Someday, maybe, I'll blog about the arcane convoluted hodgepodge of rules, laws, guidelines and practices regarding biker patches.
Having been an alien visitor on planet Biker for the past three days, I have come to see how the entire system is tied around vest patches.
A very intelligent professor that I had back in law school once said "Words have meaning." Well, the same can be said for biker patches. Everything sewn to a vest has a purpose and has a meaning.
The best, however, and the one that may become the new motto for the Lounge, was small and sewn low onto the waistband of a nice woman's leather vest.
It read: "IT'S ONLY KINKY THE FIRST TIME."
Amen.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Friday, May 09, 2008
4th
New York is the biggest, by population I suppose.
Then, Los Angeles.
Chicago, I think, is third.
Then, we come to Houston.
Looking at the map of Houston, which I bought in preparation for this trip, I thought it looked for all purposes like a moderately sized hick town. Sure there is oil money here, and cattle money.
However, I was not prepared in anyway for the sheer terror-inducing scope of this scab land...
It is enormous. Sprawling. Never ending. Pointless.
It is hot and dirty, and sticky, and smoggy and crowded and poor. There is no sign whatsoever of any sort of regulation. No urban planning. No traffic engineering. Not even any sign of signage regulation.
It is the worst possible combination of San Bernardino, Tijuana, Pendleton, a swamp and the moon.
I drove around today to see the place. I kept waiting to get to the good part. I never got there.
Sam Houston should have let Santa Anna win.
Then, Los Angeles.
Chicago, I think, is third.
Then, we come to Houston.
Looking at the map of Houston, which I bought in preparation for this trip, I thought it looked for all purposes like a moderately sized hick town. Sure there is oil money here, and cattle money.
However, I was not prepared in anyway for the sheer terror-inducing scope of this scab land...
It is enormous. Sprawling. Never ending. Pointless.
It is hot and dirty, and sticky, and smoggy and crowded and poor. There is no sign whatsoever of any sort of regulation. No urban planning. No traffic engineering. Not even any sign of signage regulation.
It is the worst possible combination of San Bernardino, Tijuana, Pendleton, a swamp and the moon.
I drove around today to see the place. I kept waiting to get to the good part. I never got there.
Sam Houston should have let Santa Anna win.
Drive
Bayu Breakfast
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
The Long March Toward Death
Technically, I might not have internet access on Thursday. I might, but then, I might not. Who knows.
So, in advance of the happy occasion, I would like to wish Dave a very happy birthday.
37, I think.
38? nah..
Anyway, I have no words of wisdom or great oratories on the significance of this age. So, instead, here is a youtube goodie just for you...
So, in advance of the happy occasion, I would like to wish Dave a very happy birthday.
37, I think.
38? nah..
Anyway, I have no words of wisdom or great oratories on the significance of this age. So, instead, here is a youtube goodie just for you...
Monday, May 05, 2008
Sam Houston
Sam Houston was Born in Virginia in 1793. His father was known for his unusual height, and his mother was once said to have the strength of three men.
At an early age, on a family excursion to the Adirondack mountains, Sam had the opportunity to meet an elderly (and somewhat intoxicated) Benjamin Franklin, who remarked in passing that "That Houston boy shows tremendous aplomb."
Never allowing a day to go by in his life without recalling his chance meeting with patriotic greatness, Sam set out to be all he could be.
In 1812, he volunteered under, then Captain, Andrew Jackson to run a suicide mission against British fortifications along the Chesapeake Bay. His mission was successful and he volunteered for three more, earning him the Congressional Bronze Badge of Superlative Greatness.
Then, he became a lawyer.
At the age of 25 he was named Attorney General of Tennessee and given command of the state's militia. At 29, he was elected to Congress, and by 31, he was Governor of Tennessee.
Then, in 1832, having been sorely insulted by a pompous historical nobody while on a visit to Washington DC, He beat the poor sad bastard to near death with a hickory cane on the side walk of Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the White House.
In an attempt to escape the heat from the savage beating incident, he emigrated, illegally, to Mexico.
Well, Texas, but at that time, it still belonged to Mexico. So...
It seems, back then, in the 1830s, Texas had a serious problem with illegal immigration. Thousands of undocumented Whites from Tennessee were moving south across the border. Many local Texans were heard, at the time, saying: "Holly sheet! Wot de fuck are we gonna do wit all of dees Whities takin over da place??"
