Yes, Peeps, I made it back from the Land of the Never-Ending Protest.

I have a story or two to tell, but, unfortunately, fatigue and Making-a-Living 101 have prevented me from properly collecting my thoughts.

In the meantime …………

IMAGINE A HUMOROUS/INTERESTING IMAGE HERE.

IMAGINE HUMOROUS/INTERESTING/PITHY/WITTY/SARCASTIC COMMENTARY HERE.

Seeing as how, the humorous/interesting/pithy/witty/sarcastic commentary won’t mean anything without the image, you’ll have to wait until I get the WordPress 2.5 image thing sorted out. Great minds (obviously, mine is not one of them) are working on this cyber-speed bump.

Making-A-Living 101 requires that I head off to the Left Coast for three days.

Tawk amongst yourselves, but play nice.

The day started fairly early, packing in some morning errands before taking the Big, Fat, Black, Capitalist Car (BFBCC) to Ken’s (my friend and bodyguard) house, where I would turn over the keys to him for the duration. There were various pre-planned phone calls, which would enable us to meet Teresa (coming in from Massachusetts) and the Wiseass Jooette upon their arrival at Penn Station in beautiful downtown Newark. They met up, as planned, in New York’s Penn Station and trained into Jersey.

After a quick tour of the Ironbound Section of Newark with a side trip (no extra charge) to Kearny (my stompin’ grounds as a yoot) for a look-see (a bargain at twice the price), we aimed the BFBCC toward Princeton, which permitted our guest travelers to behold New Jersey’s tank farms on the Turnpike (What’s not to like?).

We arrived at the hotel, met up with Gregor and, within ten minutes, we all assembled at the hotel bar, where, as I previously noted, they stocked Three Olives Chocolate Vodka. Ken’s son stopped by to welcome us to Princeton and to share a pint or two. He also shot pool with Erica, who travels with a special pool glove (talk about dooshbags). I suspect she lost, even with the glove, because, had she won, the entire place would have heard about it.

At the appointed time, we piled into the BFCC for the short trip to the Triumph Brewery for the shindig. I must have already been pretty limber, because I programmed Mr. Tom Tom to lead us back to the hotel, for which I graciously accepted the ration of shit heaped on me by the vehicle’s occupants.

Upon arriving at the Triumph, I finally got to meet Fausta, who really did the heavy lifting to make the party happen. She is a delight, and the snazzy red heels were straight out of the Wizard of Oz. Very cool.

The place was full of old friends, whom I had met before: Suzette, TigerHawk, Shamrocketship, Mr. Surly (my son-in-law), KateSpot, and, of course, the incomparable Denny, the Grouchy Old Cripple, who motored in from Atlanta. There was lots of catching up going on.

I also got to meet some excellent new peeps, such as Eric of Classical Values, Judith of Kesher Talk, Joated of Compass Points, and Mr. Bingley of the Coalition of the Swilling. Time didn’t permit me to spend much time with Mary of Exit Zero or the Baron of Gates of Vienna, but I know there’ll be a next time to get to know them better.

The beer was outstanding as was the food, but blogmeets are mostly about blabbing, and there was plenty of that, for sure.

After the party broke up, those of staying at the hotel along with Mr. Surly returned to … you guessed it … da hotel bar for more chocolate vodka and bullshitting until the bar closed.

It was a great party.

Well, I survived another blogmeet, where I had fun meeting some old friends and making a few new ones.

I knew we would be in trouble when I saw that the hotel were we stayed in Princeton had Chocolate Vodka at the bar. The bartender had to keep going into the storeroom to get new bottles. Yeef!

Too tired and toxic to write at the moment.

It was a good time.

I wrote a post that centered around an image. The reason I decided to do that particular post is because I’m tired and crabby, and I don’t feel like spending a lot of time in front of this computer.

This is the first time I tried to insert an image into a post using WordPress 2.5. Ninety minutes and numerous failures later, I FAROOKIN’ GIVE UP!

Feh!

Here, Peeps, is the Senate Majority Leader trying to explain how the payment of federal income tax is voluntary. If it weren’t so pathetic, his explanation would be positively hilarious.

I suppose what he was trying to explain is that reporting your income is “voluntary,” which is to say that if you held up a bank, you have the opportunity to “voluntarily” report the proceeds of the robbery as income.

How you would one “voluntarily” report such income? Why, by “voluntarily” filing a tax return, of course. Which begs the question, what happens if you had income and don’t “voluntarily” file a tax return?

The answer is that you will be fined and, quite possibly, sent to the slammer.

Only in the snake-filled mind of Harry Reid could such a system be considered to be “voluntary”.

h/t: C&S

A presidential election. You read, you study, you analyze, you weigh the pros and cons, you debate, and then there is this.

Just farookin’ shoot me.

Bill Clinton …….. Bill Richardson

Somehow, I don’t think the Clintons and the Richardsons will be getting together in Chappaqua or New Mexico for a game of Parcheesi any time soon.

Via Hot Air

It is the result of an upgrade (in progress — of course, not by me, ha!) and possibly a cow in Montana having kicked the soiver.

If you’re reading this, and the site looks OK … never mind.

In the rat’s nest that is my cruller, I have a vision of Barack Obama owning and operating a diner. Really, I can’t explain this stuff. Anyway, the following interaction between Obama and the diner’s customer percolated to the top.

Obama: Good morning, sir. What can I get you?

Customer: Good morning to you. I’m starving. How about a cheese omelet, with a side of bacon, some buttered white toast and a cup of black coffee?

Obama: You need to change that.

Customer: Huh?

Obama: Yeah, you need a change. You’ll have an egg white omelet with low fat cheese, and. instead of the bacon, I’ll give you fresh fruit. The white bread is out of the question. I’ll give you whole wheat toast. No butter: margarine instead. I’ll switch the coffee to decaf.

Customer: I really wanted what I ordered, if that’s OK with you.

Obama: Not OK. I told you. I’m changing your order. I know what’s best for you. It’s all about change. You’ll be glad you did.

Customer: OK, if you say so. I’ll give it a try.

Obama: Great. That’ll be $18.95, please.

Customer: $18.95? That’s pretty steep for breakfast.

Obama: Yeah, but it’s good for you. I’d like it in advance, please.

Customer: OK. Payment up front is pretty unusual, I’ll say (pays Obama). Good thing for you I’m as hungry as I am.

Obama: Thanks. I’ll be back with your breakfast in a jiffy.

. . .

Obama: Here you are. Enjoy your breakfast.

Customer: Is that it?

Obama: Yeah, is there a problem?

Customer: This is one piece of dry toast and a glass of water!

Obama: Yeah, I changed your order. Embrace the change and nurture your hope.

Customer: I was hoping to get my goddamned breakfast!

Obama: Like I said, enjoy your breakfast, big guy.

Customer: This is nuts. Gimme my damned money back. I’m outta here.

Obama: Sorry. Your money will go to the greater good. Besides, from the looks of you, it appears that you have been eating more than your fair share.

Customer: This is bullshit!

Obama: Keep hope alive!

Customer: I hope you get crabs.