“…try minding your own business, Pops.”* **** update: Bill defends the right not to be offended by small inconveniences. Bible-thumping cousin of update: Bill continues to conflate religious freedom with what he perceives to be his “right” not to be confronted by language he construes might be injurious or coercive to a hypothetical, super-sensitive child.

Sgt. Al Powell: “How you feeling, partner?” McClane: “Pretty fucking unappreciated, Al.” Current favorite draft of a proposed law presented for approval to a legislative body / duck part / Bixby: bill

Bradley armored fighting vehicles 7″x12″ bubble mailers Boll weevils Welch’s grape-flavored soda The 2004 Honda Element (Fiji blue pearl 4WD) Pastrami on rye, extra lean Dannon yogart with real Kiwi Miss Poland John McCain

Was ist los, Herr Schroeder? Haben Sie Ihre Vollmacht verloren? frisch hinzugef

Knock knock Who’s there? Former DC Mayor Marion Barry. No hookers here, sir. But you don’t understand — No Crack, either. Wait, I’m trying to tell you that I’m running for DC City Council — I have a gun. Go away.*

for Dawn W. Often, when scooping guacamole onto crispy corn tortilla chips, Oliver Willis wonders aloud: Had the pyramids been fashioned from Cool Ranch Doritos held firmly in place by creamed avocado paste, would Moses have bitched quite so much about his “people’s” so-called “predicament”…?

“Well, it’s your call Big Guy, but if it were me, I’d kill ’em dead. Like, with a gun and stuff.”* **** h/t LeatherPenguin

Everything wrong with the current environmental movement is here, conveniently distilled into one remarkable story. h/t Beck related: when Druids attack (or, how I learned to stop worrying and love Birkenstocks).*

Chapter 18: Looking Glass Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Chapter 11. Chapter 12. Chapter 13. Chapter 14. Chapter 15. Chapter 16. Chapter 17      “Sometimes it’s lonely being dead,” I said, sidling up beside her. I kissed the nape of her neck and wrapped my arms gently around her waist. She smelled of Boone’s Farm, strawberry.

An east coaster by birth, I sure do miss this. I mean, mountains are great and all, but the surfing’s for shit. And the only decent crabs I’ve been able to find in Colorado come from a $35-a-throw party girl named “Kiki.” God bless her.