question of the day
Just a question: Am I the only one who really wants one of Ashton Kutchner's pranks to go horribly wrong so some celebrity hauls off and slams him in the face or, better yet, shoots him?
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November 30, 2003
santa blog update
Ho Ho Holy Shit is in the process of being built today. However, I am having a problem coming up with a graphic to go with the site. Last year, I used the cover art for Silent Night, Deadly Night. I'd like something a little less horrific this year and more funny, but funny in a sick, twisted sort of way. Any ideas, I'll be happy to have them.
For those of you who haven't sent me an email with your desired username yet, do so before the end of today. I'm putting a limit on how many contributors there are - last year's staff gets first bids on names/characters, and then it's first come, first serve after that.
The URL will be the same as last year.
the demise of newspaper comics, or Dagwood beats the crap out of Billy
I haven't bought a newspaper since September of 2001, and then it was only to clip articles about someone I knew. I read the paper online now; I get all the news I need that way and I don't have to wade through ads or ridiculous filler articles about stars getting married/divorced/pregnant/arrested.
I had a method of reading the paper back when I actually had it (Newsday) delivered to my home. I would read the entire sports section, flip the paper over, skim through the news, head for the editorials and then sit back and relish the real treat. Ah, the comics section.
Remember when the comics section brought daily delights? At its heyday, you could get Calvin and Hobbes, Far Side and Bloom County in one sitting. Everything else was just extraneous. [note: I refuse to date myself here and write about anything else before then. I did that already, anyhow]
You really don't have to pick up a paper today to know what's happening on the comics page. In fact, I will boldly predict what today's full-paneled, full-colored strips will bring: Cathy goes on a diet! Garfield eats Lasagna! Jeffy says something precious! Dagwood makes a sandwich and/or takes a nap!
Where's the fresh jokes? Where is the satirical commentary on modern life? Is life in comic strips really that predictable? I long for the days of Spaceman Ziff, talking cows and my favorite penguin. Yes, I know the penguin is back. It's just not the same anymore.
I imagine a world where all current comic strip characters live. Their daily lives are much like the lives they play out in the newspaper each day. Here comes Billy, running zig-zag through the neighborhood just to fetch his dad the paper, which was right on his front step all along! Ah, but next door neighbor Dagwood has had quite enough of this nonsense and runs after Billy, knocks him down and beats him with a Subway 12 incher. Cathy comes running out of her house to see what's going on and as Dagwood is mercilessly rubbing Billy's face in the dirt, Cathy gives in to her cravings and eats the Subway sandwich that Dagwood dropped. Uh, oh! Here comes the mom from For Better or Worse! She's is going to give them quite a lesson in how to peacefully mediate a fight and then they'll all head to the retirement home down the block to visit Annie and Broom Hilda and Brenda Starr, and Annie still looks like she's ten even though she has to be about 60 by now! And they would all be entertained with a fantastic donut eating contest between Garfield and Cathy, and later on Momma will find Cathy puking her guts out and she'll realize what the rest of the world figured out long ago; Cathy has an eating disorder, most likely brought on by stress from dealing with both her overbearing mother and her passive aggressive boyfriend.
Of course, if I drew that comic land one day, it would end badly. I suppose some giant, drooling alien who goes by the name of Calvin and looks somewhat like a dinosaur would eventually stomp through town, crushing every last cliched character to death. Free at last. Ding Dong, Ziggy and his animals are dead.
I long for the days when comics weren't so treacly and warm and fuzzy. I don't want to see Grandpa's spirit hanging over Jeffy's shoulder, making sure he doesn't get hurt. If I wanted something like that, I would just start a Precious Moments collection. I want to see more strips where moms tell their sons to go play chicken with a train. I want to see more surreal silliness.
One can only live so long on a steady diet of shopping and lasagna before they give up and close the paper. Sure, there are still a few comics I find interesting, but I can just click and read and not have to open the paper funny page to find Dick Tracy still staring up at me as if he was still relevant.
In my comic world, Dick Tracy would be retired by now, living in a one bedroom apartment where he spends his day cursing at Matlock on the television while resting another can of Miller Lite on his beer belly. Every once in a while, Brenda Starr would stop over for a visit, but things would always turn ugly when Dick reminds Brenda that she hasn't aged well at all.
Not many of them have aged well, actually. And the ones that did packed up and left the neighborhood a long time ago. Guess you gotta know when to fold 'em.
November 29, 2003
hostile takeovers and colin farrell's eyebrows
My, but it was quiet around here today.
A few random thoughts, just because it feels weird to have only blogged twice on a Saturday
We just watched The Recruit. I'll save you the trouble with this two word review: Cliches. Predictable. Yes, it was predictable right down to the requisite Al Pacino over-acting monologue towards the end. Colin Farrell's eyebrows should get a best supporing nod in the Oscars this year, though.
I recently discovered the new map of the Commonwealth of the Blogosphere States. Sure, I may only be a small city now, but as soon as I make the motion to secede, I plan on taking over Reynoldssia. If any of my neighboring cities wants to join me in a revolution, I'm right over here, playing Risk to hone my takeover skills.
As per Jeff Jarvis: Michele. One L.
But you knew that. Right?
Back to online shopping. Sure beats getting trampled.
buy, buy, buy
Looks like Buy Nothing Day didn't exactly pan out.
Wal-Mart Stores Inc. said that sales at its U.S. stores grew 6.3 percent to a record $1.52 billion on the day after Thanksgiving, up from $1.43 billion on the same day a year earlier.
And:
Total holiday sales are expected to be up 5.7 percent to $217.4 billion from last year, reports the National Retail Federation in Washington, D.C.
