And sometimes my hands or feet.

All right kids, you cornered me. Happy with yourselves? Man can't buy a pantry pack of Fluff without the whole damn media goin' apey. I 'spose you wanna ask me about that Stephen Root sex tape been floatin' around the World Wide. Well folks, I'm not gonna talk about it.  No siree.  Not gonna.  I'm sure as hell not gonna talk about the Inverted Assayer, that filthy...act Ms. Lewis invented—gee whiz, what that woman can do with a jar of Fluff and a freckled duck is pure poetry. Mind-blowing. I mean, the logistics of it are just...anyway folks, sorry, ain't gonna talk about that today. If you'll excuse me please I'm off to the duck pond.

En cette journée des Patriotes, je suis tout questionnement... envers mon moi de manifestant beaucoup plus festif que maniaque... J'ai le moi patraque, mais pas autant que d'autres... car je m'accroche encore à l'écoute des petites voix en dehors des murs de carton. Il y a de la vérité en dehors de sa propre couche corporelle, voilà une pensée à répéter aujourd'hui, et encore plus demain, et ainsi de suite!

Il n'y a rien à faire, « patriote » sonne quand même plus blessant pour le dialogue que « fleur ». Et je ne suis même pas à bout de métaphores, c'est la qualité qui prévaut sur la quantité. La stupidité d'un Louis ou d'un autre y verra de la mollesse : grand bien leur fasse, et surtout lui fasse, ce patriote absolutiste, ce mauvais exemple : je le laisse s'empêtrer dans sa mélasse de grande noirceur, avec l'aide de son hoquet idéologique! Non, « idéologique » c'est trop, car il n'a pas les idéaux logiques, seulement l'idiome idiot. Je daignerai peut-être l'aider quand il en aura si proche du nez que sa respiration causera de minuscules vagues...

Justement, quand le terme « patriote » a toutes les lettres d'une maladie mentale, je m'éloigne de la souche infectieuse, comme les autres copains-copains qui ont fait de même, à différents niveaux et à leur manière... En cette journée de fierté, je suis donc fier de ne pas endosser le patriotisme à la sauce uhecéenne du repli sur soi, de l'échafaudage puéril d'ennemis, de l'exclusivité de pensée, de la terreur née du détail, du courage qui ne se résume qu'à la rage, de la haine offerte en partage à tous les vents.

Je ne suis pas ça. La négative est plus évidente, c'est certain. Si je suis patriote, mon arme est le pont, pas la barrière qu'il s'est forgé du fer de ses lubies. Si je ne le suis pas, c'est qu'il me font, me fait trop peur, ou plutôt trop pitié, avec son petit air fantomatique.

Et il n'a surtout pas compris qu'un contrat se discute au jour le jour, en ayant le front vers l'avant, l'avenir, car le passé est toujours extrémiste en raison de son caractère statique. C'est un siège confortable, mais trop engloutissant. Le pire, c'est que je me suis bien démené pour le lui dire, en toute amitié...

*

Avant de terminer, j'aimerais tomber dans l'anecdotique. Il y a un détail que j'ai gardé pour moi jusqu'à aujourd'hui et je vais m'en servir pour terminer en beauté cette histoire de séparation. Cela concerne l'élément qui m'a fait comprendre qu'UHEC ne pouvait plus être ma niche politique, puisque cela était la preuve que son élément central, Louis, a pour moteur un égocentrisme crasse malgré une façade qui s'acharne à démontrer l'inverse.

Bon, voilà, peu de temps avant qu'il publie son billet contre le blogue Angry French Guy, un ami — avec lequel je faisais du covoiturage, et qui est un très grand ami de ce blogueur — me dit :

— Eh! Tu t'es fait déclasser par AFG sur TLMEB y parait!

Je réponds :

- Ah! ouin... je n'ai pas remarqué, il me semble que mon rang n'a pas bougé depuis un bout...

En arrivant chez moi, j'ai vérifié et j'avais raison, ma position dans la section « Opinion » n'avait pas bougée, mais en même temps il était aussi vrai qu'AFG avait déclassé UHEC dans la section « Politique », et j'étais encore un collaborateur de ce blogue donc...

Alors, quand j'ai lu ledit billet après-coup, je me suis dit qu'il était évident que Louis avait écrit ce texte plus par frustration de s'être fait dépasser sur TLMEB que pour toutes les autres raisons évoquées... Et je savais pertinemment comment pour lui tout ce qui tournait autour des statistiques était important, même que de juste écrire « important » n'est pas assez fort! Je me souviens qu'il avait pondu un billet contre antagoniste.net à la suite d'un dépassement du genre...

Autre preuve, après m'être assez fait insulté par ses soins, j'ai rétorqué en action en inscrivant mon blogue dans la section « Politique » sur TLMEB pour rabaisser sa position — et ainsi lui rabaisser le caquet —, puis, une vingtaine de minutes plus tard, je recevais de sa part un courriel m'expliquant, pour des raisons vagues, que nous étions, à ses yeux, maintenant ennemis...

Y'a-t-il encore quelqu'un qui le prend au sérieux maintenant?

(Vous remarquerez que je n'ai pas ajouté d'hyperlien le pointant directement, mais je sais qu'il va quand même se manifester ici ou ailleurs, j'ai presque le goût de démarrer un « pool »...)

