Interesting.

h/t Catfish

We still receive copies of the local newspaper that is published in the town where the House by the Parkway (North) is located. I took a look at it today and this was the banner headline:

REPORT SHOWS DROP IN CRIME

Directly under the headline and the accompanying story was a black box containing the following headline:

POLICE PROBE MURDER

We don’t have many murders in town, so and those we do have are a very big deal. This particular one was quite awful. The victim, a 54-year old woman, was murdered in her home and discovered by her parents, both in their nineties.

Perhaps the editor was absent from journalism class on the day when the subject was the juxtaposition of headlines.

Today the Usual Suspects will put the wheels on the Garden State Parkway and head south for a gathering at the House by the Parkway (South). Dinner out, then back here for cocktails until the wee hours. Given that the house is only partially furnished, it will be a bit like camping, but it will be fun. I guaran-damn-tee it.

Happy Thanksgiving to all who have been willing to give up a bit of their valuable time to stop by.

I just saw a headline somewhere that referred a barely post-pubescent person named “Justin Bieber.” I gather he is a celebrity of sorts. I have no idea who Justin Bieber is, nor do I much give a shit who Justin Bieber is. As such, I won’t even bother firing up Google to see who Justin Bieber is.

I figure not knowing who Justin Bieber is, and not giving a shit who Justin Bieber is, is a sign of age, but decidedly a good sign.

Although it is now largely ignored by the newspapers, back then I heard it all on the radio.

Cracked me up, this.

Shamelessly swiped from Elisson, who always looks like Mr. Debonair, even when sporting a colander.

Tommy Emmanuel, a positively amazing guitar player master, has released a new CD, and he talks about the cuts in the video.

This is on my “Gotta Get” list.

Dear Diary,

It’s been a long time since I sat down to write in my diary. That’s because I’ve been totally busy slamming the shit out of my gabel while speaking in the House. I’ve been breaking my gorgeous ass getting laws passed that are, like, totally rad. Free stuff for everyone!

And yet, what do I get in return? A bunch of mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging idiots carrying flags with snakes on them – yes snakes! – asking me about the constitutionicity of the laws that I broke my picture-perfect ass to pass for them. Ungrateful bastards! Pricks! I’m the goddamned SPEAKER in the House, and I know all about the constitutionicity of stuff. Obviously, those snake-flag waving Nazis never heard of the Good and Plenty Clause in the Constitution.

Then there was the election. What did I do on the night of the election? I planned my own little victory party, because nobody can beat me in my district — ever. My people love me. So, I had laid in an ample supply of high quality herb — no stems or seeds. Totally primo shit. I paid for the services of a Mexican named Diego who was going to show me how to play “Ride the Bucking Burro.” He brought over some homemade enchiladas and one of those big hats – You know: the kind those people wear – a somblego or some shit.

We fired up the weed and watched Keith Olbermann. He is sooooo smart, but Diego seemed a bit puzzled by it all, so I kept him busy by letting him play with my tits. By the time the polls on the East Coast closed, we had done the enchiladas, a couple six packs of Corona and three or four shots of Jose Cuervo. I was wearing my somblego and nothing else.

We were just getting started playing the Bucking Burro Game when I got a bunch of calls from the whiney-ass house members who were in the process of getting their asses kicked in the polls. It was like, ”Oooooh Nancy, I’m like totally screwed. I did everything you said and voted the way you told me to, and now I’m going to have to get a real job. Whatever am I going to do?”

Crybaby bitches! They didn’t do everything I told them to do, because if they did, they would still have their jobs. I told them a gazillion times, “If you want to win elections, you have to look sexy – like me!” But did they listen? Nooooo. So now they want to bellyache to me? Screw them. I unplugged the phone.

Besides, I wanted to hop back on that bucking burro.

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I am not a collector of things. Well, except for refrigerator magnets.

The thing is, I’m not a very good collector, because when I’m in a new place, I don’t go out of my way to find refrigerator magnets. If I find myself in a place that sells them, and I have the time to pick one up, I will, but, being a lousy collector, as often as not, I forget to even look for them. It never much mattered, because placing them on the refrigerator in the House by the Parkway (North) was, by decree of Mrs. Parkway, verboten. But, at the House by the Parkway (South), we have a very nice garage refrigerator (stocked exclusively with beverages) on which I can park my refrigerator magnets.

Here’s a close up view of some of them.

Another close up view.

Isn’t this exciting?

I’ve been to lots of places not represented by magnets, but, as I said, I’m a lousy collector.

Oh, I almost forgot. I’m also a lousy collector of tall shot glasses, but they have remained and still remain stored away in several boxes. If I can find a suitable place to put them, I’ll show them to you. Until then, we’ll all just have to tough it out.