I did my part. I dropped a few hundred dollars at Amazon, which has swallowed so many retailers it is now just like an bloated shopping mall, except there's no parking problems and I didn't have to kill anyone.
"People are buying bigger ticket items," said Alexandra Karcev, public relations director at Bloomingdales in Garden City. "Times are good now. Consumer confidence is better, the economy is better, people are not waiting, they are ready to buy now."
It's the economy, stupid!
Oh, if you want to spread some Christmas cheer, or if you just want to see what your fellow man is capable of (and I mean man as in mankind, as in encompassing men and women, or womyn to those of you who are offended by my colloquial use of the word man), go check out the wishlist for Penny-Arcade's gift drive for the Seattle Children's Hospital. Click on see purchased items. People didn't just buy little toys and trinkets for these kids; they also bought the big ticket items like Game Cubes and Playstations, and they bought four or five or six of each item. Sometimes, humanity makes you smile.
I also bought myself a Christmas present from my own wishlist. I hope I didn't break any code of conduct there.
So, to recap: Spending good. Not spending bad. Spending on others good. Spending on me, even better.
I wanna see you out that door baby - buy buy buy.
and on the second day of the holiday season, delerium sets in
Hey, it's a Saturday of a holiday weekend. Were you expecting in depth analysis of the Mid East crisis? Hah. Do you know what a steady diet of candied yams, mashed potatoes and stuffing does to one's thinking process? Throw in about ten glasses of a dark rum/cream soda concoction and several heaping helpings of blueberry cream pie slathered in Red-Whip, and you can see that I'm just waiting for the inevitable coma. And it's not over yet. I still have several unfinished pies sitting in the kitchen. Apple and pumpkin and some kind of berry thing that I thought was blueberry but turns out to have raspberries and strawberries in it. I'm thinking of just shoving everything into a blender - leftover turkey, gravy and potatoes included - giving it a few whirls on the puree mode, and making a Thanksgiving Shake. It's nutritious, delicious and has all your dietary needs. That is, if your dietary needs include a shovleful of fat, lard, starch, carbs and fruit covered in fifteen different kinds of sugar.
So we are experiencing the usual Saturday after Thanksgiving Christmas Explosion here. It's really not until the leftovers are tossed and the stomach ache subsides that people start to realize, holy shit, it's the Christmas season! Everyone runs to their garage to break out the decorative lights and huge, blow-up lawn figures, all with that Christmas theme, like Homer Simpson with a Duff beer in his hand or Tigger with a scarf wrapped around his neck and you think, whatever happened to the three wise men and Frosty? Oh, we know what happened to Frosty. We found him on the lawn last year, polishing the icicle, so to speak. But amid all the Frostys and wise men and baby Jesuses (Jesi?) tethered to every lawn with ropes and pegs and the sweat of aging men who hate Christmas but love to annoy their neighbors with gaudy displays of brilliant lights, there's always those houses with the eight foot statue of Jesus on the cross, all thorns and pained expression, right next to the lighted, spinning figure of Santa on ice skates, chasing a petite, female elf who is wearing the barest of tiny little skirts.
Where was I? Yes, the Christmas season. Sure, you can posture as much as you want with your forever looping cassette tape of pious carols and your hand-drawn cards wishing peace unto all mankind and creatures, but you know that when no one is looking, you are simultaneously on the phone with Master Card begging for a credit limit raise and scouring the internet looking for that very specific lamp that your mother wanted because, damn it, you are going to find it before your sister does so mom can profously thank you on Christmas and not your bitch of a sister who always does everything just right.
Oh yes, I am talking about myself as well, not just pointing the finger at you. I'll climb up into the attic today and dig around for the fake Christmas tree and the box of ornaments that seems to get smaller every year because always, at some point right after Christmas Day, I get pissed off at everyone and start flinging fragile, glittery balls around the house, or I get disgusted with the gross indulgence of the season and start throwing out decorations, promising to "take it down a level" the next year. And I'll break out in hives from putting the synthetic tree together but I won't dare let my husband or kids help because it has to be done right, and I shove them off into the next room with a tray of hot chocolate and homemade gingerbread cookies and a few Christmas movies and by the time I'm done with the tree and I'm itching and cursing and sweating, they've taken the tubes of icing and made genitals on the gingerbread men and boobs on the gingerbread girls and they're watching Silent Night, Deadly Night. I retreat to the living room where I proceed to drink a bottle of tequila, no shot glass required, and by 3am I'm prancing around in a Mrs. Claus outfit trying to get my husband to say Ho! Ho! Ho! and telling him I want to ride him like a reindeer. Oh yes, I put the ho in holidays!
And this is all just by December 1st. There's still 24 days to go after that and I swear, there is not enough alcohol in the world to make me enjoy the fortieth chorus of Santa Claus is Coming to Town emitting from my neighbors stereophonic holiday display of lights, sound, action and I swear I just heard fireworks. So I take the big, black Sharpie I was using to tag all the gifts and I march outside and down the block and wow, is someone going to be surprised tomorrow to find a mustache on the Virgin Mary and genital warts on Santa.
Welcome to the holiday season.
November 28, 2003
rambling incoherently: sacrilege, porn and getting in Allah's pants
Twas the night after Thanksgiving and all through the house...
Was the sound of people retching, burping, farting and swearing to never eat again as long as they live.
I see Allah has finally noticed me. Praise be unto his trousers.
I didn't get much shopping done today but I did buy wrapping paper. This is for the aunt who always makes us sing Happy Birthday, Jesus during Christmas Eve dinner.
