screw any further effort.

Their role model on this point? Two words. Froot Loops.



How many of you were weird kids like me? Well, okay, nobody's as weird as me, but were you at least weird enough to do what I did at least once and go through an entire box of Froot Loops separating the colors so you could then have a bowl of just the orange ones and then a bowl of yellow and then a bowl of red? (And yes, I know there's more colors now, you spoiled little brats, shut up!)

Yeah, you know you did it. You know you got bored one rainy day and segregated your Froot Loops, admit it. Cereal racist!

And could you tell any difference in flavor between the different Froot Loop colors? Neither could I. Oh, sure, Toucan Sam led us to believe we could. That lying son of a cunt. "Orange, lemon, and cherry!"

BULLSHIT!

But I suppose there was a valuable lesson there for all of us. It doesn't matter what color or flavor your flavor packet is, you can help feed people for cheap or just be a slimy maggot. And no matter what color of the rainbow, you can be just as frooty as the next loop.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've been sitting here typing too long. I need to separate my Crunch Berries.

***

PS: Back in the day when TV shows would try to avoid any product placement, and would cover up any brand names, I remember some pretty lame attempts at such. (Like we wouldn't be able to tell it was a can of Pepsi just because they covered up the word "Pepsi" but not the rest of the logo!) By far the lamest attempt I ever saw was on some sitcom in a scene at the breakfast table: A big box of "ROOT OOPS".

OOPS!

THE CURSE OF MISTER ED CONTINUES

UNNECESSARY, UNWARRANTED, AND INEXCUSABLE

CLICK HERE FOR VIDEO

FOUR DEAD IN OHIO



(The poem below is by my dear friend and fellow NWOPC member Terry Lodge)

Looking down from the brusque, black marble memorial
Grave reminder
Of a dark chapter
I'm halfway between Blanket Hill and the valley of
death of May 4, 1970
At an observation post above a field of green
Today dressed up as thousands of war crimes
On May 3, 2006.

It is May
And the semi-shade of the black oak branches
And their celadon new-leaves
Wreath the distant, orderly rows
Of white spring petals
Fallen from the Tree of Death.
Tears water this chiaroscuro of whitewash nestled
Implacably in shadow.
From a distance, a palette worthy of Manet
Choreographed by Rumsfeld,
Or is it Kissinger? Or Gates? The blood is the same color
No matter how far back I look.

These petals will produce no fruit
Nor beauty nor poetry
Neither will they produce
leaves; only leave-takings.

We listen
For some hopeful spring noise
That their blood might have nurtured
Silently, met by silence.

- Terry Lodge, 2006 and 2010

BOLF

I had one of those "Eureka!" moments today at work. I call it "Bolf".

It's a very simple concept, really. It's just bowling, but scored like golf. You bowl 10 frames, or 12 or 18 or whatever, and try to knock down all the pins in as few throws as possible. (A strike would then equal a hole-in-one, and also there would be no open frames, because in each frame you would continue to throw until you knock down all 10 pins.)

Granted, I'm a genius, but I have a hard time believing I am the first person to think of this. A brief search of the internet turned up one instance of golf being scored like bowling (well, sort of), but as far as I can tell, no idea like mine. But then, I have a hard time finding things on the internet, plus, like I say up top, the internet sucks. So if anyone knows of anyone thinking of this before me, so be it. Until then, I will go ahead and take credit for it. Not that it matters, I highly doubt there's any way for me or anyone else to make a dime from it.

Two major questions remain: First, it will require the ability to switch from automatic to manual resetting of the pins, and the willingness of the bowling alley to let you do so, which should not be a problem if you are paying for a certain amount of time on the lanes instead of a certain number of games, like some bowling alleys do for, say, glow bowling nights.

Second, does anyone have a problem with the name "Bolf"? Because I also considered "Bowlf". Or if you like, we could get silly and call it "Beowulf"!

PS: No, THIS is NOT what I'm talking about.