Tensions flared, and Sam was named Major General of the (White) Texas Army. Which should not be confused with the other (brown) Texas Army led by Generalissimo Santa Anna.
Houston began to lose battles to Santa Anna almost immediately. At about that time, Lieutenant Colonel William Travis, sent urgent word to Houston from a tiny Mission in San Antonio called the Alamo. Travis essentially said, "Hey, Santa Anna is coming and I could use some help here."
Houston, of course, had other plans. And well, we know how the Alamo ended.
Houston, however, was quite the clever commander, and having later discovered Santa Anna's forces asleep during their mid-day siesta, he launched an all out attack, and destroyed the (brown) Texas Army.
Then, they made him President of Texas.
Then, Texas joined the United states as a pro-slave state.
Then, Texas joined the Confederacy.
Then, It joined the United States again
Then, Sam Became a US senator from Texas.
Then, he became the Governor of the State of Texas. (Making him the only person to have been elected governor of two states)
Then, He invented bubble gum.
Then, he died.
Somewhere along the way, they named a shitty little swamp town after him, which over the years has become the center of the Texas rail road industry, the cattle industry, the oil industry and eventually, the central command for NASA's space exploration.
Houston is now the fourth largest city in the United States.
And, as of Thursday, I'll be there. It's another biker conference for work. Just me and 2,000 hardcore bikers, descending on Houston for the weekend.
I've never spent any time in Texas, let alone Houston.
Anyone have any tips?
(And by "tips," I mean "Strip clubs" natch...)
Can, We Will, Yes.......
I lifted this from Carl who lifted it from Dave who lifted it from someone named Shannon...
Oh, and here is some smut for those who don't want to be bothered by thinking...
Oh, and here is some smut for those who don't want to be bothered by thinking...
Sunday, May 04, 2008
The Puppet Master
Finally.
I have been saying it for months now. Shouting at the top of my voice! She descends from a crime-ridden political dynasty, a trail of political murders following her every step.
Fueled by dirty money from China and organized crime. Ballot fixing. Witness tampering. Strong-arming her way into power.
But Don't take my word for it. Make up your own mind
CLICK HERE to see the evidence for yourself.
I have been saying it for months now. Shouting at the top of my voice! She descends from a crime-ridden political dynasty, a trail of political murders following her every step.
Fueled by dirty money from China and organized crime. Ballot fixing. Witness tampering. Strong-arming her way into power.
But Don't take my word for it. Make up your own mind
CLICK HERE to see the evidence for yourself.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Spoon
The boyscouts would say: "your pocketknife."
Douglas Adams would say: "your towel."
I say: "the lowly spoon."
You should always know where your spoon is. I may start traveling with mine. Truly it is the most universal utensil. It can be a fork. It can be a knife. It is the only dining implement that can make such wide boasts.
A spoon can kill, a spoon can feed, a spoon can dig.
A spoon can be cocked and released to launch projectiles. A spoon can be hammered into place to seal a hole in a skull. A slow spoon can be used as an effective torture device.
It can be used to serve sauces or honey or gravy or jam.
It can be played like a musical instrument. It can be used to close an electrical circuit.
The spoon is the most useful utensil. You should always know where your spoon is and you should never be without it.
Douglas Adams would say: "your towel."
I say: "the lowly spoon."
You should always know where your spoon is. I may start traveling with mine. Truly it is the most universal utensil. It can be a fork. It can be a knife. It is the only dining implement that can make such wide boasts.
A spoon can kill, a spoon can feed, a spoon can dig.
A spoon can be cocked and released to launch projectiles. A spoon can be hammered into place to seal a hole in a skull. A slow spoon can be used as an effective torture device.
It can be used to serve sauces or honey or gravy or jam.
It can be played like a musical instrument. It can be used to close an electrical circuit.
The spoon is the most useful utensil. You should always know where your spoon is and you should never be without it.
Quality Control
Well, it looks like Quality Control has put his panties where his mouth is...
Sorry about this.
Sorry about this.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Advance Recon
Here are the notes:
1. Had lunch at a local Thai restaurant near my office. No idea why I haven't eaten there before. The food was fantastic. The cocktail of choice, however, was sublime. On a whim, and slightly out of character, I ordered a Thai Basil Gimlet.