Oh, anyone who asked to take part in Ho Ho Holy Shit, Volume 2, please email me at santa@asmallvictoryDOTnet and let me know the name of whatever your character will be. Just a warning for those new to HHHS: Don't join if you are easily offended. This is not your child's Santa blog. (Rated X for violence to small woodland creatures and children's icons, and pornography involving elves and those same woodland creatures)
I leave you with this thought that has been on my mind all day: Bukkake Specialist or Soup Man - are these careers something to aspire to? Do they have colleges that specialize in these areas? Do you get a degree in Bukkake with a minor in Pretending You Are Enjoying It? And what do the Soup Men have to do to prepare for a day at the office? Is Japan really as wild as Mainichi makes it out to be? I admit that most of my ideas about present day Japan come from anime. I half expect to go there some day and find horny tentacle creatures and giant automatons.
I suspect I've had way too much rum and not nearly enough sleep in the past two days.
peace or pie?
It appears that I am the only living human being in the courthouse (besides courtroom personnel). I also appear to be one of the only living people in blogland.
So, I could either sit here and listen to the clacking of my typewriter echo off of the steel bars of the holding cell in the next room, or I could go home and listen to whining of my children echo off of the pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink.
Here, I have peace and quiet. But home, I have leftover pie. Lots of pie.
What to do, what to do. Peace or pie?
Update: Pie was good. Couch was better.
november 26, 1998
[skip this post if you have a weak gag reflex]
It was five years ago this week that I met the man who would become my husband.
It was five years ago this week that the rest of my life began.
Til the end of the world, baby.
Come sail your ships around me
And burn your bridges down
We make a little history, baby
Every time you come around
Come loose your dogs upon me
And let your hair hang down
You are a little mystery to me
Every time you come around
We talk about it all night long
We define our moral ground
But when I crawl into your arms
Everything comes tumbling down
Come sail your ships around me
And burn your bridges down
We make a little history, baby
Every time you come around
Got It, Spend it (redux)
[Repeat Alert: This is from last year's Black Friday post. I woke up today thinking it was Sunday for some reason. Realized later that it's Friday. Oops. Have to get to work.]
Today is the official AdBusters Buy Nothing Day. It's a day when all the culture jammers keep their hard earned money in their pockets to send a message to corporate America that overconsumption will kill us all in the end.
Not in my backyard, kiddies. Today is If You Got It, Spend It Day. Hell, even if you don't got it, buy it.
Send a message to the world that we are gathered as one to keep our economy going. Send a message to the buy-nothing supporters that it is about the economy, stupid.
While the culture jammers will be having "swap meets, teach-ins, concerts, street theatre, credit-card cut-ups, postering, potlucks," instead of shopping, particpants of Got It, Spend It Day will be tearing up the aisles in toy stores looking for that Princess Barbie, swapping discount coupons, eating at chain restaurants and creating origami with their mile long store receipts.
While the Ad Busters believe that "Over consumption is mother of all our environmental problems," we believe that under consumption is the mother of all economical problems. While they say "the more you consume, the less you live," we say...umm, right.
Now, we are not suggesting that your run out to your nearsest mall or K-Mart on 
this Black Friday. Anyone who ventures out to a store on this special day has to be insane. No, just sit in front of your computer and click away. Shop through catalogs. Order over the phone. You don't have to leave your house to
participate!
Anyone who is a parent knows what will happen if you hand out gift exemption vouchers to relatives in lieu of exchaning presents. There will be mutinity. Let's face it, our kids aren't Ned Flanders' kids. They won't get excited over an imaginary Christmas.
So buy something today. Buy anything. Just don't buy nothing. Do it For The Childrentm
November 27, 2003
pass the tums, please
Yes, we even had the cranberry that came out of the can with that horrid squishing noise and the lines embedded in the gel.
Note to Eric, who sent me the 80's Game: We had a great time playing that after dinner. My sides still hurt from laughing at my brother-in-law.
Hope everyone's day was great. Mine was, shall we say, filling.
[And if you are bored this evening, you can always go back and read all the stellar advice I gave out yesterday. I just hope everyone who asked for advice realizes that I cannot be held liable if your grandmother does, indeed, go on fire]
"I was just looking for a warm meal somewhere. Thanks for inviting me."
President Bush made a surprise Thanksgiving visit to American troops in Baghdad Thursday, flying secretly to violence-scarred Iraq on a trip tense with concerns about his safety.
It was the first trip ever by an American president to Iraq.
In a ruse staged in the name of security, the White House had put out word that Bush would be spending Thanksgiving at his ranch in Crawford, Texas, with his wife, Laura, his parents and other family members. Even the dinner menu was announced.
Instead, Bush slipped away from his home without notice Wednesday evening and flew to Washington to pick up aides and a handful of reporters sworn to secrecy. Plans called for the trip to be abandoned if word had leaked out in advance.
That is just cool.
UPDATE: I know I shouldn't have looked here, but my curiosity got the best of me. Now, I'm sorry I did. My appetite has been ruined. Meanwhile, I have nothing but praise for Hilary Clinton for spending Thanksgiving in Afghanistan. Couldn't expect the same from the nuts over at DU.
giving thanks
the last of the thanksgiving advice: Martyrs and Porn
I am a deity worshipped by a religious minority. It is not imporant which religion; suffice it to say, it happens to be the one true faith, which is why adherents of other, shittier religions are constantly persecuting us. My question is this: Are my followers and I supposed to sit there tomorrow and eat our turkey complacently while this persecution is occurring? Or should we round up a few buddies and "crash" the Thanksgiving Day parade? Please help!
---Allah
I bet Dear Abby never had Allah write her for advice.
Here's what you should do: You enter a float into the Thanksgiving Day parade. Then you get yourselves a deathmobile and disguise it as a float. Get creative with your deathmobile. Write "Praise Allah" on the hood or take it to a custom van shop and have some aging hippie airbrush a picture of 72 virgins on the side of the car. In fact, you should call it a MartyrMobile. Then, you cover up the MartyrMobile with something cute like a giant cake, except you inscribe the words "Deat to Infidels" on the cake.
