They have people doing hurdles on treadmills. And it is genius.
Japan: 1
United States: 0
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Over the Hedge is THE BEST MOVIE IN THE HISTORY OF MOVIES. Even if you've already seen it GO SEE IT. AGAIN. NOW.
While you're watching imagine me as the squirrel. See? See?
Also:
Everyone who is even remotely associated with Joe's Jeans deserves a Congressional Medal of Honor. FOR SERIOUS.
While you're watching imagine me as the squirrel. See? See?
Also:
Everyone who is even remotely associated with Joe's Jeans deserves a Congressional Medal of Honor. FOR SERIOUS.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
BUI
It has come to my attention that lately, I have been guilty of Blogging Under the Influence.
Three posts ago: Caffeine (Yes, this is obviously expected, but I urge you to scroll down and reread to fully appreciate the depths of this particular instance of insanity.)
Two posts ago: cute penguin-ness
One Post ago: NEW IPODS, PEOPLE (ok, so it hasn't worn off yet)
So, is there some kind of Anonymous group I should join?
Three posts ago: Caffeine (Yes, this is obviously expected, but I urge you to scroll down and reread to fully appreciate the depths of this particular instance of insanity.)
Two posts ago: cute penguin-ness
One Post ago: NEW IPODS, PEOPLE (ok, so it hasn't worn off yet)
So, is there some kind of Anonymous group I should join?
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Delirious hyperventilation
If you saw any Apple fanboys spontaneously combust today, this is why.
This has caused my brain to completely snap and I will now just be going on randomly for a bit.
Umbrellas. Pink tap-dancing rats. Nuclear powered cheese. WATERMELON FLAVORED ATTACK CHIHUAHUAS.
//Sometimes, when I am putting oranges in the saurkraut, I think...of my thoughts. And they make me laugh!
This has caused my brain to completely snap and I will now just be going on randomly for a bit.
Umbrellas. Pink tap-dancing rats. Nuclear powered cheese. WATERMELON FLAVORED ATTACK CHIHUAHUAS.
//Sometimes, when I am putting oranges in the saurkraut, I think...of my thoughts. And they make me laugh!
Monday, September 03, 2007
I may have mentioned that I am five years old
Went to Linens n Things today because hey! Labor Day! Sale!
I needed a new bath towel and one of those plastic holds-all-your-shower-stuff doodads.
I came out sans towel.
Sans doodad.
And plus one gigantic fluffy penguin.
His name is Pepper, and this is why I have no money.
I needed a new bath towel and one of those plastic holds-all-your-shower-stuff doodads.
I came out sans towel.
Sans doodad.
And plus one gigantic fluffy penguin.
His name is Pepper, and this is why I have no money.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Losing my identity
So, confession time...caffeingirl kind of weaned herself off of caffeine. Scary, shame, whatev.
Except.
Today I had some espresso. By some of course, I mean a whole bunch of. Espresso, that is. Which was fun. Especially the part where I went to bed.
That was five hours ago and man am I TWEAKING. In a baaaaaaaaaad way. I can feel my skin. IT'S ALIVE.
Also, you know when you don't eat for three days and then have to go out to dinner with your ultra-conservative relatives and lose focus because you're trying not to punt the very frail eighty-five year old woman through the wall,
EVEN THOUGH she is quoting Rush Limbaugh and expecting you to take her seriously, and you're trying VERY HARD not to mention some really good counter-examples like seriously kickass professors who started off in the country as illegal immigrants and wound up tenured at Ivy League institutions, NO MA'AM of COURSE no one from those countries could possibly be successful and this conversation is bordering as daaaaangerously close to eugenics as this sentence is to a run-on,
SO because this distracts you, you kind of forget that you don't eat food, so you order and eat approximately seventy metric tons of shellfish which lands smack in the middle of your digestive system which is like Bitch, what the fuck, we don't deal with this anymore get this shit out of here, so you're all Oh blow me, YOU were the thing that wouldn't shut up yesterday, STOMACH, so when I actually put stuff in you DEAL WITH IT, and you attempt to have a pleasant conversation HA HA with people while not shooting yourself because the couple at the next table is dressed in reverse,
BUT your small intestine flatly refuses to GET ON WITH IT ALREADY and instead decides that you are going to spend the rest of your life burping AND it's going to taste like fish EIGHT HOURS LATER because there is no actual DIGESTION GOING ON HERE SERIOUSLY, because you are LOSING ARGUMENTS WITH YOUR INTERNAL ORGANS, which is just pathetic, and then you can't sleep because of the aforementioned espresso slash FISH IN YOUR STOMACH so you decide that that it would be a great idea to TELL THE INTERNET THAT YOU ARE BURPING AND IT TAKES LIKE FISH.
I think I may have kind of pushed the run-on there, because sweet blessed cheeseburgers, it was a run-on WITH PARAGRAPHS. Fear me.