Ajout :

Wow! c'est du rapide! Même pas trois heures plus tard, Louis s'est commis sur son blogue par rapport à ce billet. Je le sais parce que j'ai reçu un trackback, que j'ai immédiatement effacé... Et je n'inclus pas ici l'hyperlien vers son billet pour la simple et bonne raison que je ne le sais pas, je n'ai aucun goût ni intérêt à lire les élucubrations de ce petit despote de pacotille sans autre saveur que celle âcre de l'extrémisme. Surtout, ça ne me tente pas de fouiller dans les poubelles...

An abode of enlightenment, refreshment, a social gathering where everyone feeds their hungry stomach, The College canteen. Gangs are noticeable in this area of the campus. They come in a bunch, munch and leave as a bunch. It is the most happening place in a college campus because a lot of things happen here, really I mean it!

A bunch of Guys in Khaki uniform walk in to the canteen for a snack just as the sun begins to set. They appear sweaty from all the laborious tasks in the workshop lab. A couple of tall handsome guys among them give it a long stroll and took a lead at joining the queue at the canteen counter. One among them drops a one rupee coin accidentally and immediately jerks out his hand trying to grab the falling coin and then goes bending down to the floor to go grab it as the coin hits floor and rolls a little bit to the side. The legend says that this was how it was all started, and the legend was actually a guy who likes to gossip a lot and one who can create a leading NY Times best seller novel out of a mundane incident (More on that Legend later). The other guys who were standing by him were very creative(or destructive) indeed. Seeing a well positioned, broad looking back of the fully nourished body of the bending guy, they couldn't resist but go for the "Dharma Adi" (which means Free hit) or "Podhu Mathu" (which means General Beating). It is more comical if you knew Tamil, but if you know the equivalent comical word in your language that could meet that synonym, then feel free to substitute it. Without waiting any further or even thinking for more than 1 second the tall guys opened up the palm and initiated the most fun ritual of all times, beating the hell out of the bent guy. The rest of the gang reciprocated, I mean who can resist some great stress releasing moments. The poor bent guy (who wanted to stay rich with his 1 rupee) slowly straightens himself up as the avalanche of thunder on his back ends and poses a Manirathnam style one word question to the rest of the gang - "Why?". The khaki wearing, canteen trotting, gang monsters bend back and laugh violently at the now straightened up guy drawing some more attention from the curious onlookers in the queue and folks within a few feet radius, causing them to have a mild to medium and some hysterical laugh.

Now, like all things like these in college, they spread like wildfire, but the fire is selective and picks its people on its path, so not everyone actually knew this immediately. I mean it might takes weeks before the last guy knows exactly what happened, because these were the days when youtube was actually that legend kind of guy who describes the incident in full vigor. This definitely left a lot of room for more demonstration of the beating incident. Folks who knew about it, would just wait for a chance for a guy to bend over for grabbing something. In fact incidents like these spread like wildfire only through demonstration and not through narration. Probability had it that not many actually bent over because mostly the campus floor had nothing valuable to be picked up, India wasn't shining back then you see! So this is where people get creative at being destructive. What happened next was an ingenious attempt at creating the environment, conducive enough for the ignorant guy to bend down and be at the receiving end. I happened to be in the execution of one such operation. A fake game was created, a big money betting pool with a simple coin tossing game. Each guy gets a chance to bet either on the head or tail and the rest of the group will have to bet the same money on the other side of the coin. So if the guy wins he gets as many times as the number in the group. Sounds very lucrative enough that it did attract one ignorant soul. And then ...

(2001 a space odyssey music plays in the background ...)
The coin toss begins ... The coin is tossed ...
(music plays on ... and the scene now goes into slow motion)
The ignorant and hopeful guy fixates his eye on the coin and follows its trajectory up and down all in slow motion. The coin falls down and slightly rolls over to his upper right side. The guy bends down in curiosity, all he could see was 10 times his betting money. He bends down completely, with greedy eyes and a wide smile, only he ended up feeling things, that he didn't see coming. He cried for his mother and God for help, while we worked on him to our heart's content. That night we slept peacefully but promised the ignorant soul to be on our group to beat up the next one in the list.

Karma can be cruel. Because it get backs at you and in the age of Kaliyuga it gets back at you within a week. To create a hit list is not an easy task, you have to pick the right guy. The guy who doesn't know about the plan, the guy who is in the hostel for the weekdays and escapes to his home exactly at 4:35PM on Friday, because he is about 2 hours from his home but has to be in the hostel as 2 hours is too long during the weekdays to travel. But there is also another criteria to keep in mind, the size and strength of the guy. We misjudged it this time. The same scene was created one night in the hostel, with this guy. The coin was tossed, we got on him with our arms. What happened next was funnier than a Vadivelu comedy, There were now 11 people crying for Mother and God and it was none other than us. He just simple used his whole body and arms to throw us all away in every direction. No one dared to even get back to him to restart the business, in fact he was humbly offered the job of the opening batsman (one who starts the beatings first) for the next round.

And then of course, the last guy came to know of this ritual and it all ended. But it sure was written in the Urban Legend of College Terrors as there was still some fear left in people. If they dropped the coin they do look around 1 KM radius before bending down to get it and get it quick enough so there was no chance for anyone to pounce upon them.

Next time you drop something while at campus, look around, because Tigers wait and strike.

Since being his intern means I should do what a Tao Lin intern should do (which is basically anything I want, as long as it promotes Tao Lin) I will write about Tao Lin.