I won't tell you how to use this float/death car to enhance your enjoyment of the parade (which I assume would include the death of many infidels), but I do have one word for you: marbles.
What should I use to greet my mixed-race friends? "Fo' shizzle, my nizzle!" and "Alrighty, my whitey!" are too limited.
---Chris
Thanksgiving should be a day when we are all one race, one color, one proud nation of brothers and sisters joining together as a family. The simple way to avoid any hurt feelings is to greet everyone with a generic Hello, my friend who is, for all intents and purposes on this very day, an American. If that is too long you can always use my standard holiday greeting: I hope you brought your own beer, beeyotch!
It seems likely that tomorrow will be a blog and band message board-free day for me. Any advice on how best to cope with the computer cold-turkey on Turkey Day, oh wise goddess of the miniscule triumph?
---MikeR
There's always porn, Mike. Porn never takes a holiday. Grab a box of tissues, a bottle of hand lotion, and settle in for a nice, long day with girls who give a whole new meaning to the phrase "Gobble Gobble!"
Should you spend ALL of your time surfing the Web, playing Medal of Honor and watching the 4-hour extended edition of the Two Towers while your wife prepares the Thanksgiving feast? Or should you reserve some time for reading comics?
---Solonor
Don't worry about the comics, Solonor. There will be plenty of time for that when your wife kicks you out and you are living in a rat-infested motel where the only Medal of Honor is the 1946 Chamber of Commerce certificate hanging up in the front office.
November 26, 2003
my thanksgiving gift you
[I'll continue with the advice dispensing later]
Right now, I have for you a Thanksgiving song and a repeat of last year's Action Figures Caught on Cam: Thanksgiving Edition. (Rated PG for violence towards Battlecat)
First, the song: Clutch - Wishbone [Lyrics here]
Thanksgiving with He-Man
Spiderman: I still don't see why we all have to have Thanksgiving 
together. Superheroes, villians, goth people - it's a recipe for disaster!
Batman: Ha! Remember last year? Mark McGwire's head popped off in that free-for-all.
Boba Fett: Yea, the free-for-all that you started!
Skeletor: Shut up, Fett. You were the one that made us play drinking games. It's your fault.
Madman: Now, now, lets not rehash last year. I say we start this year off with something nice. How about we all go around the table and say what we are thankful for?
Evil Ash: Oh, geez. We all gonna pass hold hands and bow our heads in prayer, too?
Buddy Christ: You got a problem with that, bad ass?
Evil Ash: Sorry, Jesus.
Madman: Ok, Spawn, why don't you start?
Spawn stands up, glass of whiskey in his hand.
Spawn: I'm thankful for that outfit Asuka is wearing today.
Hubba Hubba!
He-Man: Hey! You can't talk about my girlfriend like that!
Spawn (laughing maniacally): Yourgirlfriend? I've been sleeping with her for three weeks!
He-Man: Liar!
Asuka: Umm....
He-Man: NOOOOOO! Say it isn't true!!
Asuka: Ummm....
Spawn: Told ya!
He-Man runs from the room crying
Spiderman: Oh, for Christ's sake!
Buddy Christ: Hey, I had nothing to do with this, man.
Madman: Well, let's wait on dinner a bit until we all calm down. Let's watch some football.
They all gather in the living room to watch the game. Fifteen minutes later, there's a crashing sound. He-Man comes swinging through the window on a rope, his feet aimed for Spawn's head. He swings down on top of Spawn. They tumble to the ground and when Spawn stands up, his cape is ripped in half.
Spawn: You son of a bitch! You mother fucking asshole! You are dead! Do you hear me? DEAD!
He-Man: Yea, I'm shaking in my boots, you girlfriend stealer!
Spawn: My fucking cape. I can't believe it. You'll pay for this you asswipe!
Spawn runs from the room, still yelling obscenities.
Skeletor: Well, another fine Thanksgiving this is turning into.
Death: I think it's rather amusing.
Sandman: You would.
Boba Fett: Is that food ready yet? I'm starving.
Madman: The turkey should be just about cooked. Let's go back into the dining room.
Everyone moves towards the dining area while He-Man lingers, looking around.
Evil Ash: What's the matter He-Man, looking for your balls?
He-Man: Shut up, you freak. Hey, has anyone seen Battlecat?
Green Goblin: I think I saw him fucking your girlfriend. HAHAHAH!
They meet the others in the dining area.
Madman: Tada! I present to you the most amazing Thanksgiving meal ever!
Several Street Fighter guys bring in plates heaped with food and set them on the table.
Madman: Edward Scissorhands, would you do the honors, please?
Edward (mumbling): Every year, it's Edward cut the turkey, Edward cut the pies.
Spiderman: That is the hugest turkey I have ever seen. I can't wait to dig in.
He-Man: Where the hell is Battlecat?
Spawn: Really. He was just dying to dig into his plate.
Edward finishes slicing the meat and everyone clamors for the different plates. They dig in right away, eating hungrily and noisily.
Spawn: Hold up! I would like to make a toast before we all stuff ourselves full of this food.
He stands and raises his glass of whiskey, Asuka at his side.
Hans Solo: I have a bad feeling about this...
Spawn: I thought I would not be able to eat this meal, I was so depsondent over He-Man ripping my cape. But there are ways to get over things. A little action from Asuka here didn't hurt....
He-Man (his mouth full of food): You bastards! Do you have to announce it?
Spawn: You know, He-Man, they say revenge is a dish best served cold, but I would much rather serve it hot.
He-Man: What the hell does that mean?
Spawn (mimicing He-Man): Has anyone seen Battlecat?
