So, that was interesting.  Now what? 

3 1 7 4 8 2 5 6 9 ***** update:  a number of you have asked me how the number 1 could finish behind the number 3.  Simple:  3 is a magic number; and 1—while certainly a very formidable challenger—lacks that whole “it takes three legs to make a tripod or to make a table stand” thing that makes 3 so magical.  As for 9, well, I hope one

________________________________ Part I. Dalton:  “Pain don’t hurt.” Marquis de Sade:  “Amen, brother.” ________________________________ Part II Dalton:  “Take the biggest guy in the world, shatter his knee and he’ll drop like a stone.” Marquis de Sade:  “You read my mind, man.  Really. It’s uncanny!”*

Mmmmm.  That is one fine-looking pussy… **** update:  That’s right.  You like it when I touch you like that, don’t you, Mr Snickers…?

From the BBC: A survivor of Adolf Hitler’s wartime bunker in Berlin has been tracked down, a German newspaper claims. The Berliner Zeitung relates 93-year-old Erna Flegel’s account of the last days of World War II, under the headline “I was Hitler’s nurse”. Mrs Flegel said she stayed in the bunker after Hitler killed himself and was there when Soviet troops arrived […] From January 1943 until the end of

Right.  And I once planned to make a rocket-powered jet pack out of a couple of fire extinguishers, some tinfoil, a roll of duct tape, and my father’s suit belt.  But that didn’t work, either.

Thankfully, though, I am.  Secure in my own masculinity.  So no worries.* **** update:  Did I mention that I lift weights?  Because I do.

Laurence Simon has now linked back to this site several times in an effort to make it clear to you (see update 1) that protein wisdom is no longer interesting or creative, and that I am a thin-skinned pile of ash with an empty ceramic cookie jar.  Which is okay—Laurence is entitled to his opinions—though I must say that I find his need to publish his pronouncements and link them

     Like any number of other decidedly ordinary men, Larry spent his weekdays toiling in a six-foot by six-foot cubed space, his blandly carpeted corporate cut-out defined by three identically-sized particle-board walls, each littered with sticky notes whose scribbled messages he never revisited—the whole of his working world punctuated by the perpetual hum of a bank of fluorescent rack lights.  On most days, Larry would make phone calls, or take phone

Those of you who like to taste your news—to get a feel for it, to luxuriate in its odors—will genuinely appreciate this intimate account of time spent in Ward Churchill’s bailiwick by the Weekly Standard‘s Matt Labash.  From “The Ward Churchill Notoriety Tour”: […] I step out into Sproul Plaza, where Mario Savio launched the Free Speech Movement in 1964. I head toward the GAP, which now sits adjacent to