Now, I am a fan of both basil and Gimlets. The combination of both, punctuated by the sweet spice of the Panang curry was super fantastic. It made my mouth very happy. I must learn the recipe...
2. I made an advance scouting incursion into Casa Diablo, the vegan strip club here in Portland. I had 10 bucks to spend and time for one drink, so it was just a cursory visit.
The location sucks, but the venue is very nice. The sound is good and the double stage is expansive. Being early on a Wednesday evening, the line up was made up of the C-team, or worse. So, I'll reserve judgement on the performers. The bartender was friendly and sassy though, so she gets high marks.
3. Lastly, I am in the process of reevaluating Silverado's place on my favorite-movie list. I am frequently drawn to it, and find myself unable to flip away from it when channel surfing. I feel it may be climbing...
4. That is all for now.
1. Had lunch at a local Thai restaurant near my office. No idea why I haven't eaten there before. The food was fantastic. The cocktail of choice, however, was sublime. On a whim, and slightly out of character, I ordered a Thai Basil Gimlet.
Now, I am a fan of both basil and Gimlets. The combination of both, punctuated by the sweet spice of the Panang curry was super fantastic. It made my mouth very happy. I must learn the recipe...
2. I made an advance scouting incursion into Casa Diablo, the vegan strip club here in Portland. I had 10 bucks to spend and time for one drink, so it was just a cursory visit.
The location sucks, but the venue is very nice. The sound is good and the double stage is expansive. Being early on a Wednesday evening, the line up was made up of the C-team, or worse. So, I'll reserve judgement on the performers. The bartender was friendly and sassy though, so she gets high marks.
3. Lastly, I am in the process of reevaluating Silverado's place on my favorite-movie list. I am frequently drawn to it, and find myself unable to flip away from it when channel surfing. I feel it may be climbing...
4. That is all for now.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Rainbow
I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth.
-Genesis 9:13
There is little doubt, at least in my mind, that god hates metrosexuals, and he outright abhors hipsters.
Which was proven to me once again, just this very evening.
The missus was waylaid with a hair appointment this evening after work, and therefore, I was left to mind, with my own devices, two tots, each in their own way full of vim and ready to wiggle.
With the pantry running low, and the children running hot, these varying interests converged in my mind, therefore, into a singular plot. Costco, it would be, with its glorious two-fer-seated carts and myriad snack stops, and the opportunity to shop for pantry stock with value.
The boy and the girl crammed neatly into place, two-astride, in the wide tandem shopping cart. The boy was directly distracted, hypnotic-like, by any number of shiny baubles, blinking lights and whirring whizz poppers. The girl, prudently, enjoyed the snack buffet.
With the cart loaded, and the parental distractions waning, we made a mad, though sluggish, dash for the the shortest check out line. Simultaneously, however, our targets slot was spied by a young woman with only one boxed item in her clutches.
She was tall, and bone-thin. Her blond hair was razor-sliced with severely tasteful angles. Her blue-striped sailor shirt was retro and ironic. Her too-tight, seat-worn, denim dungarees were emblazoned with sparkly bedazzled rainbows stitched across her emaciated ass.
If she were less waspy, she could have been a poster child for famine relief.
Her boyfriend, however, could have been the poster boy for the Apocalypse.
His clothes looked like something picked up from a macabre crime scene. His hairdo looked like a large-caliber exit wound. At 5'10" he was shorter than his girl, and about 40 pounds lighter. His unimaginable tight pants revealed thighs the width of my forearm. His fat-less paper-like complexion betrayed the intricate bony details of his skull.
He could not have weighed, as a grown man, more than 110 pounds, with his wicked fierce Doc Martens on, no less...
The Gestapo girlfriend eyed me as we converged on the checkout lane. They had only one item, and I am not always a complete prick, so I smiled and nodded, allowing them to go first.
She rolled her eyes in that arrogant fascist hipster-superior way... and assumed her rightful place in front of me, turning her gaunt rainbow-clad ass in my direction. Her wraith-like man-slave fluttered past me and stepped up to pay for their purchase.
And just what exactly was it that they were purchasing? Well, I'm glad you asked. For you see, the one and only thing the bulimia twins were buying was a Costco-sized case of weight-loss breakfast shakes.
I smiled at their misery, their fucked up self-image and utter lack of descent self-esteem. I snickered at their misplaced superiority. I gaped with glee at the sad little rainbow as it walked away from me.