Tao Lin likes broccoli, hamsters, dinner (maybe) and is on wikipedia.

Perhaps I should start with his newest work called Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy, a poetry book that is in no way related to my psychology major.
When I finished reading the first 7 pages of the book I felt like crying. Because it is very true. It touches truths for me in the similar way Murakami does (the floppy Japanese writer who wrote Norwegian Wood and the world was thrown in a unifying orgasm. For a little while.)
CBT did not throw me into orgasm, but "I have been thinking very hard and learning about mortality, loneliness, people, society and love; I am afraid that I am not learning fast enough" rings a few bells. Not just one, but a few. I wonder if we can ever learn fast enough. I know in some aspect in relationships, I have surpassed my age a little; and I'm proud of it. But still, I am trying very hard.

Another one. Love is a thing on sale for more money than there exists from Bed. What can I say? I felt so horrible after this. Maybe this is the way boys think, like Garret in the book. Then my spoon containing my dinner stopped halfway in mid-air: I realized M didn't reply to a text I sent two hours ago. He didn't reply.
But last night he was really sweet on the webcam asking me if I was nice & warm before going to bed.
Maybe those two will cancel out. No, they won't. Maybe they will.

But that part of Tao Lin's book was really nice and really good. And you should read it, because I've already linked it for you.
I used to talk all about myself. Now I talked a bit about Tao Lin.

Friday night, I had the considerable treat of attending a concert put on by the band I used to listen to in high school: Nightwish. You know, the crazy goth band from Finland where the members all have long hair and they'll sometimes sing songs about elves. My friend is still a huge fan of them, but while my musical tastes have moved on, I still like to sometimes sit and listen to the ole goth music.

My friend was so die-hard, she wanted to be right up at the stage so she could get covered in Nightwish's sweat. Which is kind of gross, but in concerts everyone gets crazy anyway and the crowd thinks nothing of ripping each other apart to get the guitarist's water bottle or whatever. Eventually she made it and was delightedly crushed against the stage. Later on, I was as well. And boy did that band sweat!

The concert was at the Starlite Room, which is a pretty popular venue. Last time I was there was to see Raine Maida. Unfortunately, the floor is slanted, effectively killing your back, whether you're wearing heels or not. And of course, I was. But the show was pretty damn good regardless.

They're great performers. I'm not the biggest fan of that kind of rock, like all the spread-leg power stances when playing guitar and so on, but my god did they have energy. So did their openers (Sonic Syndicate). I listened to Nightwish back when they had Tarja Turunen, and I hadn't really bothered to listen to their stuff with the new vocalist Anette Olzon, so I was interested to see what she was like. In the end, though, it didn't matter too much, because I was right near the stage, between the speakers, meaning I wasn't able to hear her voice at all. Damn! At least she was super cute. You know, I've been to a couple metal and metal-ish concerts in my time, but I've never seen anyone have fun like Anette did. She'd have this great big smile on her face half the time as she rocked around the stage, and there was a lot of chemistry between her and the other band members, too. They obviously worked really well together and had fun doing what they did. See! You can still like vampires and fallen angels and goblets and tombstones 'n'stuff and still enjoy yourself. About three songs in they were sweating so much they looked like they would pass out any second, but they still kept at it.

Being me, I have to start talking about clothes now. Anette's outfit was very, very flattering, and I wanted her boots, which looked like a pair of Converse but went up and covered her shins, I believe (my memory es muy terrible). Anyway, her dress was very simple and filmy and just Goth enough with a huge silver clasp between her boobs. Very classy.

On my own outfit: Usually I don't mind showing up at places and standing out, but I wasn't about to a) get beaten up or b) get shown up by the goths, whose outfits can get a little insane. I was up for the challenge. What I wanted to do was blend in, and sort of dip back into my old goth-y roots, but I ended up wearing a black corset over a bright pink and orange outfit, and I was showing off my legs, too, because I knew if I showed up in long pants I'd regret it. The result was that I stuck out like a glow stick in a cemetery. 

 A note on their openers: It's rare when you get a band onstage, and all the band members are cute. With Sonic Syndicate, that was how they rolled. They also played with a lot of energy, rushing about the stage and just rocking out. They're probably building a great fanbase through pure performance grit alone.

Storytime with Mars:

Of course, the biggest downside at any concert is the (drunk) asshole in the crowd, or, worse, like at Friday's concert, when there is a lot of them concentrated in one place right next to you. There were three of them right by me that I would end up pressed against. No one wanted to be near them, and they were right by the stage, too. They were soaked in their own sweat and it was beading off of them, and being that sweaty is only attractive if, well, you're attractive, like in that one Britney Spears video. Call me shallow, but if you were in the same situation as me, you'd feel the exact same way. Admiiiiit it.

Unfortunately, not only am I a girl on the small side, but I'm pretty decent-looking, a really bad combination when you're crammed in a mosh pit. For reals, dude. I was repeatedly hit on by, and forced to be smooshed up against, this fat bald drunk white guy who was a good fifteen years my senior. When a bunch of people tried to fight their way through and I was bowled over, fat bald drunk white guy tried to help me up (I didn't need it; strange as it sounds, girls can take care of themselves sometimes) and put his arm around my waist. I did not ask for it to be there. I didn't want to come off as a complete asshole, but after shouting "I'm fine!" for the third time I had to spend twenty seconds wriggling away from this guy's hold. Seriously. I'm not retarded, I know the whole pretend-to-be-helpful-but-really-just-cop-a-feel move. Halfway through the concert he said "So, what's your name?" "I'm too young for you!" I snapped back. About a song later when I was getting propelled into him again, he said something along the lines of "It doesn't matter how old you are, I can still show you a good time!"