But whatever, it's almost 4 in the morning, which is an excellent song, by the way, and there's no way in hell I'm sleeping and I've got a niiiiice head of steam built up, so let's just keep going with THINGS I HATE.
Next up: people and their DAMMED LACK OF EMAIL CHECKING. Seriously. How the HELL do you not check your email every day? I check my email EVERY FIVE MINUTES and go into anaphlactic SHOCK if I don't. It takes THIRTY SECONDS and the world might end if you don't. Email. Do it.
Annnnnd related only by the resulting level of my rage: VINEYARD FUCKING VINES. The pants can either be Nantucket red, WHICH IS ACTUALLY PINK, FOR YOUR INFORMATION, oooooor they can have whales all over them BUT NOT BOTH. YOU PEOPLE LOOK RIDICULOUS! Aren't you supposed to be the elite upper-class who run the country? How can you run the country when you have LARGE MARINE ANIMALS all over your pants??????? And for chirst sakes, YOUR KID IS THREE YEARS OLD. Did you HAVE children for the SOLE PURPOSE of dressing them up? Buy a fucking Barbie and STOP REPRODUCING.
And tennis matches. Specifically, The Mother watching tennis matches and her resulting near-cardiac arrest. Chill the FUCK OUT, there's a REASON you get two serves, and it's because people miss ALL THE DAMN TIME and these are PROFESSIONALS who are serving at more than 100 miles an hour, so if they hit it in the net a few times, IT'S REALLY NOT A BIG DEAL. Are they freaking out? NO, and I daresay that they have A HELL OF A LOT MORE riding on it than YOU DO. You don't even KNOW THEM. Note how THEIR PARENTS ARE SITTING CALMLY AND WATCHING. Do you know how to do that? NO. YOU DO NOT. Evidence: I played 85 high school tennis matches, of which you attempted to attend THREE, and left after TWO FUCKING MINUTES each time, because you "couldn't take it" and for CHRIST'S SAKE EVEYONE ELSE'S PARENTS ARE HERE BECAUSE IT'S THE STATE FUCKING CHAMIONSHIP but you apparently are SO CONCERNED that I'm going to FUCK UP that you can't even fucking watch EVEN THOUGH we are actually WINNING, rather easily in fact, and actually crushed our opponents BUT YOU WOULDN'T KNOW THAT, BECAUSE YOU WERE BUSY FREAKING OUT AND DIDN'T SEE IT, and I am obviously in serious need of a therapist.
Also, Maria Sharapova lost, which pisses me off, because then I have to do something drastic like root for Serena, who is very talented, but also apparently BLIND because she keeps going on about DESIGNING her own fucking clothes and honey, if I were you I woudl shut up and pretend that someone else made me wear that because it looks like a POTATO SACK MADE OUT OF PINK SPANDEX and seriously, those have to be double-Ds, so I suggest that you invest in some kind of bra, because doesn't that HURT?
DEAR LORD I JUST BURPED AGAIN AND IT TASTED LIKE FISH. You're welcome.
And now i'm doing that thing where i'm considering not posting this because I"m not a hundred percent sure exactly who reads my blog because i have def shown it to at least four legit adults including two former high school teachers, one of whom i think does actually occasionally check it and it's like OOOH LOOK SHE'S A SPAZZ but of course if you've actually met me YOU ALREADY KNEW THAT so what does it MATTER, plus they actually have LIVES and are NOT READING YOUR STUPID BLOG ANYWAY, EVEN THOUGH THE ENTIRE REASON YOU HAVE A DAMN BLOG IN THE FIRST PLACE IS BECAUSE YOU WANTED SOMEONE TO FUCKING READ YOUR ENGLISH PAPER, DAMMIT but it would be nice if the free tracking software had a better ip addy locator because telling me a person's in connecticut is NOT ACTUALLY THAT HELPFUL. i realize that connecticut is comparatively small, but EVERYONE I KNOW LIVES THERE, mostly, so it's like wow, connecticut! That could be....anyone! SWEET. I may be getting tired.
Yup, definitely crashing....now.
Except.
Today I had some espresso. By some of course, I mean a whole bunch of. Espresso, that is. Which was fun. Especially the part where I went to bed.
That was five hours ago and man am I TWEAKING. In a baaaaaaaaaad way. I can feel my skin. IT'S ALIVE.