Once outside, the kids and I discovered that it had started raining. Well, misting more like it, and we made yet another mad dash for the car as the sun crept out from behind an angry-looking storm cloud. As we pulled out, the girl giddily yelped, and pointed out a remarkably-bright rainbow in the sky.
A serious goddamn double rainbow, end-to-end, with the entire spectrum of visible light waves on refracted display. It seemed, perhaps, that God agreed with me in the end, and that he does, in fact, hate hipsters too.
Woe to the fashionably ironic, for they shall die of malnutrition...
-Genesis 9:13
There is little doubt, at least in my mind, that god hates metrosexuals, and he outright abhors hipsters.
Which was proven to me once again, just this very evening.
The missus was waylaid with a hair appointment this evening after work, and therefore, I was left to mind, with my own devices, two tots, each in their own way full of vim and ready to wiggle.
With the pantry running low, and the children running hot, these varying interests converged in my mind, therefore, into a singular plot. Costco, it would be, with its glorious two-fer-seated carts and myriad snack stops, and the opportunity to shop for pantry stock with value.
The boy and the girl crammed neatly into place, two-astride, in the wide tandem shopping cart. The boy was directly distracted, hypnotic-like, by any number of shiny baubles, blinking lights and whirring whizz poppers. The girl, prudently, enjoyed the snack buffet.
With the cart loaded, and the parental distractions waning, we made a mad, though sluggish, dash for the the shortest check out line. Simultaneously, however, our targets slot was spied by a young woman with only one boxed item in her clutches.
She was tall, and bone-thin. Her blond hair was razor-sliced with severely tasteful angles. Her blue-striped sailor shirt was retro and ironic. Her too-tight, seat-worn, denim dungarees were emblazoned with sparkly bedazzled rainbows stitched across her emaciated ass.
If she were less waspy, she could have been a poster child for famine relief.
Her boyfriend, however, could have been the poster boy for the Apocalypse.
His clothes looked like something picked up from a macabre crime scene. His hairdo looked like a large-caliber exit wound. At 5'10" he was shorter than his girl, and about 40 pounds lighter. His unimaginable tight pants revealed thighs the width of my forearm. His fat-less paper-like complexion betrayed the intricate bony details of his skull.
He could not have weighed, as a grown man, more than 110 pounds, with his wicked fierce Doc Martens on, no less...
The Gestapo girlfriend eyed me as we converged on the checkout lane. They had only one item, and I am not always a complete prick, so I smiled and nodded, allowing them to go first.
She rolled her eyes in that arrogant fascist hipster-superior way... and assumed her rightful place in front of me, turning her gaunt rainbow-clad ass in my direction. Her wraith-like man-slave fluttered past me and stepped up to pay for their purchase.
And just what exactly was it that they were purchasing? Well, I'm glad you asked. For you see, the one and only thing the bulimia twins were buying was a Costco-sized case of weight-loss breakfast shakes.
I smiled at their misery, their fucked up self-image and utter lack of descent self-esteem. I snickered at their misplaced superiority. I gaped with glee at the sad little rainbow as it walked away from me.
Once outside, the kids and I discovered that it had started raining. Well, misting more like it, and we made yet another mad dash for the car as the sun crept out from behind an angry-looking storm cloud. As we pulled out, the girl giddily yelped, and pointed out a remarkably-bright rainbow in the sky.
A serious goddamn double rainbow, end-to-end, with the entire spectrum of visible light waves on refracted display. It seemed, perhaps, that God agreed with me in the end, and that he does, in fact, hate hipsters too.
Woe to the fashionably ironic, for they shall die of malnutrition...
Monday, April 28, 2008
Lounge Lib
Here you go.
Write your own goddam Lounge post. It's easier than you might think. Just copy the text below, post it into the comment section and fill in the blanks. Think of it as a challenge:
It was (year), I was (age), and the weather was (adjective). My best friend, (name), and I were feeling (juvenile emotion), so we decided to skip down to the (destination) and have some fun.
Unfortunately, my (older relative) was a total (expletive)(derogatory adverb)(common vegetable) and wouldn't drive us there. So, we decided to take a (mode of transportation) down to the (same destination).
Since the weather was so (expletive adverb) (expletive adjective), I decided to wear a (inappropriate apparel), which made me feel like a (adjective)(rodent). My friend, (friend), whose fashion sense was even worse than mine, decided to wear a faux (animal)-skin (clothing item). Together, we looked like (the worst thing you can imagine).