He-Man and everyone else stop chewing, stop talking and look up at Spawn, forks in midair. Spawn cackles.
Spawn: Enjoying the meat, He-Man?
He-Man (staring down at his plate in horror) NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Chaos ensues. Everyone is either puking or running out of the room. He-Man faints. And Boba Fett calmly sits and passes himself some more meat.
Buddy Christ: Another Thanksgiving shot to hell.
thanksgiving advice(5): Commies and flaming grandma
I just found out that my parents have invited some friends to our Thanksgiving dinner. I've never met the couple in question, but it seems that the husband is a retired CIA officer. Would it be bad form to excitedly ask him how many commie bastards he's killed, immediately after the prayer?
---Matt
Of course you can ask him, but you have to word it in CIA code. I've asked my sources in the Pentagon, and they told me you should say this:
Sir, may I inquire as to how many points you scored in the simulated combat game Kill the Commies? Take his answer, divide by 8, subtract 22, multiply by the square root of the number of notches on his belt, and you'll have your answer.
He may have to kill you, though.
When your elderly grandmother pulls out an article from 1993 and proceeds to read all three columns of it during dessert; when is it appropriate to commit hari-kari?
Oh BTW, the subject of the article? Rat mating habits. No, I'm not making this up.
---Brian
Brian, committing hari-kari would be a selfish act. Sure, you may be dead and out of range of hearing from your grandmother, but the rest of your family still has to suffer. Simply light the newspaper on fire when she starts reading. You may want to douse your grandmother in gasoline beforehand.
thanksgiving advice(4): Godzilla, death by Ann Coulter and sauteed squirrel
When bludgeoning members of the Tin-foil hat brigade, what is the best
implement of blunt-force trauma? Does it differ for those on the left and right?
---Pete
Pete, what does this have to do with Thanksgiving? Have you invited tin-foil brigade members over for dinner? If so, then you deserve whatever you get. However, I will give you the advice you seek. For blunt-force trauma- which means you aim to severely disable, if not kill, your victim - you must do the following: Track down both Ann Coulter and Michael Moore. Kill them, chop off their heads and wrap each head in brown butcher paper. When your tin-foil hat friends start talking their talk, bash them in about the brain area with the appropriate head.
I suggest leaving town after that.
I've heard vicious rumours that I should cook my turkey breast side
down. This just seems wrong to me. Do you have any breast preferences?
--Dave
Dave, I clearly stated that I don't know anything about cooking turkey. I do, however, know how to cook squirrel. So just take use these instructions and substitute turkey where it says squirrel.
1 squirrel, quartered
1 cup diced onion
2 large tomatoes (from your garden) or 1 can of tomatoes
Assorted fresh ,or canned veggies
Preparation:
Sprinkle seasoned salt, pepper, and cayenne pepper (optional) liberally on the meat. Pour some cooking oil into a large pot (dutch oven). Sauté the meat with the onions until well browned. Drain the excess oil, add about 2 cups water, and bring to a boil. Cut up the tomatoes and add. If you use canned tomatoes add them now. Turn down the heat, and let slow cook for at least an hour. Important: older squirrels may require cooking longer than an hour. Check periodically for tenderness. If you don't you will have a hard time chewing the meat. After the meat is tender, add the veggies, carrots, potatoes, banana pepper, what ever you like. Cook until the veggies are done. An option you can use is, cook up your favorite pasta and serve over the pasta. (eliminate the potatoes).
Why do they always have Godzilla (aka Gozero) TV film festivals on
Thanksgiving?
Very good question, Cracker man. For the answer to this, I turned to my trusty sidekick, Chun-Li, who writes:
A little know fact about Thanksgiving is that it originated in Japan, not America. Long before the Pilgrims even heard of Plymouth Rock, we had set aside a day of thanks in November, to thank Godzilla and his gang for not eating us. Eventually, Godzilla tired of just getting a simple verbal thanks and had his lawyer write up a contract stipulating that in return for Godzilla not devouring us and destroying our city, we would make movies about him and his crazy adventures, and we would air them on tv every November. Eventually, the contract was bought out by your American television executives and now you are stuck watching cheaply made, badly dubbed stories about that stupid monster. Personally, I think Mothra was much nicer.
thanksgiving advice(3): more football and death by Jack Daniels
Sean asks: Who will win the Packers/Lions game?
I once again consulted the all-knowing, never wrong Ouija Board, which said:
TRANGER. There you have it.
Hi Michele. Usually family holidays when everyone is actually together in our extended-family home (Mom and Stepdad, Sis and her brood, and fesity me) are the most tense, since it's during days like Thanksgiving that everyone is actually with everyone else.
What is the polite thing to do when the unavoidable Massive Family Conflict™ over the dinner table that ends in "Fine!" "Fine!" happens? Does everyone silently stuff their faces? Or does everyone go their separate ways to the Thanksgiving Party that each person's friends invited them to? (Sister gets to stay at her house with her nest.)
---Jay
I feel your pain, Jay. I have a sister who has perfected the "Fine!" routine. She even adds an "Phhft!" to it once in a while and storms off into another room, where she proceeds to ignore us all.
There's an easy solution to this, Jay. Just place a big bottle of Jack Daniels in the middle of the table. Give everyone, even the kids, a shot glass. Everytime someone starts a fight, everyone take a shot of Jack. Within an hour you'll all be too drunk to care about fighting anymore, or you'll have all died from alcohol poisoning. Either way, the fighting is over.
thanksgiving advice(2): jews, zagats and football
If someone makes parallels between the Pilgrims taking Indian land to the Jews taking Arab land, can you beat them with a sack full of canned yams until they die?
--Laurence
.
