An entire month. Thanksgiving, the FancyPants signature holiday (gluttony, sloth, wrath, football, and stuffing), and not a single word. What kind of a dick blogger am I, anyway?
Anyhoo.
I'm a big fan of the Chinese custom of naming years. Year of the Monkey? Who didn't throw some feces, am I right? And how about that Year of the Grinning Dragon? If I had a nickel for every snotty British prep school kid I lit on fire that year...(why yes, that WAS a Harry Potter reference. Thanks for playing)
For the past few years I've been naming years in a typically FancyPants kinda way. 2008 - Year of the Baby. 2009 - Year of the Turducken.
Some classics, by the way:
2001 - Year of the Syphilitic Dodo (Bush gets sworn in, 9/11, war, C's in law school. What an awful, shitty year)
1993 - Year of the Colored Jeans
2004 - Year of the Unicorn-Copulating Griffin (in terms of improbable events, cf. Red Sox World Champions, and the FancyPants wedding)
So comes 2010. My Naming Committee sits, and ponders suggestions.
The Year We Make Contact: too Arthur Clarke-y.
Year of the Book: Given my ability to keep current on a measly blog, I doubt we're seeing this Year until sometime in the 2060's.
Year of the Baby II: too expensive. Do you know how much those things cost in upkeep? Screw that noise.
Finally, we've come to a decision:
2010: Year of the House.
More details to come.
Oh, and in case you hadn't heard, BRANDON JENNINGS.
Showing posts with label the chinese are coming. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the chinese are coming. Show all posts
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Monday, August 18, 2008
Bust shots at Big Ben like we got time to kill
First, before I get to this week's half-assed post, I'm obligated to recognize a Mr. Hamburglar/B&D/Krazy/Tubby Bjornferdsentenstein for suggesting the Bob & Doug MacKenzie beer clip from last week. So there you go, Tubby. And for those of you who decided not to click on the fluffy bunny link, maybe you should check it out. Who knew bunnies had anything to do with witches?
Meanwhile...read this, because the birds and the bees, though their famed interaction may be exciting, don't always live happily ever after.
I had a decent idea to write about this week, about how much I hate Woody Allen. He and Philip Roth are equally responsible for giving Jewish men a bad name, and terrible role models. But then I heard that his new movie has Scarlett Johannsen and Penelope Cruz making out. So for that, Woody, I'll forget about the whole "marrying my adopted daughter" thing.
And I'm not going to write about the campaign, because nothing is happening. Forget the news - and I'm not even going to link to anything, because I don't want to encourage you - and their carping on every little misstep or not-so-surprising center moves by both candidates. August is for vacations and pining for the NFL, and that's it. Obama wants to name a VP? I'm all ears. But until the conventions in a couple of weeks, there's really nothing to talk about.
Oh, then there's that whole Russia-Georgia thing. I wish I could get worked up about Russia's imperialism, but I wouldn't be so sad if Hotlanta went Russky. Imagine the crazy Outkast album!
Beyond that, the only thing that anyone cares about right now is the Olympics, and all those medals by that guy with the gills. Much to the Madre's - and Wife's, for that matter - I'm not watching them. I'm not so down with China, ever since my Gap t-shirt got a hole in the armpit. Come on, you've got like 50 million child laborers - does not a single one know how to sew? You think losing the medal race to the U.S. is embarassing? How about all those crappy Nikes, and their uncomfortable soles? Now that's some national shame.
I could say it's all a joke, that I've been watching the epic gymnastics battle, and those beautiful opening ceremonies, but for some reason I find I've got other things to do. Who knows. Maybe I'm just overreacting, being a snotty liberal and all. I mean, there have been some unforgettable images coming out of China:
I'm sorry. I really tried to keep this light. But you know what? I'm really sick of the Olympics. I'd really just love to sit down and watch some crappy reality TV, but NBC's coverage has just been ridiculous. Just bring back the Office already.
Meanwhile...read this, because the birds and the bees, though their famed interaction may be exciting, don't always live happily ever after.
I had a decent idea to write about this week, about how much I hate Woody Allen. He and Philip Roth are equally responsible for giving Jewish men a bad name, and terrible role models. But then I heard that his new movie has Scarlett Johannsen and Penelope Cruz making out. So for that, Woody, I'll forget about the whole "marrying my adopted daughter" thing.
And I'm not going to write about the campaign, because nothing is happening. Forget the news - and I'm not even going to link to anything, because I don't want to encourage you - and their carping on every little misstep or not-so-surprising center moves by both candidates. August is for vacations and pining for the NFL, and that's it. Obama wants to name a VP? I'm all ears. But until the conventions in a couple of weeks, there's really nothing to talk about.
Oh, then there's that whole Russia-Georgia thing. I wish I could get worked up about Russia's imperialism, but I wouldn't be so sad if Hotlanta went Russky. Imagine the crazy Outkast album!