Once we arrived at the (destination), we discovered that the (expletive) heads that ran the place decided to require a cover charge.
"(juvenile expletive)!" my friend said.
"That's right!" I said, "(expletive verb) those (expletive adjective)(expletive)-wads!"
We were angry, of course, because we didn't have the cash to get in. So, we sat for (number) minutes and hatched a plan.
"Perhaps we could (crime against nature)," suggested my (adjective) pal.
"Right, I said, "Or maybe you could (verb) (religious icon)'s (anatomical appendage) for the money."
"Well, you're a regular (19th century German philosopher), aren't you?" (friend) said.
Needless to say, we never got in. We also had no money to get back home. So, once again I was forced to (lesser crime against nature) just to earn some (mode of transportation) fare to get home. (Religious expletive)!! It's a wonder I still talk to (friend) at all anymore, that (adjective) (point of anatomy) licker!
Write your own goddam Lounge post. It's easier than you might think. Just copy the text below, post it into the comment section and fill in the blanks. Think of it as a challenge:
It was (year), I was (age), and the weather was (adjective). My best friend, (name), and I were feeling (juvenile emotion), so we decided to skip down to the (destination) and have some fun.
Unfortunately, my (older relative) was a total (expletive)(derogatory adverb)(common vegetable) and wouldn't drive us there. So, we decided to take a (mode of transportation) down to the (same destination).
Since the weather was so (expletive adverb) (expletive adjective), I decided to wear a (inappropriate apparel), which made me feel like a (adjective)(rodent). My friend, (friend), whose fashion sense was even worse than mine, decided to wear a faux (animal)-skin (clothing item). Together, we looked like (the worst thing you can imagine).
Once we arrived at the (destination), we discovered that the (expletive) heads that ran the place decided to require a cover charge.
"(juvenile expletive)!" my friend said.
"That's right!" I said, "(expletive verb) those (expletive adjective)(expletive)-wads!"
We were angry, of course, because we didn't have the cash to get in. So, we sat for (number) minutes and hatched a plan.
"Perhaps we could (crime against nature)," suggested my (adjective) pal.
"Right, I said, "Or maybe you could (verb) (religious icon)'s (anatomical appendage) for the money."
"Well, you're a regular (19th century German philosopher), aren't you?" (friend) said.
Needless to say, we never got in. We also had no money to get back home. So, once again I was forced to (lesser crime against nature) just to earn some (mode of transportation) fare to get home. (Religious expletive)!! It's a wonder I still talk to (friend) at all anymore, that (adjective) (point of anatomy) licker!
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Blah
A mediocre bowl of flavorless Chinese take-out, with a lukewarm glass of watered down white wine for dinner.
The sky was hazy overcast today. No sun, but no rain.
We had lunch at the zoo. My cheeseburger was dry and condimentless. The tigers were taking a nap.
I napped, myself, for most of the afternoon.
[shrugs]
The sky was hazy overcast today. No sun, but no rain.
We had lunch at the zoo. My cheeseburger was dry and condimentless. The tigers were taking a nap.
I napped, myself, for most of the afternoon.
[shrugs]
Friday, April 25, 2008
Sucking Rush's Weiner
Do you like Rush Limbaugh?
Do you think his views are good for America?
Do you like to perpetuate hate?
Well, it seems everytime a Democrat votes for Hillary Clinton, you are just giving dirty sloppy slobbery head to the vicodin-addled radio beast. And here is proof:
Limbaugh: 'Operation Chaos' Helped Hillary
Thursday, April 24, 2008 3:04 PM
Rush Limbaugh says his “Operation Chaos” played a significant role in helping Hillary Clinton achieve her 10-percentage-point victory in the Pennsylvania primary this week.
Operation Chaos is the leading radio talk-show host’s campaign to urge his conservative listeners to cross party lines to vote for Hillary Clinton. Limbaugh says the aim is to keep her in the race so she can continue battling Barack Obama and create chaos in the party, thereby aiding the Republicans this November.
“Were it not for Operation Chaos, Obama could win this by winning the primary process. But he can't now. Nor can she,” Limbaugh said on Wednesday.
“Both of these candidates need unelected superdelegates to be the nominee.