Laurence, why waste a good can of Yams? If you kill the person, then the yams will be taken in as evidence and you'll never see them again. Instead, you send them off on a bus and then call their cell phone and tell them there's a bomb on the bus. Hilarity ensues as he shits his pants.
Is it okay to take my dinner into my room and read blogs while I eat?
---Ith
Only if you are reading this one. This blog was recommended by Zagat's Survey of Dinner Reading Material as the Number One Blog to Read While Eating Thanksgiving Dinner. Allah came in close second. Autopsy Report finished last.
Who will win the Dallas/Miami game Thanksgiving Day?
---Dave
For that question I went directly to the source of all knowledge in the universe, past, present and future: The Ouija board.
The revealed answer was: ONCLOCEN. Sorry, but I can't tell you what that means
thanksgiving advice corner (1): Hitler, eating al sharpton and family fueds
White or dark meat?
Well Blue, that depends on what you're talking about. You really must learn to be more specific in you questions. However, I am going to assume that you were playing straight man and leading me into making a sexually explicit joke at your expense and I will not fall for that. That said, I think that dark meat is digusting but don't go by me because I don't really like the white meat, either.
In the event that my husband and in-laws are drunk as lords by four pm and start a huge intra-family fight, the details of which span the last forty years, am I justified in kicking them all out? Just flat out turning them out of the house until they can behave? Or should I quietly slink off to my room, lock the door, pop a valium, smoke a bowl, and refuse to come out until they shut the hell up?
What do you recommend, O Thanksgiving Advisor?
----Kelley
I like being addressed in a reverent tone. I could get used to that.
Kelley, my friend, you have come to the right person. Many years ago during my first marriage, I had Thanksgiving at my house. That day is now known as the Rumble on Ramona Street. My father v. my husband in a steel cage fight to the death. That was the last holiday I ever had at my house. In order to avoid catastrophes like this, you just don't invite them over. I see that's too late for this year, so I will tell you this: Pot and valiums don't mix. I suggest pot and a few shots of Jagermeister. Then let your family members fight their own battles. Don't worry, blood washes off of the china just fine.
What do you do when your grandfather starts discussing his affection for Hitler at the dinner table, and there's a lot of company there, some of which are very elderly people who suffered under Stalin and percieve people who are anti-Hitler to be Stalin sympathizers? Do I continue to keep my mouth shut and rant online later, or do I...engage the issue, keeping in mind that my grandfather is a...politically passionate...man?
---Stacey
First of all Stacey, I cleaned up your grammar. Don't they teach you proper captilization over there?
Now, let's deal with Grandpa and pals. Here's the plan: Next time they all come over, you hire a bunch of actors to dress up as World War II era American soldiers. You play a tape recording of bomb-type sounds. The "soldiers" come bursting into the dining to the dining room shouting "Surrender Nazis! The war is over!"
When everyone has their hands up in surrender, you slip straight jackets on them and send them off to the Springfield Retirement Castle. Sit back, pop open a beer and relish the silence.
no time for love, dr. jones
Because I am a selfless and giving human being, and because I am wise beyond my years and becaus I really have nothing else to do the rest of the day or night except avoid cleaning the house, I have decided to devote my time to you, in order that your Thanksgiving may be the best Thanksgiving possible.
I am opening up the phone lines (ok, comment lines) for your Thanksgiving questions. Ok, so I don't know how to baste a turkey and I'm not sure what side of the dish your salad fork goes on, but I am chock full of insight and knowledge when it comes to all things family.
If you have any questions about spending time with relatives - for instance, Is it polite to use grandpa's wheelchair to carry the dirty dishes into the kitchen, or Is it ok to have sex in the coat room - just ask away. I can deal with any issues concerning keeping the family peace and, conversely, adding some spice to your Thanksgiving meal (i.e, with inappropriate prayers of thanks). I also advise on how to get through a meal that tastes like crap and how to avoid taking part in the clean up activities.
I'm yours for the rest of the evening. The doctor is in.
stuff(ing)
I got the pre-holiday giddies. All my bosses are gone so I am out of here nice and early. I can go home and take a nap or get some errands done. But no, that's not what I'm going to do.
I am going to go home and install a message board/forum on this site. From now on, when a comment thread erupts into a flame war or goes totally off topic, you can take it their. It will be unmoderated.
I'll let you know when it's ready.
One question before I go: Does anyone really eat that jello-like cranberry thing that comes out of the can or do you all just put it on the table at Thanksgiving because it's supposed to be there?
fo shizzle!
My man Snoop has a blogizzle!
[via Late Final]
MEMO
To: British Political Cartoonist Society
From: An Honorary Jew
Re: This
Message:
May your flesh fall off while you are still alive.
Thank you.
the birds
What have I been doing the last fifteen minutes? Why, I wrote and illustrated and historic tale of a great warrior and some evil birds.
In fact, you can see the whole thing right here!
reasons to be thankful, part three
We all know what you're thankful for. Your family, your health, your freedom, the food on your table, the clothes on your back, your good friends and Fridays.
But seriously. Is that what you're really thinking when you gather around the Thanksgiving table and hold hands and bow your heads and wait for Grandpa to finish muttering his thanks to 125 years worth of relatives you never heard of before you can dig into the mashed potatoes?
Your family and friends know you're thankful for them. They know you appreciate all the times you bum rides or borrow money from them. They know that you really like the puke-green knitted afghan they got you for your birthday. So let's not waste our time engaging in tired cliches of Thanksgiving. Let's be honest.