Also, you know when you don't eat for three days and then have to go out to dinner with your ultra-conservative relatives and lose focus because you're trying not to punt the very frail eighty-five year old woman through the wall,
EVEN THOUGH she is quoting Rush Limbaugh and expecting you to take her seriously, and you're trying VERY HARD not to mention some really good counter-examples like seriously kickass professors who started off in the country as illegal immigrants and wound up tenured at Ivy League institutions, NO MA'AM of COURSE no one from those countries could possibly be successful and this conversation is bordering as daaaaangerously close to eugenics as this sentence is to a run-on,
SO because this distracts you, you kind of forget that you don't eat food, so you order and eat approximately seventy metric tons of shellfish which lands smack in the middle of your digestive system which is like Bitch, what the fuck, we don't deal with this anymore get this shit out of here, so you're all Oh blow me, YOU were the thing that wouldn't shut up yesterday, STOMACH, so when I actually put stuff in you DEAL WITH IT, and you attempt to have a pleasant conversation HA HA with people while not shooting yourself because the couple at the next table is dressed in reverse,
BUT your small intestine flatly refuses to GET ON WITH IT ALREADY and instead decides that you are going to spend the rest of your life burping AND it's going to taste like fish EIGHT HOURS LATER because there is no actual DIGESTION GOING ON HERE SERIOUSLY, because you are LOSING ARGUMENTS WITH YOUR INTERNAL ORGANS, which is just pathetic, and then you can't sleep because of the aforementioned espresso slash FISH IN YOUR STOMACH so you decide that that it would be a great idea to TELL THE INTERNET THAT YOU ARE BURPING AND IT TAKES LIKE FISH.
I think I may have kind of pushed the run-on there, because sweet blessed cheeseburgers, it was a run-on WITH PARAGRAPHS. Fear me.
But whatever, it's almost 4 in the morning, which is an excellent song, by the way, and there's no way in hell I'm sleeping and I've got a niiiiice head of steam built up, so let's just keep going with THINGS I HATE.
Next up: people and their DAMMED LACK OF EMAIL CHECKING. Seriously. How the HELL do you not check your email every day? I check my email EVERY FIVE MINUTES and go into anaphlactic SHOCK if I don't. It takes THIRTY SECONDS and the world might end if you don't. Email. Do it.
Annnnnd related only by the resulting level of my rage: VINEYARD FUCKING VINES. The pants can either be Nantucket red, WHICH IS ACTUALLY PINK, FOR YOUR INFORMATION, oooooor they can have whales all over them BUT NOT BOTH. YOU PEOPLE LOOK RIDICULOUS! Aren't you supposed to be the elite upper-class who run the country? How can you run the country when you have LARGE MARINE ANIMALS all over your pants??????? And for chirst sakes, YOUR KID IS THREE YEARS OLD. Did you HAVE children for the SOLE PURPOSE of dressing them up? Buy a fucking Barbie and STOP REPRODUCING.
And tennis matches. Specifically, The Mother watching tennis matches and her resulting near-cardiac arrest. Chill the FUCK OUT, there's a REASON you get two serves, and it's because people miss ALL THE DAMN TIME and these are PROFESSIONALS who are serving at more than 100 miles an hour, so if they hit it in the net a few times, IT'S REALLY NOT A BIG DEAL. Are they freaking out? NO, and I daresay that they have A HELL OF A LOT MORE riding on it than YOU DO. You don't even KNOW THEM. Note how THEIR PARENTS ARE SITTING CALMLY AND WATCHING. Do you know how to do that? NO. YOU DO NOT. Evidence: I played 85 high school tennis matches, of which you attempted to attend THREE, and left after TWO FUCKING MINUTES each time, because you "couldn't take it" and for CHRIST'S SAKE EVEYONE ELSE'S PARENTS ARE HERE BECAUSE IT'S THE STATE FUCKING CHAMIONSHIP but you apparently are SO CONCERNED that I'm going to FUCK UP that you can't even fucking watch EVEN THOUGH we are actually WINNING, rather easily in fact, and actually crushed our opponents BUT YOU WOULDN'T KNOW THAT, BECAUSE YOU WERE BUSY FREAKING OUT AND DIDN'T SEE IT, and I am obviously in serious need of a therapist.
Also, Maria Sharapova lost, which pisses me off, because then I have to do something drastic like root for Serena, who is very talented, but also apparently BLIND because she keeps going on about DESIGNING her own fucking clothes and honey, if I were you I woudl shut up and pretend that someone else made me wear that because it looks like a POTATO SACK MADE OUT OF PINK SPANDEX and seriously, those have to be double-Ds, so I suggest that you invest in some kind of bra, because doesn't that HURT?
DEAR LORD I JUST BURPED AGAIN AND IT TASTED LIKE FISH. You're welcome.
And now i'm doing that thing where i'm considering not posting this because I"m not a hundred percent sure exactly who reads my blog because i have def shown it to at least four legit adults including two former high school teachers, one of whom i think does actually occasionally check it and it's like OOOH LOOK SHE'S A SPAZZ but of course if you've actually met me YOU ALREADY KNEW THAT so what does it MATTER, plus they actually have LIVES and are NOT READING YOUR STUPID BLOG ANYWAY, EVEN THOUGH THE ENTIRE REASON YOU HAVE A DAMN BLOG IN THE FIRST PLACE IS BECAUSE YOU WANTED SOMEONE TO FUCKING READ YOUR ENGLISH PAPER, DAMMIT but it would be nice if the free tracking software had a better ip addy locator because telling me a person's in connecticut is NOT ACTUALLY THAT HELPFUL. i realize that connecticut is comparatively small, but EVERYONE I KNOW LIVES THERE, mostly, so it's like wow, connecticut! That could be....anyone! SWEET. I may be getting tired.