“So, unelected party hacks . . . are gonna choose the nominee. All the people that have voted in these primaries up to now will not be a factor. The nominee will have been delivered by party hacks, unelected superdelegates, and that is a dream come true for Operation Chaos."
On Tuesday, Rush told listeners as voters went to the polls: “Operation Chaos is succeeding exactly as planned and meeting all objectives.”
He pointed to the tens of thousands of voters in Pennsylvania who changed registration from Republican to Democrat in the weeks leading up to the primary and suggested they were “Operation Chaos operatives.”
Following Clinton’s win, the McClatchy Newspapers reported: “One out of 10 voters said they'd changed their party registrations so they could vote in the primary, according to exit polls. They broke for Obama by a margin of nearly 2-to-1.
“Yet late-deciding voters — including those who'd long been registered Democrats — broke heavily for Clinton. One possible explanation was the flood of controversial news about Obama in recent weeks, as well as his defensive performance in a debate last week.
“Another possible ingredient in the mix was mischief: Popular conservative talk-show host Rush Limbaugh for weeks urged his loyal listeners to register as Democrats to vote for Clinton and prolong an increasingly harsh battle that might benefit the Republicans.”
On Wednesday Limbaugh told listeners Obama could secure the nomination by acknowledging the success of Operation Chaos. "What Obama has to do is go out and say this [Hillary] win is artificial and this win is phony because of Operation Chaos,” he said.
“He needs to go out there and say, 'Why in the world is everybody taking this seriously? Rush Limbaugh had his listeners register as Democrats for one day to go vote for Hillary to prolong this. We're letting Limbaugh get away with making our party look like it's in a total sewer and a mess. This victory in Pennsylvania is illegitimate, is undeserved because Democrats did not vote for her. Republicans did.'"
Do you think his views are good for America?
Do you like to perpetuate hate?
Well, it seems everytime a Democrat votes for Hillary Clinton, you are just giving dirty sloppy slobbery head to the vicodin-addled radio beast. And here is proof:
Limbaugh: 'Operation Chaos' Helped Hillary
Thursday, April 24, 2008 3:04 PM
Rush Limbaugh says his “Operation Chaos” played a significant role in helping Hillary Clinton achieve her 10-percentage-point victory in the Pennsylvania primary this week.
Operation Chaos is the leading radio talk-show host’s campaign to urge his conservative listeners to cross party lines to vote for Hillary Clinton. Limbaugh says the aim is to keep her in the race so she can continue battling Barack Obama and create chaos in the party, thereby aiding the Republicans this November.
“Were it not for Operation Chaos, Obama could win this by winning the primary process. But he can't now. Nor can she,” Limbaugh said on Wednesday.
“Both of these candidates need unelected superdelegates to be the nominee.
“So, unelected party hacks . . . are gonna choose the nominee. All the people that have voted in these primaries up to now will not be a factor. The nominee will have been delivered by party hacks, unelected superdelegates, and that is a dream come true for Operation Chaos."
On Tuesday, Rush told listeners as voters went to the polls: “Operation Chaos is succeeding exactly as planned and meeting all objectives.”
He pointed to the tens of thousands of voters in Pennsylvania who changed registration from Republican to Democrat in the weeks leading up to the primary and suggested they were “Operation Chaos operatives.”
Following Clinton’s win, the McClatchy Newspapers reported: “One out of 10 voters said they'd changed their party registrations so they could vote in the primary, according to exit polls. They broke for Obama by a margin of nearly 2-to-1.
“Yet late-deciding voters — including those who'd long been registered Democrats — broke heavily for Clinton. One possible explanation was the flood of controversial news about Obama in recent weeks, as well as his defensive performance in a debate last week.
“Another possible ingredient in the mix was mischief: Popular conservative talk-show host Rush Limbaugh for weeks urged his loyal listeners to register as Democrats to vote for Clinton and prolong an increasingly harsh battle that might benefit the Republicans.”
On Wednesday Limbaugh told listeners Obama could secure the nomination by acknowledging the success of Operation Chaos. "What Obama has to do is go out and say this [Hillary] win is artificial and this win is phony because of Operation Chaos,” he said.
“He needs to go out there and say, 'Why in the world is everybody taking this seriously? Rush Limbaugh had his listeners register as Democrats for one day to go vote for Hillary to prolong this. We're letting Limbaugh get away with making our party look like it's in a total sewer and a mess. This victory in Pennsylvania is illegitimate, is undeserved because Democrats did not vote for her. Republicans did.'"