Me, I'm thankful for a lot of things. Fresh ground coffee, drive-through fast food, pens with erasers, grilled cheese sandwiches, comic books, DVD burners, Best Buy, Target, broadband connections, free porn, margaritas, Amazon, Fosted Mini-Wheats, Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, anti-lock brakes, four-wheel drive, movie previews, push-up bras, spellcheck, keyboard shortcuts, the Green Bay Packers, Bucky Dent, Converse high tops, Six Feet Under, Carnivale, Dunkin' Donuts and Krispy Kreme, double orgasms, cigarettes and Zippos, punk rock, White-Out, cordless keyboards, post-its, biodegradable tampons, Motrin, Mike Patton, Excedrin Migraine, painless dentistry, headphones, highlighters, hot bagels, VH1, microwave ovens, mircowave popcorn, Toaster Streudels, sporks, DVD extras, Troma movies, Peter Jackson, peel-and-stick postage stamps, talking Hulk Hands, the Anime Network, Showtime Beyond, Moveable Type, Killians Red, ATM machines, hooded sweatshirts, Mr. Bungle, Homer Simpson, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Fark, Photoshop, Playstation 2, public libraries and Equal.
Just to name a few.
So here's your chance to bypass the usual sappiness and overwrought words of thanks which you will surely be, in droidlike fashion, trotting out at the dinner table tomorrow and which you will, by 8pm, regret saying because you realize that you actually hate your family, to give thanks to the unsung heroes of our lives; material possessions, intangible goodness, and anything that would make living out each of the seven deadly sins possible. What, besides the usual, are you thankful for?
You do not have to live in America to participate. I mean, even Europeans are thankful for some things, no? And, I'm not a total tool. I will have a real, heartfelt thanks to a special group of people tomorrow.
notes, announcements, thank yous, links and a partridge in a pear tree
Here's where I try to decipher a day's worth of post-it notes and relay them all to you.
Go down there and read if you are interested.
First and foremost, some thanks are in order. The lovely and talented Anna (who gets off on crocheting) came to my rescue when I was just about dying from the itches and hives and sent me a package of homemade soaps, all wrapped and packaged and smelling so beautiful that I'm afraid to use them for fear of destroying their innate beauty.
I also received some nifty gifts via my Amazon Wishlist, and I really wish that Amazon would include email addresses of the gift giver on the packing slip because I would really like to send out a proper thank you. But they don't, so I'll do it here and say thank you from the bottom of my overjoyed heart for The Language Police and The Cat with the Really Big Head.
Ok (trying to read own handwriting here). Ah, yes.
This is for certain specific people who will probably recognize themselves: If you have a blog and you feel very passionate about something I wrote about, how about going and posting about it on your own blog instead of leaving novel-length comments because they generally kill whatever conversation/debate was going on. And on that subject, you know what I hate? I hate people who derail the commentary so it focuses on them. This is my blog, dude. Go have your ego stroked somewhere else. Only my ego gets stroked around here. And then, only if you pay up front and prove that you are clean.
Next item: email. If you send me email with the header reading any of the following, it will be deleted unopened: Hi, N/A, No Subject, What's Up?, Hello, Urgent, Do Not Delete and anything with the words penis or Paris Hilton and especially anything with the words penis and Paris Hilton together.
One last thing. If you are one of the people who got all in an uproar over this, send me $20 and I'll tell you how you can work from home stuffing envelopes.
Cinderella and the hideous, yet charming on the inside, stepsisters
[via tongue tied]
Parents who read fairy tales to their children may be causing them low self esteem, US social scientists said today.
Classic stories, which have been passed down the generations contain so many stereotypes they could be just as harmful as the sexual images paraded in pop videos, it was suggested.
“There is a lot of association between beauty and goodness and then conversely between ugliness and evil and laziness,” said study co-author Liz Grauerholz.
So what does Grauerholz propose?
With young children, she recommends changing the stories. Tell Cinderella to your child as if she were male. Or change the ending so she decides the prince wasn't right for her after all and lived happily ever after by making her own life.
And there go a young girl's childhood dreams of romance and princes and knights in shining armor.
What? You say it's wrong to put those ideas in a little girl's head? And it's just as wrong to let little boys think that there are princesses who need kisses to wake up from a spell? Why don't you just rip the whole of childhood out from the hearts of today's kids? Hell, devise something that will let them come out of the womb at fifteen, so you don't have to deal with all that messy, complicated, subversive material that kids have to face while they are young. They can be born cynical and jaded and no one will have to work to make them that way.
They (and you know who I mean by they) want to change fairtyales? Fine. They've already changed nursery rhymes so this is just the next logical step. So let's give them what they want:
Introducing, the new and improved, politically correct, not offensive or demeaning to little girls, free of sexist imagery, Cinderella.
Once upon a time in a great kingdom (which was a kingdom in name only because it was ruled by committee), there lived a very rich family (who always shared their wealth with others because they believed in socialism, to an extent). This family consisted of the King (who is henceforth known as the Peer Review Leader), his second wife (the first wife was executed just to show the citizens that beautiful people die, too), the wife's two hideously deformed daughters from a previous marriage (the wife divorced her husband because he expected her to clean the house while he was out hunting and foraging for food) and the Peer Review Leader's daughter, Cinderella.
On the eve of the great Community Spiritual Dance Festival and Banquet for the Poor, Cinderella was busy doing demeaning work such as sweeping the floor of their home, when her step-mother (which is such an ugly word. Let's call her Mommie Dearest instead) came into the room, her two hideous (but supposedly charming on the inside) daughters in tow, and told Cinderella that she may not attend the Spiritual Dance Festival and Banquet for the Poor because she was too beautiful and thus would steal the hearts of all the filthy pig men that would be attending because they saw beautiful women as nothing but objects to be desired and lusted after, and the ugly girls would just look even uglier by comparison, and no man would want them.