Luckily, there was a gap in the crowd ahead as two of the drunk idiots were kicked out by a pissy staff member. I made my exit fast, managing to get around the guy that was a good four heads taller than me and previously had kept clipping me in the face with his elbow, and slipping in front of the nice boy from Calgary, so I could get behind my friend at the stage. "Smooth move!" said nice boy from Calgary. I know, right. See, I get pretty tired of not only being pressed against people who are soaked with sweat, but when those people are unattractive, drunk, and creepy. Call me crazy, but that doesn't really rev my engine. I know, how strange of me.

And that was the Nightwish concert. Thrilling! I know you all felt as if you'd been there. My work here is done. For Nine Inch Nails I think I'm going to wear a flower-patterned dress and bring a muscly guy along to protect me.

His joining the Army was accidental. His elder brother had taken Chemistry course at the Virginia Military Institute. He had done well. When George was ready to enrol in VMI he overheard his brother telling his brother not to let George go. Because he was afraid George would disgrace the family name. More was his determination to prove his brother wrong.

18.

In 1902 as the second lieutenant Marshall was leading a patrol by ‘banca’in the Philippines. They were heading towards a small island where an armed band had been reported. On the way he had to cross a narrow stream but deep for fording. As the patrol got moving some one heard a splash and yelled,’Crcodiles!’. In panic men ran for safety knocking Marshall over. He quietly got to his feet and ordered them to fall in, gave them right shoulder arms and faced the river they had just crossed.’March!’the lieutenant commanded. Down they went single file into the river with Marshall at their head. Having reached the other end they were kept marching back where they started from. This was repeated before they could fall out. No more the incident was mentioned. As the one in command he merely used the reflexes of discipline to restore the substance of command. 

benny 

Anyhoo, two days ago, I received a wonderful present from Benj of Atheista.net. Despite the fact that Atheista may have inadvertently outed my nationality as a result of this blog post, I'm still totally psyched!

I'll admit that I came really close to going on hiatus due to the lack of atheism-related events happening in my life, but now that I have this, my enthusiasm has been newly energized! Even though that might mean more atheism-free, workplace-ranty posts. Sorry, guys.

Thanks to Atheista's generosity, you may now redirect your servers (or not, if you're lazy) to...

teenatheist.com

(I would have made it do that HTML blinky thing, but even I'm not that annoying.)

Now, with regards to my nationality being kind of out in the open now, it's no big deal, as I have mentioned in my About page. Let me just say, though, that I am not in the least bit ashamed to be a countrywoman of [insert country here]. (Okay, so that sounded kind of hilariously ironic, but I do have a point here!) I only maintained ambiguity here because I do not feel that my citizenship is not relevant to the message I am trying to convey with this blog.

...If there is one.

Also, I started this blog aiming to reach an international audience rather than a country-exclusive one, which is usually what happens when [insert country here] bloggers know that you're from their country. I hope that knowing where I come from does not change your opinion of me; I am still the Teenage Atheist, period, rather than the Teenage Atheist From [insert country here].

I'm not 100% sure on what to do with this shiny new domain since I've always been dependent on blog hosts (me to Atheista: "I feel like a hillbilly who just got an iMac — I’m totally honored, although I have no idea how to work this internetty website thingamajigger stuff." Yes, I am a little bit racist, too. Everyone is!) but I'm currently in the process of figuring this out. I may be contacting Jersey sometime soon to enlist her help, since she's been very helpful about telling me which buttons to click and all of that. Hee.

In closing, let me quote Wayne Campbell: "Party on!"

Order The 50 Greatest Yankee Games from Amazon for $9.99

Other Kindle Books of Interest
The Pride and the Pressure: A Season Inside the New York Yankee Fishbowl

Pride and Pinstripes

The Last Night of the Yankee Dynasty

The Big Bam: The Life and Times of Babe Ruth

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Cicero, Marcus Tullius(106-43 B.C) Orator

Even as a child he won fame among his school fellows and Masters alike for his excellent wit and quick capacity to learn. It is said that the fathers of other boys used to come to school to see the boy who carried such an excellent report.

11.

He left for Rhodes to study Rhetoric under Appolonius. His tutor who was not so proficient in latin tongue, wanted Cicero to declaim certain passages in Greek. He took up the task hoping thereby his faults,if any, would be corrected. His tutor kept a deadpan expression throughout to observe in the end,”As for me Cicero I not only praise thee but more than that I wonder at thee: and yet I am sorry for Greece to see that learning and eloquence( which were the only two gifts and honor left to us)are by thee carried unto the Romans”.

12.

When he got into active politics he took the trouble of knowing the names of citizens with whom he came into contact as well as those who were influential.