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
How Do You Subpoena a 12th Level Rogue Orc?
The man in the purple coat was planning to kill me. That much was certain. I looked around. I was in a shoddy tavern and was surrounded by innocent bystanders.
Cautiously, I fingered the hilt of my rune-encrusted two-handed broad sword hidden beneath my cloak, and nodded once toward my dark-robed friend in the corner. The man in purple continued his bee line toward me. I knew his friend mus be in the crowd, but I had more friends in the room as well.
As my dark-robed friend finally finished her incantation, a brilliant flash of blue light filled the room, and the man in purple found himself bound by a level 5 binding spell. I struck a lethal hit-point draining blow as his allies and my own erupted from the shadows...
It was late. I played out the melee, saved the game and shut down my computer. Then, I looked at the clock.
"Jesus Christ, it's fucking late!" I said aloud to no one in particular.
I had meant to go to bed much earlier. MUCH earlier, but I had chosen to play just five more minutes. That actually equated to four more hours.
But that was the way it was with computerized role playing games back in the day. The story was linear. The parameters were limited. You played against the computer. You played until you got tired (or got a girlfriend) and put it away.
Things, it appears, have changed however.
These days, it's all online. It's hours days or weeks at a time on line, living in a virtual world as a virtual ogre or an elf, wielding magical weapons and bearing outrageous costumes. It's a life style. It's life.
I, of course, have no time for such things anymore, what with parenting, litigating and blogging. But, I can see the allure.
And then I read the article about the lawsuit in Florida.
OK, hold on to your thinking caps as you follow me down this rabbit hole...
Seems, in the World of Warcraft, the biggest MMRPG in the world, the make believe Tolkien-inspired creature characters rely on a form of electronic credit-based wealth, euphemistically referred to as "Gold." They use Gold to pay for increased training, better armor and wickedly devastating weapons.
The gold does not exist outside of the game. It is game gold, like monopoly money, and the more they can get their hands on, either from conquest or mining, the more they can enjoy the game. And so, folks smarter than me formed actual businesses, in the real world, in our world, dedicated to mining play gold and selling it in the real world for real money.
They have been , by all accounts, wildly successful.
So successful, that some of the straight players, people who fight dragons and war against warlocks to earn their reward, are pissed off at the modern day short cutters. See, the game is smart and adjusts values, prices and rewards based on make believe inflation. It's controls are tighter than the federal reserve. So, this artificial flush of wealth has thrown the whole enchilada catty wampus.
And that, my friends, is where the lawyers have gotten involved. Real life, legal-pad-wielding, suit-wearing lawyers, representing various players have filed a class action lawsuit against gold farmers seeking various injunctive relief and damages.
No lie.
Real people are paying real money to real lawyers to file a real lawsuit to stop a real company from farming for fake gold and selling it to fake people for real money in a fake world. (you may need to read that part twice.)
I mean, what is it that is being sold? It isn't even material, like Monopoly money. It is gold colored numbers on a computer screen in a virtual bank account in a virtual bank in a make believe realm. It has value because the game says it has value.
Then again, the same could be said for our real money. Currency by fiat. It has value because the government says it has to. It is essentially a make believe credit, and these fine folks were simply exchanging one virtual coin for another...
It isn't clear what the plaintiffs' damages could possibly be. I mean can a US District Court order restitution in the form of ogre pelts and Rings of Invulnerability?
Probably not.
So, the players will go back to playing and the gold farmers may or may not return to farming. Hopefully, someone will remember to pay their lawyer bill, and everything will be right in this world, and the other one.
Cautiously, I fingered the hilt of my rune-encrusted two-handed broad sword hidden beneath my cloak, and nodded once toward my dark-robed friend in the corner. The man in purple continued his bee line toward me. I knew his friend mus be in the crowd, but I had more friends in the room as well.
As my dark-robed friend finally finished her incantation, a brilliant flash of blue light filled the room, and the man in purple found himself bound by a level 5 binding spell. I struck a lethal hit-point draining blow as his allies and my own erupted from the shadows...
It was late. I played out the melee, saved the game and shut down my computer. Then, I looked at the clock.
"Jesus Christ, it's fucking late!" I said aloud to no one in particular.
I had meant to go to bed much earlier. MUCH earlier, but I had chosen to play just five more minutes. That actually equated to four more hours.