Yup, definitely crashing....now.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Things that Have Been Known To Bother Me, Part LXVII
1. When you're trying to remove the lid from a cup of Jello and rip off the little foil tab instead, requiring you to stab the Jello with a fork in a strawberry-bloody kind of way.
2. Biting into a stale Oreo.
3. Having inexplicable dreams involving your former high school math teacher wearing fetish heels.
4. Lacking some kind of method to bleach your brain of the aforementioned imagery.
5. When your parents threaten to kick you out of the house because you won't look at your grades, and your bank balance is $26.41, so this isn't going to go well.
Yeah.
2. Biting into a stale Oreo.
3. Having inexplicable dreams involving your former high school math teacher wearing fetish heels.
4. Lacking some kind of method to bleach your brain of the aforementioned imagery.
5. When your parents threaten to kick you out of the house because you won't look at your grades, and your bank balance is $26.41, so this isn't going to go well.
Yeah.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Dear The City of Stamford,
Please, for the LOVE OF CHEESE, fix your traffic lights.
Unreasonably optimistically,
Me
Dear Everyone Else Who Has to Drive Through The City of Stamford, Because We All Know That They Are Never Going to Fix The Damn Lights,
Yes, the traffic lights are out of sync. Yes, this sucks. Believe me I FEEL YOUR PAIN. I'm sitting in the same traffic. BUT.
If the light is GREEN but traffic is not moving because the freaking light in front of it is still RED, DO NOT PULL INTO THE INTERSECTION. You know why? Because eventually this light will also turn red, and then you become the dumbass in the middle of the intersection inspiring a thousand and one honks. Which are not some kind of salute to your brilliance, fyi.
Also, now that we've covered this, when I practice what I preach and DON'T pull up, thus AVOIDING this kind of situation, it is really unnecessary to curse me out. I'll admit to being a white bitch, but I draw the line at the addition of the adjective "motherfucking."
I'll see your finger and raise you a grenade,
Me
Please, for the LOVE OF CHEESE, fix your traffic lights.
Unreasonably optimistically,
Me
Dear Everyone Else Who Has to Drive Through The City of Stamford, Because We All Know That They Are Never Going to Fix The Damn Lights,
Yes, the traffic lights are out of sync. Yes, this sucks. Believe me I FEEL YOUR PAIN. I'm sitting in the same traffic. BUT.
If the light is GREEN but traffic is not moving because the freaking light in front of it is still RED, DO NOT PULL INTO THE INTERSECTION. You know why? Because eventually this light will also turn red, and then you become the dumbass in the middle of the intersection inspiring a thousand and one honks. Which are not some kind of salute to your brilliance, fyi.
Also, now that we've covered this, when I practice what I preach and DON'T pull up, thus AVOIDING this kind of situation, it is really unnecessary to curse me out. I'll admit to being a white bitch, but I draw the line at the addition of the adjective "motherfucking."
I'll see your finger and raise you a grenade,
Me
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Your skeletal structure defies millions of years of evolution and in any other time you would die in childbirth.
How did those genes survive? Why?
Was it so you could exist to be photographed in silk and Anna Wintour-approved feathers? To smile from your glossy page with silent superiority?
I could live on air and tears, but the fact would remain that even stripped of fat and muscle, the bones of my desiccated corpse would far exceed your own in circumference, and I would die hating you.
How did those genes survive? Why?
Was it so you could exist to be photographed in silk and Anna Wintour-approved feathers? To smile from your glossy page with silent superiority?
I could live on air and tears, but the fact would remain that even stripped of fat and muscle, the bones of my desiccated corpse would far exceed your own in circumference, and I would die hating you.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
I don't have enough hands
I'm about to go work out and I'm so sad. Afterwards, I will have to shower, and my hair will no longer be perfectly blow-dried.
I have purchased innumerable variations on the round brush, but have finally concluded that it is not the tools, it is I.
BUT.
I can describe my lack of coordination with perfect grammar, so I win.
I have purchased innumerable variations on the round brush, but have finally concluded that it is not the tools, it is I.
BUT.
I can describe my lack of coordination with perfect grammar, so I win.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Blah blah blah Spamalot reference
In response to recent inquiries: No, I am not dead yet. Unfortunately.