Beyond that, the only thing that anyone cares about right now is the Olympics, and all those medals by that guy with the gills. Much to the Madre's - and Wife's, for that matter - I'm not watching them. I'm not so down with China, ever since my Gap t-shirt got a hole in the armpit. Come on, you've got like 50 million child laborers - does not a single one know how to sew? You think losing the medal race to the U.S. is embarassing? How about all those crappy Nikes, and their uncomfortable soles? Now that's some national shame.
I could say it's all a joke, that I've been watching the epic gymnastics battle, and those beautiful opening ceremonies, but for some reason I find I've got other things to do. Who knows. Maybe I'm just overreacting, being a snotty liberal and all. I mean, there have been some unforgettable images coming out of China:
I'm sorry. I really tried to keep this light. But you know what? I'm really sick of the Olympics. I'd really just love to sit down and watch some crappy reality TV, but NBC's coverage has just been ridiculous. Just bring back the Office already.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Trafficking
I knew it! I knew people read this thing! I totally got you to comment! Suckers!
But seriously, the problems of underwear afflict men all across this great nation, and its time someone other than GQ took it up as a serious topic. So you're welcome.
I was sick this week, sick of the lies, and the beatings, and the sleep deprivation. Mostly just the last one, which laid me up all day yesterday. So instead of reading German e-mails about hot and sweaty interoffice romance, I got to read interesting stuff, like this article in The Atlantic.
Now those of you who are familiar with the history of the Fancy Pants remember my...ambivalence regarding traffic laws. Whether it was playing Follow the Leader around West Rogers Park, ignoring speed limits on I-94, or simply running into stationary curbs on the side of Kedzie or parked cars in a parking lot in Newton, or trying to run down pedestrians in Coolidge Corner, I'm not too down with the law. So John Staddon's article is right up my alley. Despite the fact that he's British, and the Queen's homeland is used as the model, I think this article makes a lot of sense. Signs are a pain in the ass, and speed limits are too often arbitrary, and they change seemingly at random. So why can't this happen here, in the USA, one of the top nine countries in North America (I refuse to count any of the Caribbean islands. If they want to be part of a continent, they can form their own)?
When it comes down to it, this is all about truthiness. In the end, it doesn't matter what the statistics show, or what is actually safer. All that matters is that fewer signs feels less safe, and therefore anyone who dares to suggest getting rid of some or all of them must hate children, puppies, and Jesus. It doesn't help that rotaries would be part of the solution. Hell, even I'm suspicious that they're part of some sinister Communist plot to spell out "Yay Karl Marx!" on our road maps.
And they will never be "roundabouts" in these United States. Even more than rotaries, roundabouts make me want to take a bunch of tea and throw it in the nearest body of water. That includes my bathtub.
But I am all in favor of doing away with stop signs and speed limits. I've heard some of you - specifically those in Chairman Mao's Boston - yearn for more stop signs to protect your kids from the evil, gas-guzzling, earth-destroying cars. You know what? That's what leashes are for. And helmets. Children should be taught to fear cars, so they'll be less inclined to want to drive at 16, or even 36. Which will make for fewer drivers on the road, which will be good for the environment. So either way, taking down the stop signs is a good thing.
Lastly, a short word about pedestrians in general. In the city, there are sidewalks. Those are for people who aren't driving. If you must enter the street area, you should respect the 3- and 4-ton vehicles hurtling past you at high speeds. If you think some painted lines are going to overrule a green light, you deserve the broken hip. It's really a matter of physics. People are smaller than cars, and slower. If you see a car coming, don't walk in front of it, unless you have the light, or several layers of padding. Because I know I'm not stopping.
If we're in a roundabout, though, then the right of way is all yours. I think that's how it works. But for that you have to go to England, and pay fealty to Queen Whats-her-name. Sheila.
But seriously, the problems of underwear afflict men all across this great nation, and its time someone other than GQ took it up as a serious topic. So you're welcome.
I was sick this week, sick of the lies, and the beatings, and the sleep deprivation. Mostly just the last one, which laid me up all day yesterday. So instead of reading German e-mails about hot and sweaty interoffice romance, I got to read interesting stuff, like this article in The Atlantic.
Now those of you who are familiar with the history of the Fancy Pants remember my...ambivalence regarding traffic laws. Whether it was playing Follow the Leader around West Rogers Park, ignoring speed limits on I-94, or simply running into stationary curbs on the side of Kedzie or parked cars in a parking lot in Newton, or trying to run down pedestrians in Coolidge Corner, I'm not too down with the law. So John Staddon's article is right up my alley. Despite the fact that he's British, and the Queen's homeland is used as the model, I think this article makes a lot of sense. Signs are a pain in the ass, and speed limits are too often arbitrary, and they change seemingly at random. So why can't this happen here, in the USA, one of the top nine countries in North America (I refuse to count any of the Caribbean islands. If they want to be part of a continent, they can form their own)?