He was very vain and loved to hear his own praise. After a long absence from Rome when he returned to the city he asked his friend what the Romans said of him. His friend asked,”You mean you have been

away?”It made him shut up. ( Plutarch’s Lives- Thomas North’s version. ) 

benny

You fucking prick, I'm so sick of being asked questions about my taffeta dickeys. I stopped with that shit a long time ago. I haven't donned a dickey since '95. Well, once in '97 I wore a chiffon dickey to a chiffon dickey fund raiser, but that hardly counts. Man, was that a wild party. It was at the Drake. Andie MacDowell was there. Pendleton was there—he got so hopped up on the Steve Coogan moonshine that he tried to take his pants off over his head. Later he ran into Chris Noth and proposed to him. Never seen Austin like that. Anyway, we were raising money for kids in Africa who couldn't afford chiffon dickeys, so it was for a good cause that I once again wore a false shirt-front. You know, it's bullshit: do you realize that while 46 percent of Africans have access to potable water, zero percent have access to chiffon dickeys? Well, we did something about that.

Oh, also, Pendleton threw up in Bebe Neuwirth's big hat.

In the UK today, it is perfectly legal to ogle a man's chest but not a woman's breasts, according to an unusual ruling on what constitutes voyeurism by a panel of leading judges at the Court of Appeal recently. Only women's breasts can be regarded as "private parts", whereas the male chest – even if the male in question has man breasts, or "moobs" as they are known – cannot, the judges say.

The term mood is a new one on me and the distinction between the sexual status of the female and male chest area was made during the quashing of a conviction for voyeurism at a public swimming pool. Kevin Bassett, of Spalding, Lincs, was found guilty last year of the charge after he secretly filmed a man as he showered in his trunks. The 44-year-old care home worker was given an 18-month supervision order, but appealed on the grounds that the alleged offence did not fall into any category in the 2003 Sexual Offences Act under which he was charged. Lawyers for Mr Bassett said the Act stated that private parts – such as breasts – must be "exposed" during an act of voyeurism. It was claimed that the Act only referred to female breasts and that the jury had been poorly directed by the judge at St Albans Crown Court.
Lord Justice Hughes, sitting at the Court of Appeal in London with Mr Justice Treacy and Sir Paul Cresswell, said the trial judge had given the jury legal directions before they retired, but had failed properly to address the question of the meaning of breasts. He ruled that Judge John Plumstead's directions to the jury were flawed and quashed Mr Bassett's conviction. Referring to the 2003 Act, Lord Justice Hughes said: "The intention of Parliament was to mean female breasts and not an exposed male chest. "The former are still private – amongst 21st century bathers – the second is not. This Act didn't mean to refer to the male chest but only to female breasts, it follows that the judge's directions on the meaning of breasts was erroneous."

The sight of excessive moob movement and abrasion is all too common at races. I have to confess to being moob-less and, for the record equally dis-interested in filming them! But to all you moob owners here is some advice on how to keep them under control and stop you getting into a flap.

1. Go to a store that sells moob covers, (also known as sports bras).
2. Don't worry about the money. You may not want to spend a lot, but it will be really worth it. Take a deep breath, relax, and splurge. Maybe you can only afford one now, but it might be a good idea to get two or three good covers as soon as you can.
3. Pick out a 3-5 to try on. If you are A or B, look for these key words: compression. If you are C, look for these key words: encapsulation. If you are a D or above, look for these key words: encapsulation and compression (you need both big boy!).
4. While trying be sure to test them. They should: stretch horizontally but not vertically, have seamless cups, and be made from a breathable material. When you try them on, take notice of your movement as you jump up and down, back and forward. Lean over forward, as if reaching for a beer; you shouldn't fall out or move too much.
5. Buy the best two and secretly road test them over the next month or two. Take note of which is more comfortable, what you do and do not like about them, and how they wear. Use this information to purchase 2-3 more, but just don't tell your friends!

 

]]> http://teenatheist.wordpress.com/?p=66 Fri, 16 May 2008 10:07:26 +0000 Teen Atheist http://teenatheist.wordpress.com/?p=66 If not "awesome," then at least ridiculously funny.

Not even the Almighty Creator is immune from finding some of the shit in this (Godforsaken? Hee) world annoying, so He's decided to create a blog about it. Over at Stuff God Hates, nobody's safe from His Wrath. God takes potshots at cats, Africa, Patrick Swayze and anal sex. Reading and having a good laugh about The Good Lord's hatred is enough to brighten my day, even, which goes to show you that the guy is simply divine. (I'd say "fabulous," but I don't think He'd like that too much.)

Some of my favorite God quotes:

"And I’m a big, big fan of the current guy, Pope Benedict XVI. He’s My kind of Pope – tough like a marine but crazy like a ninja. Way better than the last guy, old Whats-His-Face-Whiny-Bitch II. Trained by the Nazis to be a stone cold killer when he was just a boy, Benedict still keeps his Hitler Youth knife tucked safely under his pillow when he sleeps. Like I said, My kind of Pope."

"Oh! How I wish humans could be more like dogs! They are decent, obedient, and love you unconditionally without question – even if you beat them. They set a great example."

"I and I alone, The Sovereign Lord God Almighty, was responsible for every phase of [the September 11, 2001 attack]  – the planning, the flying, the blowing shit up – that was all Me! And quite frankly, I’m sick of other people getting the credit. I mean, what the hell do I have to do? I even posed in the smoke for you people and what do you do? You give the credit to Satan. ARGGH!"

"I’M COMING FOR YOU WITH MY CHERUBIM AND MY FLAMING SWORD AND I’M GOING TO SMITE YOU SO FRICKING HARD!"

Hee, I love that God says "frick," like Elliot from Scrubs.