There will be no discussion of organic chemistry, except to note that my previous metaphor was slightly off. It's really more like sticking your eye with a rusty syringe, draining the intraocular fluid, and replacing it with pickle juice. I could get into the subtleties of WHY a certain metaphor is superior but that would be talking about it.
So instead we're going to do an installment of Things I Would Really Like to Say, But Have Not, Because It Costs Fifty Thousand Dollars A Year to Go To College
1. If you cut that piece of shortbread in half, I will shove it up your nostril. We both know it's twenty calories a serving. EAT. IT.
2. Smoking is generally, A Bad Thing. But if the smoker in question is 85, she's already beaten the odds. STOP. BITCHING.
3. It is scientifically impossible for you to die as a result of missing a telephone call from your boyfriend. Especially if it's the fifth call THIS HOUR.
4. I swear TO GOD the next time you correct my grammar I will BLUDGEON YOU WITH MY COPY OF STRUNK AND WHITE. I KNOW that it's "It wasn't I." I KNOW. It's the predicate nominative because of the implied "to be." May I introduce you to the vernacular?
5. Yes, J.K. Rowling ripped off Tolkein. I realize that there is no such thing as an archetype. She's obviously a terrible HACK writer and of COURSE you would be EMBARRASSED to be associated with such a franchise. Especially the famous, successful part.
6. If you use the term "huge" to describe a sandwich because it has more than one piece of bread, I will force feed you a can of Crisco.
7. Your book? SUCKS.
8. No, I never EVER passed out in the library. This is something I am making up to get attention. I'm so glad you were able to see through such a transparent story.
9. Could we stop discussing people who NO LONGER WORK FOR THE DARIEN SCHOOL SYSTEM? THANK YOU.
10. The phrase "spending calories" makes me want to vomit up my lungs. There is no "calorie budget" and you do not determine if butter is "worth the marginal cost." This is not economics. It'S FOOD.
11. You know what would be nice? If I could mention a person in conversation WITHOUT prompting a little tangent about said person's weight, hair, makeup, and/or clothing. The next time you use the term "round" about A.) a person, and B.) a person who weighs about 135, I will defenestrate myself.
*exhales*
But you know what? My life no longer involves organic chemistry.
Life is good.
There will be no discussion of organic chemistry, except to note that my previous metaphor was slightly off. It's really more like sticking your eye with a rusty syringe, draining the intraocular fluid, and replacing it with pickle juice. I could get into the subtleties of WHY a certain metaphor is superior but that would be talking about it.
So instead we're going to do an installment of Things I Would Really Like to Say, But Have Not, Because It Costs Fifty Thousand Dollars A Year to Go To College
1. If you cut that piece of shortbread in half, I will shove it up your nostril. We both know it's twenty calories a serving. EAT. IT.
2. Smoking is generally, A Bad Thing. But if the smoker in question is 85, she's already beaten the odds. STOP. BITCHING.
3. It is scientifically impossible for you to die as a result of missing a telephone call from your boyfriend. Especially if it's the fifth call THIS HOUR.
4. I swear TO GOD the next time you correct my grammar I will BLUDGEON YOU WITH MY COPY OF STRUNK AND WHITE. I KNOW that it's "It wasn't I." I KNOW. It's the predicate nominative because of the implied "to be." May I introduce you to the vernacular?
5. Yes, J.K. Rowling ripped off Tolkein. I realize that there is no such thing as an archetype. She's obviously a terrible HACK writer and of COURSE you would be EMBARRASSED to be associated with such a franchise. Especially the famous, successful part.
6. If you use the term "huge" to describe a sandwich because it has more than one piece of bread, I will force feed you a can of Crisco.
7. Your book? SUCKS.
8. No, I never EVER passed out in the library. This is something I am making up to get attention. I'm so glad you were able to see through such a transparent story.
9. Could we stop discussing people who NO LONGER WORK FOR THE DARIEN SCHOOL SYSTEM? THANK YOU.
10. The phrase "spending calories" makes me want to vomit up my lungs. There is no "calorie budget" and you do not determine if butter is "worth the marginal cost." This is not economics. It'S FOOD.
11. You know what would be nice? If I could mention a person in conversation WITHOUT prompting a little tangent about said person's weight, hair, makeup, and/or clothing. The next time you use the term "round" about A.) a person, and B.) a person who weighs about 135, I will defenestrate myself.
*exhales*
But you know what? My life no longer involves organic chemistry.
Life is good.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
I now fear sunlight
If you see me post, please yell at me, for I should be studying. Not that it will help.
I shall emerge from my cave on August 16th.
I shall emerge from my cave on August 16th.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Translated for your horror and amusement.
So,this is what they say.
And this is what they mean:
Executive Order, as delicately rephrased by someone who may or may not have consumed JUST A TAD of caffeine:
By the authority granted to me as a male member of a long-time influential family in American politics and the refreshing sheep-like loyalty of the average middle-American Republican voter:
I, George Bush, President of the United States of America Jesusland, find that since I feel like creating a policy that violates several well respected amendments of the Constitution, I will whip out the “OH NOES TURRERISTS!” card, because that seems to work well with you people.