BEST BAND NAMES PLAYING THE TOLEDO AREA THIS WEEK

Grape Smugglers Lite--Friday at Cousino's Steak House
SeeAlice--Friday at Bronze Boar
Sexy Roast Beef--Saturday at Dog House
The Infernal Names--Saturday at Longhorn Saloon, Sunday at Frankie's Inner City
Lame-O--Sunday at Frankie's Inner City
Hating Hollywood--Wednesday at Pub 51
Beaver Fever with the Village Idiot All-Stars--Wednesday at Village Idiot

BRACE YOURSELF FOR...


by Bruce Maiman, Populist Examiner, April 25, 2010

In a science experiment that will surely delight teenage boys the world over, thousands of women have promised to show a little more skin than usual tomorrow.

Following the pronouncement of Iranian cleric Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi that "women who do not dress modestly" cause moral decay that "increases earthquakes," Jenn McCreight created an indignant Facebook group:

"I have a modest proposal," she wrote. "Sedighi claims that not dressing modestly causes earthquakes. If so, we should be able to test this claim scientifically ... Time for a Boobquake."

McCreight called on women to wear their skimpiest tops ("or short shorts, if that's your preferred form of immodesty") on Monday. If the combined power of all that exposed female flesh doesn't trigger some teeth-rattling earthquakes, Sedighi will have been proven wrong!

Almost as amusing as the idea of Boobquake is that its creator didn't intend for it to be an actual event. McCreight, a self-described "liberal, geeky, nerdy, scientific, perverted atheist feminist," wrote a jokey blog entry about "Boobquake" and forgot about it. Then the Internet got a hold of it. "Holy crap," she wrote two days (and 96,000 Facebook fans) later. "To be honest, it started as silly joke that I hurriedly fired off since I was about to miss the beginning of House."

"House" will have to wait for McCreight's attention; she's busy going on the radio, arranging interviews for the BBC, and calming the concerns of worried scientists.

It's the Cleric vs the Cleavage, 2010! The Boob vs the Boobs! (Order now!)

Don't worry," she says. "I fully plan on doing some statistics after the event."

LIFE IS BETTER...OR AT LEAST IT WOULD BE...

...if medical science would catch up with Buckeye Cable's remote control exchange policy. If your remote starts going bad on you, you can take it in and swap it out for a new one, no questions asked. I hope I live to see the day when I can do the same with my body! "This thing has gone to shit, can I get a new one?" "Sure, here you go. Have a nice day."

YOU CAN'T GET *THAT* COFFEE AT STARBUCKS!

Perhaps some of you guys of a certain generation remember being a little boy on a rainy day with nothing better to do, nosing around the house, going through drawers and cabinets, finding what were ordinary household objects, and wondering what were all these strange things that your parents kept stashed around and what purpose might they serve. And then, of course, you used your imagination.

And perhaps while poking around in the bathroom by yourself, you found the "hot water bottle". You know, the one made of the same red rubber as a school gym dodgeball or a plunger. And at some point one of your parents told you not to play with that, but they didn't give you a reason, because back in the day parents didn't have to explain themselves. And so you wondered what the big deal was, because you didn't see what possible harm it could do.



And perhaps in your single-digit-age mind, you thought the "hot water bottle" was like a thermos somehow. Like a canteen. Maybe you were supposed to fill it with hot water and take it with you while camping. Then you'd have hot water for whatever wilderness-related emergency, or just for making coffee or soup the next morning.

And probably, at least once, you filled it with water right there from the bathroom sink (in our house, that was always the best-tasting water) and drank from it. And probably only once, because it had that weird dodgeball taste to it. Still, where's the harm?

And then, years, or even decades, later, right after you're done dealing with yet another stupid asshole, and under your breath you call them a word you've used a thousand times before: "douchebag", a spark ignites in your brain.

"Ohhh yeahhh, THAT'S what that was for...BLEEAAGHHH!!!"

Um...this happened to a friend of mine.

[July 2010 PS: This has the makings of a Jump Smokers parody.]

BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT I'VE EVER GIVEN MYSELF

Denver Broncos throwback socks!

Actually, it's FEBRUARY 36