"Some of you might be thinking, wait, wasn’t it Jesus Christ who got crucified and not God the Father? Well technically, yes. But the thing you have to remember is that Me and My Son Jesus, we’re actually the same person! I know it sounds kinda schizophrenic and deranged, but it’s true! See, there are three parts of My Personality: The Angry/Vengeful Father, The Loving/Naive Son, and The Confusing/Lazy Holy Spirit. If you don’t know what that last one is, it’s kind of like the black smoke from Lost."

Best TV analogy ever.

"I’m going to use all My Godly Powers to make sure [Hillary Clinton] loses the only thing she’s ever cared about (becoming Emperor) to some smiley-faced black guy who can talk pretty."

Now, I'm a huge Barack Obama supporter, but my favorite part about that quote is not that He's smiting Hillary, but "smiley-faced black guy who can talk pretty" is a hilariously spot-on description.

The Big Papa in the Sky probably still hates me for, well, being an atheist, but either way, I still love this blog. Angry God of this Blog, I love You in a Roberto Benigni kind of way.  Stuff God Hates gets a big two-thumbs-up from the Teen Atheist.

I can't wait for the day when God takes on Apple and Steve Jobs.

]]> http://fakeanecdotes.wordpress.com/?p=17 Thu, 15 May 2008 17:16:21 +0000 fakeanecdotes http://fakeanecdotes.wordpress.com/?p=17

There was a fire on the set of Little Rascals, but it wasn't how Mr. Trump described it. What happened was, Penelope Spheeris, the director, had a crush on George "Dreamboat" Wendt. We all did, to be honest. Every day he wore a red taffeta dickey—and nothing else. When it was time to shoot a scene George would weep in his trailer because he'd have to change into his character's clothes. He wouldn't leave his trailer. Eventually Penelope said he could wear his taffeta dickey under his shirt, and that seemed to make him happy.

Anyway, Trump was jealous that Penelope was into Dickey Wendt and not into him. So in order to try and impress her, Trump got all hopped up on the Steve Coogan moonshine and had one of his underlings light a fire next to Penelope's ponytail. Then he "heroically" appeared with a copy of the Trump board game and put the fire out. No one was impressed. We saw him as a nuisance. One day he even showed up in a chiffon Trump dickey but everyone thought it was so lame and he wasn't allowed near the craft services table until after the PA's had eaten. There was nothing left but two packets of relish and a radish rose, and he pretended to enjoy it! He kept saying real loud, "Mmm, now that's a good radish! I enjoy this radish! Such a tasty radish!" He was so pathetic. A few years later, when he found out I was going to be Eddie Munster in the made-for-TV movie The Munsters' Scary Little Christmas, he sent me steaks around the clock. He wanted me to put in a good word with Norm Liebmann—he wanted to play Grandpa Munster!

What a lout.

]]> http://fakeanecdotes.wordpress.com/?p=16 Thu, 15 May 2008 16:14:40 +0000 fakeanecdotes http://fakeanecdotes.wordpress.com/?p=16

Penelope Spheeris, that bitch—that’s why I’m glum. I was the best fucking part of 1994’s Little Rascals. You ask a hundred people on the street, you couldn’t find person one who remembers that Bug Hall played Alfalfa—but ask them who played Waldo’s father. Trump, goddamnit, that’s what they’ll tell you.

So why is it that Penelope isn’t casting me in Little Rascals 2: All Grow’d Up? How could she forget that on the set of Little Rascals I put out the fire that threatened to consume her dangling blonde ponytail? She didn’t even see the damn fire, she was so busy making eyes at George Wendt, a.k.a Norm from Cheers, a.k.a. Dickey “No Dick” Wendt, a.k.a fine I admit it he’s kind of a dreambarge. Boat? The expression is dreamboat? Thought it was barge. Fuck off, it’s dreambarge now. Point is Penelope’d be dead if it weren’t for me. I walloped out that fucking fire with 1989’s Trump - The Board Game that the grips were playing with. Lost my fucking eyebrows, thank God they’re flesh colored so no one noticed. But whatever, Penelope, 1998’s Senseless sucked—only good part was Brad “Dickie” Dourif.

Send a dozen Trump Steaks to all of Penelope’s enemies. Around the clock.

]]> http://fakeanecdotes.wordpress.com/?p=15 Thu, 15 May 2008 16:12:49 +0000 fakeanecdotes http://fakeanecdotes.wordpress.com/?p=15

Ah, mon ami, won’t you come over to this bench of agony? How it hurts your back, but what a beautiful pain it is. Cigarette? Très bien. I can see from your outfit that you’re a plumber. Me, I toil in a similar vineyard—you may not realize it, but we both ensure that bad stuff goes down and what rises is as clear and pure as spring rain.

Mon frère, allow this humble poet to tell you a story. Allow me to take you to Montreal in 1964 when I moved like a Semitic apparition through jazz clubs and cafes, staying long enough to be espied but not so long that my absence would disrupt the fragile meditations of the assembled spirits. One evening, drunk on cheap wine, two women followed me to my tiny dwelling, my cramped and unfortunate cold-water flat. What they sought was shelter, in the Old Testament meaning of the word. I said to these twin angels, these impossible creatures of the night, “Girls, if you do not mind the faucet’s mythological drip into the destroying porcelain sink, my home is yours.”