Hmmm…which version should I use? How about this: We are shocked and dismayed that any Americans might take action threatening our efforts to bring PEACE AND STABILITY AND RECONSTRUCTION GOODNESS to Iraq. Why are you laughing? No, the U.S. did not start this war, thus causing all the problems in the first place. It was terrorists, I tell you, terrorists! Why do you hate America?
Anyway, we haven’t raped the Constitution enough, so we’re expanding on our previous attempts.
Section 1. Except for the loopholes that we already slipped in to cover our Haliburton buddies’ collective asses:
We’re in ur legalese, seizin ur propertiez!
Yup! I’M TAKING YOUR STUFF, SUCKAS!!
I know, I know, I can’t just go right out and take it, I have to cover my ass and have some kind of justifiable reason, so…hmm. Damn, I used lots of my good material in the Patriot Act…
I’ve got it! If Bob, Hank, and Condi say so! Sweet. Especially because they’re pretty good about doing what I tell them to, so essentially if I say so. This is fucking brilliant.
Okay, better throw in some legalese about the Iraq stuff…blah blah blah interfering-with-reconstruction-efforts-cakes. Whatev.
Doesn’t really matter what I say here? Know why?
WHO’S CHECKING?
Not a judge! Not a jury! Not anybody interested in issuing a warrant!
No judicial involvement of ANY KIND! The Cabinet members have the ABSOLUTE FINAL SAY!
Dude, I should have done this years ago.
What? Oh, the Constitution. Amendments Four and Five? Can you read them to me? Yeah, I used my copy as toilet paper when we ran out a while back. My bad.
4th: “The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.”
5th “No person shall be deprived of… life, liberty, or property, without due process of law.”
Well, that’s interesting, I suppose. Shame I don’t care.
Sec. 2. Anyway. No violating the rules we make up. Not allowed. Yes, that’s another rule I just made up. What, a government where one branch seizes absolute authority to make all the laws is inherently unjust and prone to corruption because that one branch can never be properly investigated? You don’t say.
Sec. 3. For the purposes of this order: the terms “person,” “entity,” and “United States person” mean whatever the hell I want them to.
Sec. 4. Thought you saw a loophole? OH SNAP, NO! Sorry.
Sec. 5. Oh, also, we don’t have to tell you when we do it. Zing!
Sec. 6. Hmmm…have I wantonly expanded the government’s power enough? Of course not! Basically, if we have to do it to carry out this order, it’s allowed. Abuse of power? What? I CAN’T HEAR YOU.
Sec. 7. *Legalese to induce brain aneurysm in case anybody read this far*
Sec. 8. Oho! You think you can use this against ME? NUH UH! I win, you lose. Hee.
Ghostwritten by me, Cheney. What, you think Shrub writes his own stuff? You guys are so cute. He’s off playing with his Xbox. Oh, by the way: nobody tell him that Condi used a cheat code to put him in God-mode in Halo. He thinks he’s winning it all by himself and it will take HOURS to shut him up if he finds out. Later, bitches. You’re ALL my bitches. BWAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!
Anyone know where I can get one of those masks from V for Vendetta?
And this is what they mean:
Executive Order, as delicately rephrased by someone who may or may not have consumed JUST A TAD of caffeine:
By the authority granted to me as a male member of a long-time influential family in American politics and the refreshing sheep-like loyalty of the average middle-American Republican voter:
I, George Bush, President of the United States of America Jesusland, find that since I feel like creating a policy that violates several well respected amendments of the Constitution, I will whip out the “OH NOES TURRERISTS!” card, because that seems to work well with you people.
Hmmm…which version should I use? How about this: We are shocked and dismayed that any Americans might take action threatening our efforts to bring PEACE AND STABILITY AND RECONSTRUCTION GOODNESS to Iraq. Why are you laughing? No, the U.S. did not start this war, thus causing all the problems in the first place. It was terrorists, I tell you, terrorists! Why do you hate America?
Anyway, we haven’t raped the Constitution enough, so we’re expanding on our previous attempts.
Section 1. Except for the loopholes that we already slipped in to cover our Haliburton buddies’ collective asses:
We’re in ur legalese, seizin ur propertiez!
Yup! I’M TAKING YOUR STUFF, SUCKAS!!
I know, I know, I can’t just go right out and take it, I have to cover my ass and have some kind of justifiable reason, so…hmm. Damn, I used lots of my good material in the Patriot Act…
I’ve got it! If Bob, Hank, and Condi say so! Sweet. Especially because they’re pretty good about doing what I tell them to, so essentially if I say so. This is fucking brilliant.