But that was the way it was with computerized role playing games back in the day. The story was linear. The parameters were limited. You played against the computer. You played until you got tired (or got a girlfriend) and put it away.
Things, it appears, have changed however.
These days, it's all online. It's hours days or weeks at a time on line, living in a virtual world as a virtual ogre or an elf, wielding magical weapons and bearing outrageous costumes. It's a life style. It's life.
I, of course, have no time for such things anymore, what with parenting, litigating and blogging. But, I can see the allure.
And then I read the article about the lawsuit in Florida.
OK, hold on to your thinking caps as you follow me down this rabbit hole...
Seems, in the World of Warcraft, the biggest MMRPG in the world, the make believe Tolkien-inspired creature characters rely on a form of electronic credit-based wealth, euphemistically referred to as "Gold." They use Gold to pay for increased training, better armor and wickedly devastating weapons.
The gold does not exist outside of the game. It is game gold, like monopoly money, and the more they can get their hands on, either from conquest or mining, the more they can enjoy the game. And so, folks smarter than me formed actual businesses, in the real world, in our world, dedicated to mining play gold and selling it in the real world for real money.
They have been , by all accounts, wildly successful.
So successful, that some of the straight players, people who fight dragons and war against warlocks to earn their reward, are pissed off at the modern day short cutters. See, the game is smart and adjusts values, prices and rewards based on make believe inflation. It's controls are tighter than the federal reserve. So, this artificial flush of wealth has thrown the whole enchilada catty wampus.
And that, my friends, is where the lawyers have gotten involved. Real life, legal-pad-wielding, suit-wearing lawyers, representing various players have filed a class action lawsuit against gold farmers seeking various injunctive relief and damages.
No lie.
Real people are paying real money to real lawyers to file a real lawsuit to stop a real company from farming for fake gold and selling it to fake people for real money in a fake world. (you may need to read that part twice.)
I mean, what is it that is being sold? It isn't even material, like Monopoly money. It is gold colored numbers on a computer screen in a virtual bank account in a virtual bank in a make believe realm. It has value because the game says it has value.
Then again, the same could be said for our real money. Currency by fiat. It has value because the government says it has to. It is essentially a make believe credit, and these fine folks were simply exchanging one virtual coin for another...
It isn't clear what the plaintiffs' damages could possibly be. I mean can a US District Court order restitution in the form of ogre pelts and Rings of Invulnerability?
Probably not.
So, the players will go back to playing and the gold farmers may or may not return to farming. Hopefully, someone will remember to pay their lawyer bill, and everything will be right in this world, and the other one.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Thank You Pennsylvania
I, Vice President Dick Cheney, White House puppet master, Grand Dragon of the GOP, Dark Lord of the underworld, would like to whole heartedly thank the kind people of Pennsylvania.
Thank you for making me rich and for making my life easy.
See, by choosing to vote for the doomed Mrs. Clinton, you have chosen to extend the gut-wrenching, flesh tearing, demoralizing schism in the Democratic Party. You have thrown your weight toward a dead woman walking. Thus, draining the Obama coffers, and weakening his eventual run at my personal cock sucking sauna boy, John McCain.
I appreciate that you chose to avoid the difficult task of thinking, and rather chose to vote your heart... Thank you for your lack of strategy. Thank you for your lack of logic. Thank the sweet Lord Jesus for your total inability to process a single abstract thought.
Now, the nation will be subjected to many more months of wearisome political ranting and wrestling. The Clintons will continue to do MY bidding, tearing and clawing at your only hope of victory, battering and bruising him, resorting to dirty tricks and outright lies, undermining what electable character he has left. Essentially, doing MY job for me.
All the while, the oil companies, Arabs and military contractors will pump massive amounts of cash into my and John's pockets. Goddamn, who would have thought that Hillary Clinton would be the means of extending my influence for another 8 years?? Thankfully, she has no party loyalty whatsoever.
Oh, and if John could get his mouth off of my cock long enough, I'm sure he would thank you for your support.
I LOVE you Hilary! [wink wink, kiss kiss]
C'mon Indiana and North Carolina. You can do it! Extend the blood letting! Clinton 08! Clinton 08! Clinton 08!
Alright, I'll get off my soap box now. It's time for my nightly ritual of counting my cash while I drink the blood of new born babies...
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