Ah, the love we made that night! They pursued, and I was coy—I was coy, and they pursued. The love burned long, but of course, in the end, all that is left is ash. Comme l’oiseau sur la branche, comme l’ivrogne dans le choeur de la nuit, j’ai cherche ma liberte. How rusty my French sounds—I can get by, but it’s not a tongue I could ever move around in in a way that would satisfy the appetites of the mind or the heart. Oh, the heart.

Goodness, how low hangs the sun. Mon ami, I bid your farewell. I don’t know when I’ll be back.

]]> http://fakeanecdotes.wordpress.com/?p=14 Thu, 15 May 2008 16:09:50 +0000 fakeanecdotes http://fakeanecdotes.wordpress.com/?p=14

Jared Fogle here, folks. You probably know me as the guy famous for holding up pants. It’s a hard racket, actually—forearms get tired. But there’s one thing that keeps me holding up pants day in day out: wearing my other pants. My khakis, man! Fucking love ‘em! Shit, I get so sexy in my khakis. I throw on my pager (pictured) and the women of GIA (greater Indianapolis area) get soaked. This one time, I went to this real casual Bar Mitzvah, right, and it said “black tie optional.” I was like, “black tie optional? More like khakis MANDATORY!” God, I loved it. I got so sexy in my khakis. Threw on a purple polo, a brown belt, and my beloved khaks. Showed up a little late to the service but the minute I walked into shul Cantor Weintraub stopped the service—stopped right smack in the middle of Ein Keloheinu—and he goes, “Yahweh in heaven! That’s what we talk about when we talk about khakis. Come up to the bimah!”

And that’s why I do it. That’s why I hold up pants all day long.

]]> http://fakeanecdotes.wordpress.com/?p=13 Thu, 15 May 2008 16:08:42 +0000 fakeanecdotes http://fakeanecdotes.wordpress.com/?p=13

I make fantastic fucking moonshine.

]]> http://fakeanecdotes.wordpress.com/?p=12 Thu, 15 May 2008 16:06:34 +0000 fakeanecdotes http://fakeanecdotes.wordpress.com/?p=12

That story is nothing but fanciful bullshit. Except for the part about the Steve Coogan moonshine.

]]> http://buhaykyusi.wordpress.com/?p=124 Thu, 15 May 2008 06:39:31 +0000 Jane http://buhaykyusi.wordpress.com/?p=124 I was watching an old Janeane Garofalo stand-up gig on YouTube from 1995 (I love her. She is my Druid). I suddenly felt a pang of nostalgia. You know what I think is the consummate, all-encompassing symptom of age? When you turn on MTV and you have no clue who or what you're watching. If you muster enough patience to stick around for two minutes, you find yourself rolling your eyeballs at every ten-second interval. That's twelve eyeball rolls. As Zafra so cleverly put it: Facercise! 

I know. I'm 25. It's ridiculous for me to even mention that. But in a few years, there will be kids who will see the 90s like we saw the 70s, so retro and far-out. I miss the 90s. That was my "home" era. I think everybody has one. That God-given decade of your youth that you subliminally get stuck in. I'm still on the look out for the return of grunge by the way. You know: loose rock concert T-shirt, long-sleeved flannel top, yellow stitched Docs and leather bracelets. You can imagine my disappointment at the mild 80s revival currently hitting the scene. No offense to the kids of that generation (No wait...I will not dress this up. Acid-washed denim anyone? Shoulder pads? Stun gun me). With grunge came sarcasm and rage. If it makes a comeback, I don't even have to try. I'm already in.

Does anybody remember Nirvana? Pearl Jam? Silverchair (Clare. wink, wink)? Garbage? That series on RPN 9 My So-called Life with Claire Danes and this goofy-looking curly haired dude? There's Something About Mary? Romy and Michelle's Highschool Reunion? I Still Know What You Did Last Summer and will needlessly be informed of all the subsequent summers of your lifetime? No Doubt back when Gwen Stefanie wasn't the über-famous have-my-own-clothing-line pop culture monstrosity she is now? Speaking of which, I saw them play the Don't Speak video on classic MTV once. I froze in my seat. Classic MTV?!! Case in point. See paragraph 1, sentences 3 and 4.

Alanis "I'm going to decapitate you with my harmonica and ridiculously long hair" Morissette?

Whatever happened to them?

Yes, there was this big hoo-ha over the recent Spice Girls reunion but let's face it. They're in their 30s making music videos that are really just glorified lingerie ads. It's not the same. Sporty Spice is now posh looking? Where are the backflips? And if for some far-flung reason, time becomes non-linear and they came out now as opposed to when I was 14 and gullible, I will go into my eyeball routine, no question.

Anyway, here's to that decade. If only for the high-cut DMs, I will pray for a resurrection.

]]> http://aaronlo.wordpress.com/?p=106 Thu, 15 May 2008 04:47:59 +0000 aaronlo http://aaronlo.wordpress.com/?p=106 The author has acquired a new habit lately - talking to and getting acquainted with random strangers. His latest and most memorable conversation was with a salesman who possesses the wisdom to question the status quo.

This open letter is a dedication to Jun from SEED at Mid Valley.

For the shrewdness, suggestions, and sagacious comments.

---------------------------

Dear Jun,

As I walked into the store, all I thought of was to pick up something worthy of my cash, test its compatibility with my physique, make an expensive decision, and head to the counter. And then walk out like how I walked in.

You were quick to greet me with the affable facade that you probably were forced to put on, but it didn't take long before I realized I was wrong and found myself at the receiving end of your passion with the capital P to serve people, when you made attempts to understand my circumstances while actively seeking suggestions for me, and even went as far as providing fashion tips to compensate for my woefully inadequate knowledge of the fashion world.