Okay, better throw in some legalese about the Iraq stuff…blah blah blah interfering-with-reconstruction-efforts-cakes. Whatev.
Doesn’t really matter what I say here? Know why?
WHO’S CHECKING?
Not a judge! Not a jury! Not anybody interested in issuing a warrant!
No judicial involvement of ANY KIND! The Cabinet members have the ABSOLUTE FINAL SAY!
Dude, I should have done this years ago.
What? Oh, the Constitution. Amendments Four and Five? Can you read them to me? Yeah, I used my copy as toilet paper when we ran out a while back. My bad.
4th: “The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.”
5th “No person shall be deprived of… life, liberty, or property, without due process of law.”
Well, that’s interesting, I suppose. Shame I don’t care.
Sec. 2. Anyway. No violating the rules we make up. Not allowed. Yes, that’s another rule I just made up. What, a government where one branch seizes absolute authority to make all the laws is inherently unjust and prone to corruption because that one branch can never be properly investigated? You don’t say.
Sec. 3. For the purposes of this order: the terms “person,” “entity,” and “United States person” mean whatever the hell I want them to.
Sec. 4. Thought you saw a loophole? OH SNAP, NO! Sorry.
Sec. 5. Oh, also, we don’t have to tell you when we do it. Zing!
Sec. 6. Hmmm…have I wantonly expanded the government’s power enough? Of course not! Basically, if we have to do it to carry out this order, it’s allowed. Abuse of power? What? I CAN’T HEAR YOU.
Sec. 7. *Legalese to induce brain aneurysm in case anybody read this far*
Sec. 8. Oho! You think you can use this against ME? NUH UH! I win, you lose. Hee.
Ghostwritten by me, Cheney. What, you think Shrub writes his own stuff? You guys are so cute. He’s off playing with his Xbox. Oh, by the way: nobody tell him that Condi used a cheat code to put him in God-mode in Halo. He thinks he’s winning it all by himself and it will take HOURS to shut him up if he finds out. Later, bitches. You’re ALL my bitches. BWAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!
Anyone know where I can get one of those masks from V for Vendetta?
Saturday, July 14, 2007
I can't decide if it's the freaking quarter system or the freaking science classes
I was just talking to Everyone's All-Purpose Gay Boyfriend and realized that last term, he had 9 hours of class a week and got three credits.
Me? I had 15 hours of class a week and got...two credits.
He advised me to spend more time working the system.
I am the system's bitch.
Me? I had 15 hours of class a week and got...two credits.
He advised me to spend more time working the system.
I am the system's bitch.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
It's only sad if you stop laughing
As I am wont to do, I had "forgotten" to call my house for...a few days. I answered the eighth of my mother's frantic emails when I returned from lab at 11:30. She thought the response was hillarious and called me to tell me so, even lamenting that there was no "way to publish writing like this."
Oh yes. It's a shame that no one has a way to publicize their daily random pieces of writing in an easily updatable digital format. Yup.
The email:
"i just got home from lab. shoot me. thanks. and i had my 18 millionth chicken patty for dinner AND THEY ROTATED THE ITEMS ON THE SALAD BAR AND THERE IS NO MORE HUMMUS. which is tragic because hummus was like a foodgroup for me. AND they switched out the vanilla columbo frozen yogurt for some weird strawberry bannana thing. i hate them. AND Fabulously Snarky British Girl's mom was in boston and took her to chez henri. she had a steak. we were all jealous. but lab at night is by definition horrible but actually not so bad, beause by then everyone is crazy, PLUS dr. alloise leaves, so the TAs were like SWEET let's blast music. my brain is not actually working now.
It's actually not that funny because this remains my state of mind.
I LIKE TOAST!
Oh yes. It's a shame that no one has a way to publicize their daily random pieces of writing in an easily updatable digital format. Yup.
The email:
"i just got home from lab. shoot me. thanks. and i had my 18 millionth chicken patty for dinner AND THEY ROTATED THE ITEMS ON THE SALAD BAR AND THERE IS NO MORE HUMMUS. which is tragic because hummus was like a foodgroup for me. AND they switched out the vanilla columbo frozen yogurt for some weird strawberry bannana thing. i hate them. AND Fabulously Snarky British Girl's mom was in boston and took her to chez henri. she had a steak. we were all jealous. but lab at night is by definition horrible but actually not so bad, beause by then everyone is crazy, PLUS dr. alloise leaves, so the TAs were like SWEET let's blast music. my brain is not actually working now.
It's actually not that funny because this remains my state of mind.
I LIKE TOAST!
I can't shoot him, so I'll shoot myself.
And this is why.
Honestly, what's the point of taking orgo if all of your scientific knowledge has to be explained to the freaking head of state using big colored pictures and hand puppets?
Honestly, what's the point of taking orgo if all of your scientific knowledge has to be explained to the freaking head of state using big colored pictures and hand puppets?