Cinderella thought it was great to be desired and lusted after and said as much to her Mommie Dearest. And Mommie Dearest flew into a rage and the two hideous sisters were duly horrified and made a little speech about how being ugly was a badge of honor to them because then they would know that any man who asked for their hand in marriage would not be doing so for superficial reasons, to which Cinderella replied "well I hear you are both sluts, so that should help in your quest for a husband," and everyone in the room, saving Cinderella, made that Macauley Culkin-Home Alone face and the tension became so thick that you could cut it with a knife, which would be a knife that was not so sharp as to harm anyone, because no one in their right mind would leave such a possible weapon laying around their home.
And then Cinderella yelled that she was not a submissive little slave girl and no one had the right to own her and she was going to the Spiritual Dance and Banquet for the Poor and she stamped her foot on the ground for emphasis. The two hideous (yet charming on the inside, I'm sure) sisters then decided that Cinderella, with her beauty and grace, would surely gain the eye of the Prince from another village, one in which people lived in peace and harmony and shared revenue, and he would ask Cinderella to marry him, perhaps give her a token of affection (but not a diamond because diamonds are carved out of the mine shafts by seven little dwarves who are being forced into working for less than minimum wage because the oppressing company that runs the mines won't let the dwarves unionize), so he would give her a necklace made of recyclable materials and she would swoon (but not swoon so much as to make her seem vulnerable to the charms and looks of a man), and they would ride off into the moonlight - no, they would walk, because it isn't right to make horses pull coaches - and live happily ever after.
Well, the sisters would have none of that, so they kicked Cinderella and knocked her to the ground and beat her with her own broomstick and the mother slashed at Cinderella's face with a razor until she was quite bloody and dead. Not to mention ugly.
But the hideous sisters would realize later that the joke was on them, because the Prince of that peaceful village was gay and he was just passing through on his way to the blacksmith to get his sword sharpened (because not all gay men hung around the village seamstress all day long) and he had no interest in them.
Which just goes to show you that being hideously ugly impairs your judgment and makes you commit murder for which the family of your victim will seek vengeance and most likely hack you into pieces and feed your remains to their dog , while being beautiful will probably get you murdered by jealous, ugly sisters.
And the moral of this new, improved version of Cinderella is this: The beautiful and the ugly both are destined to die at some point, which puts them on equal ground, and no matter how much you dumb something down and pretty something up, it still all comes down to the same ending: We are all the same inside, children. We are all just one angry mob away from death.
Oh, and ladies: always make sure your prince is a heterosexual before you kill for him.
The end.
November 25, 2003
placeholders on the bar graph of politics
[UPDATE: Not one person understand what I am trying to do, nor did anyone follow the directions. We'll try this again later.]
In this morning's post where I declared that I was no longer going to pay attention to anyone on either the far left or the far right, JW left an interesting comment:
I don't think that Indymedia and Free Republic are that useful to appeal to here. They are both way over their respective lines. What would be interesting is to see who various folks think is just barely over the line. For example, I think that the staff of Reason is, by and large, just shy of the line ... and many of the NRO 'Corner' people (Derbyshire, e.g.) are just over it.
Maybe The Nation as just-over-the-line on the left? (On average, that is; I think that Alterman, e.g., is within the 'gray zone'.)
So, here's the challenge. I made this handy-dandy little graphic:
[click for full size]
For no particular reason at all except to satisfy my curiosity and perhaps to give people a better idea of where they line up politically (so when someone says 'you're a far-right wacko,' you can reply, 'no, look at this handy-dandy chart. My politics are more in line with Weekly Standard , so you can see I'm not nearly as much of a wacko as you think I am!) we're going to fill this chart in, from Indymedia all the way to Free Republic.
We're only going to use online forums, publications that have online versions and bloggers. Yes, bloggers. You, too can decide if you are Oliver Willis or Atrios, John Hawkins or Stephen Green. Or maybe you're just NPR. Or NRO.
It's for you to decide. All you have to do is figure out what goes where. You don't have to do all of them. In fact, you can just suggest one. For instance, you could comment that NRO would go in space G, right next to Free Republic.
Forget all those complicated politcal compass tests. This will be the new standard for declaring your political status!
Right. Well, play along anyhow.
congratulations, jim treacher!
kooks and kards and komiks
I got my Kook. Go get yours. You can get one every day that you vote for the one of (out of only four) Official Comic Strips of A Small Victory, Acid Keg. Do you realize what a high honor it is to be one of those strips? I mean, there are about a million comic strips on the web. And about 90,000,000 of them are rip-offs of Penny-Arcade.
Oh, the other three Official Comics of ASV? Day by Day, Cox & Forkum and Penny-Arcade. I'm willing to add two or three more, so if you're an artist with an online comic strip, you may bribe me. Then I will wield my unwieldy powers on your strip and in no time you will be dating supermodels and opening off shore bank accounts (and only comics that are only online count, which is why Maakies /Sock Monkey can't be an official comic of ASV, though it is the comic I turn to most when I want to de-stress).
So, what was I saying? Oh, yes. Go vote for Acid Keg, get your Keg Kook and trade with all the cool kids. They're better drawn than Pokemon and less confusing than Yu Gi Oh! You could even collect them all, gather your friends and play a game of strip Keg Kook. Do I have all the great ideas, or what?
And don't be trying to steal my card. For god's sake people, it only takes a click. No need to go into a life of crime just for a picture of a shark-headed lawyer.
My lawyer (who does not have a shark eating his head, but does appear to be a bird), told me to take down the picture of my Kook Kard, lest I be accused of luring impressionable young children into a life of internet crime.
[via treacher]
my lone commentary on last night's debate
Is it just me, or does anyone else think that Howard Dean can shoot laser beams out of his eyeballs?
A Very Special Peanuts
If you’ve been aching for a new Peanuts cartoon, fret no more. On December 9th, ABC will have just what you’ve been waiting for.