You may be a salesman, but your shrewdness and maturity torpedoed all the previous negative associative tags that I shamefully tagged onto my perception of a sales personnel. At the threshold of my question, "You've been working here for long?" (because you are such a nice person and I felt bad not showing mutual interest), I ended up listening to you waxing lyrical about your job in a no-holds-barred evasion-free personal account.

You are an unhappy lot. You lamented with zeal the lack of opportunities for personal growth in your job, exarcebated by the management practices in your firm that you found sublimely unacceptable. Our relatively brief exchange had in turn taught me, got me thinking elaborately and drew my attention on a few important issues:

1. Status-conscious culture. I have long condemned this as I see this as a means for the those in power to feel good about themselves for the attention and respect bestowed upon them, whether or not they (the attention and respect) come with sincerity. It is an interesting anecdote of how you were frustrated with your immediate supervisors and audaciously bypassed various levels of management in an attempt to get what you want, only to end up receiving the cold treatment from the people on top, reminding you of your status as a mere sales personnel.

2. Open door policy. Being a strong advocate in an ODP as you are, I initially had moments of inspired concordance while listening to you as I too concurred that an ODP is the immediate solution to address the status conscious culture. However on a second thought I found that the ODP, sooner or later, will train employees to bypass their immediate supervisors or managers and in turn develop a culture where employees believe that to accomplish their goals, they need to bypass their immediate supervisors and seek out the ear of the more senior managers. I fear the positions of the immediate supervisors and managers might appeared to be redundant, and thus undermines the functioning of a successful organization. I believed that employees should attempt to solve problems with their direct supervisors. And the ODP should be applied if and only if there is an irreconcilable difference or unsolvable problem between the employee and his/her direct supervisors, be it communication barriers between the two or something else that could possibly be the impediment to solving problems together.

3. The hierarchical organizational structure. I listened with keen interest how an organizational structure, by design, can bring the much despicable office politics. Having a direct supervisor who sees you as a pain in the a** spells "trouble", as words can be improvised, stories can be distorted, truth can be spun and meaning can easily "lost in translation" as they make their way to the top via the various levels of the hierarchical organizational structure. Not to mention the red tape and the slow decision making process that ensue.

4. Lack of transparency. While you talked about your own supervisors keeping secrets from you, I further realized that the lack of transparency totally undermines the spirit of team-work and a dynamic organization. Hearing how serious an impact this could be on you (an employee), I realized that transparency and an honest communication is really the very thing that bonds people as an organization.

Your rhetoric - further enhanced by your constant repetition of the issues - immortalized in my mind, getting me thinking about the mental notes that I have taken as you were spilling your thoughts, even as I am writing this. I shall always remember your words and pay attention to the employees' conundrum, should I one day own an organization, manage a department, or merely lead a small team. I am utterly glad you chose me to share this with, for I did not walk out like how I walked in.

As I adjusted my bearings to face the exit sign, I approached the anti-theft device with anxiety - I did not pay for something valuable that I took out of the store.

Inspired and invoked,

Aaron Lo

]]> http://mrbimble.wordpress.com/?p=126 Thu, 15 May 2008 03:20:36 +0000 mrbimble http://mrbimble.wordpress.com/?p=126 Wednesdays have become a regular tempo road run. Guthrie showed me a route from the house a few months ago that has become my mid-week loop. It is about 10 miles long, contains a few 'good' hills but best of all it passes through some pretty neighborhoods. Deer often dash out of the woods in front of you but thankfully traffic nearly always light.

Tonight, after a bit of a stressful day, I felt tired and heavy. However, when I got home I realized that my pace had been better then imagined, even though at about the mid-way point I picked up a wicked stitch that was sufficiently painful enough to bring me to walking pace until it passed. As I ran my thoughts wondered back to a TV program on an ascent of Everest that went wrong, that we watched the previous evening. The story was a poignant follow on from my post Why bother? An incredible feature of the story, was that as it was told by the survivors, there was an almost casual acceptance that many decisions on the 'day' had lead to their tragedy. Some of the climbers that were featured, had lost their fingers (on both hands) to frost bite, yet they still smiled as they told their story!

A few years ago I read an account of two polar explorers who were attempting to walk unaided across Antarctica. A few days into their trek they pitched camp and settled down to make dinner. Their stove ran out of gas and as they replaced the cylinder, they discovered they hadn't brought an replacement gaskets to seal them at the connection with the stove. They tried to make some but they weren't very effective. On more than one occasion, they came close to burning down their tent, of which they only had one and this was their only protection from the elements! They completed the journey, but for the sake of a few simple rubber seals, they could easily have died. It was incredible to think that despite all the planning to make the trip happen, someone had overlooked one small detail.

At the end of tonight's run, I sat and waited for Guthrie on our new deck. The previous one was hopelessly rotten and over the past week, a local builder has been replacing it. The new one is deeper with a step about two thirds out from the house. The evening was cool but still and it was nice to sit and listen to the stream below while I reflected on my run and the day generally.

Over dinner, we watched a program about the Adirondacks. The stress of the day melted away to be replaced with thoughts of maybe next year we should find the time to explore that region a little bit more. Instead of ultra distance races, I have an inkling to try a few multi-day adventures.

Adventure is just bad planning.

Roald Amundsen

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