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Window screen: 839, Me: 0
In theory:
Catch fly with time-tested cup/slide a piece of paper under the cup method. Open window screen, release fly. Return to studying.
In practice:
Spend twenty minutes waiting for the fucking fly to JUST LAND ALREADY. Fly lands. Sneeze, spurring fly to buzz off again. Amputate nose.
Fail multiple times at dropping cup on fly. Realize that shadow is a giveaway, approach from other direction. Snag fly, engage in justified fist-pump.
Realize that you lack a suitable piece of paper to slide under. Take eyes off of cup for 1.5 seconds to get paper from printer.
Carry cup to unopened window. Open with shoulder, hit funny bone. Swear. Attempt to force screen up, curse chemistry test for inducing massive lack of nails. Bleed on screen.
Release the fly. Fly? Hello? Examine cup to see if fly has taken up refuge...no fly.
Discover fly on ceiling pointing and laughing. Consider swatting the little fucker right there.
Repeat ENTIRE AGONIZING FLY CATCHING PROCESS, but for variety, replace the ill-timed sneeze with an unfortunately ringing cell phone.
Successfully release fly. Let two enormous moths into room for a net gain of one bug.
Counsel moths, point out that love affair with giant lamp is ill-advised.
Give up, waste time writing blog post.
And that's why I'm going to fail my Orgo test! WHY CAN'T I JUST KILL A BUG? Seriously. I can't. Surprisingly, it's for once not due to my massive klutziness--fly swatters fall ino the "tennis racket" category. I just...don't actually swat. And every time, I stand there and think "You've killed mice and rats, why can't you do this?" But when you decapitate the baby rat, it's For Science, and enters the part of your brain that exists blissfully unaware, and you very carefully don't let yourself think about it. Swatting bugs---I don't know. No laboratory, no swat.
Except for mosquitos. Seriously, you come in to suck my blood, all bets are off.
Catch fly with time-tested cup/slide a piece of paper under the cup method. Open window screen, release fly. Return to studying.
In practice:
Spend twenty minutes waiting for the fucking fly to JUST LAND ALREADY. Fly lands. Sneeze, spurring fly to buzz off again. Amputate nose.
Fail multiple times at dropping cup on fly. Realize that shadow is a giveaway, approach from other direction. Snag fly, engage in justified fist-pump.
Realize that you lack a suitable piece of paper to slide under. Take eyes off of cup for 1.5 seconds to get paper from printer.
Carry cup to unopened window. Open with shoulder, hit funny bone. Swear. Attempt to force screen up, curse chemistry test for inducing massive lack of nails. Bleed on screen.
Release the fly. Fly? Hello? Examine cup to see if fly has taken up refuge...no fly.
Discover fly on ceiling pointing and laughing. Consider swatting the little fucker right there.
Repeat ENTIRE AGONIZING FLY CATCHING PROCESS, but for variety, replace the ill-timed sneeze with an unfortunately ringing cell phone.
Successfully release fly. Let two enormous moths into room for a net gain of one bug.
Counsel moths, point out that love affair with giant lamp is ill-advised.
Give up, waste time writing blog post.
And that's why I'm going to fail my Orgo test! WHY CAN'T I JUST KILL A BUG? Seriously. I can't. Surprisingly, it's for once not due to my massive klutziness--fly swatters fall ino the "tennis racket" category. I just...don't actually swat. And every time, I stand there and think "You've killed mice and rats, why can't you do this?" But when you decapitate the baby rat, it's For Science, and enters the part of your brain that exists blissfully unaware, and you very carefully don't let yourself think about it. Swatting bugs---I don't know. No laboratory, no swat.
Except for mosquitos. Seriously, you come in to suck my blood, all bets are off.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Honestly
Hello, my VAST and adoring audience!
I apologize. I take Orgo. And I have five half-written posts saved that I can't finish, because Orgo has taken the sad, pathetic humor that I had and sucked even that dry. Ooooh, dehydration synthesis reaction! (Ba-dum-CHHH!)
But honestly? I laughed when the head of the chem department at Dartmouth warned me that I would be "eating, sleeping, and breathing Orgo" but now I must admit that if Johnny Depp showed up at my door wearing nothing but a thin film of chocolate, I would tell him to fuck off.
Unless, of course, he could help me with these diastereoisomer configurations.
I apologize. I take Orgo. And I have five half-written posts saved that I can't finish, because Orgo has taken the sad, pathetic humor that I had and sucked even that dry. Ooooh, dehydration synthesis reaction! (Ba-dum-CHHH!)
But honestly? I laughed when the head of the chem department at Dartmouth warned me that I would be "eating, sleeping, and breathing Orgo" but now I must admit that if Johnny Depp showed up at my door wearing nothing but a thin film of chocolate, I would tell him to fuck off.
Unless, of course, he could help me with these diastereoisomer configurations.
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