When it comes down to it, this is all about truthiness. In the end, it doesn't matter what the statistics show, or what is actually safer. All that matters is that fewer signs feels less safe, and therefore anyone who dares to suggest getting rid of some or all of them must hate children, puppies, and Jesus. It doesn't help that rotaries would be part of the solution. Hell, even I'm suspicious that they're part of some sinister Communist plot to spell out "Yay Karl Marx!" on our road maps.
And they will never be "roundabouts" in these United States. Even more than rotaries, roundabouts make me want to take a bunch of tea and throw it in the nearest body of water. That includes my bathtub.
But I am all in favor of doing away with stop signs and speed limits. I've heard some of you - specifically those in Chairman Mao's Boston - yearn for more stop signs to protect your kids from the evil, gas-guzzling, earth-destroying cars. You know what? That's what leashes are for. And helmets. Children should be taught to fear cars, so they'll be less inclined to want to drive at 16, or even 36. Which will make for fewer drivers on the road, which will be good for the environment. So either way, taking down the stop signs is a good thing.
Lastly, a short word about pedestrians in general. In the city, there are sidewalks. Those are for people who aren't driving. If you must enter the street area, you should respect the 3- and 4-ton vehicles hurtling past you at high speeds. If you think some painted lines are going to overrule a green light, you deserve the broken hip. It's really a matter of physics. People are smaller than cars, and slower. If you see a car coming, don't walk in front of it, unless you have the light, or several layers of padding. Because I know I'm not stopping.
If we're in a roundabout, though, then the right of way is all yours. I think that's how it works. But for that you have to go to England, and pay fealty to Queen Whats-her-name. Sheila.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Come to China - watch gymnastics, get arrested and deported!
I'm not going to write about Obama's victory, because it came months ago, and only real news people are going to treat today as if something significant happened. Instead, I'm going to write about a country that's crazier and scarier than America: China.
Yesterday China issued a legal guide for foreigners during the Olympics. Some of the rules are understandable - no attacking participants or judges, no smuggling drugs. But then there are some typically fascistic regulations that will give these Games a true Chinese feel. Only a few of these are actually made up.
1) Come to China, and see the entire country! You want to go to Tibet? Is that the new McDonald's sandwich, in honor of our very Special Olympic Games? It isn't? Well then the Chinese government has never heard of it. Why would you want to go somewhere that doesn't exist?
2) People with "mental diseases" are not welcome. Some examples: bipolar disorder, autism, Baron Munchausen's disease, that one disease where you say what you believe, regardless of the government's position. Tourettes, that's it.
3) The mascots are Syd, Ollie, and Millie. Chairman Mao help you if you bring up any of these.
4) These Olympics are sponsored by Coca-Cola, among other companies. If you try to bring Pepsi into the country, you will be deported to the nearest Myanmarese country. What's a Burma? Is that like a Tibet?
5) Athletes are free to express themselves using whatever means they deem appropriate. But remember, in polite company, a gentleman or lady does not bring up religion, politics, oppressive police states, Big Brother, air pollution, water pollution, noise pollution, rickshaws, Japan, Genghis Khan, Kublai Khan, Morty Khan, Hong Kong, Taiwan, child labor, capitalism, North Korea, Yao Ming, the internet, rock and roll music, smog, asthma, choking, lung cancer, and whatever that Tibet thing is.
6) You may root for whomever you please, but don't yell anything mean. Or obnoxious. Or racial. Or political. Or religious. Or using words. Some nice, encouraging grunts are really welcome.
7) You are free to root for the Chinese athletes.
8) If you have any problems please find one of the many volunteers on staff, who are there to answer any of your questions. If your questions are hard, or relate to a sensitive topic, one of the many undercover agents disguised as volunteers will detain you until an acceptable time is determined for your release.
9) Curfew is at 10 sharp. Lights out at 11. Stories at 11:30, but only if everyone's in PJ's.
10) If you're caught sneaking out of your Olympic village for a romantic tryst, to attend a protest, or to use the bathroom, you will be shot on sight. But what the heavily armed undercover agents dressed as volunteers don't know won't hurt you, so enjoy the thrill of sneaking out!
Yesterday China issued a legal guide for foreigners during the Olympics. Some of the rules are understandable - no attacking participants or judges, no smuggling drugs. But then there are some typically fascistic regulations that will give these Games a true Chinese feel. Only a few of these are actually made up.
1) Come to China, and see the entire country! You want to go to Tibet? Is that the new McDonald's sandwich, in honor of our very Special Olympic Games? It isn't? Well then the Chinese government has never heard of it. Why would you want to go somewhere that doesn't exist?
2) People with "mental diseases" are not welcome. Some examples: bipolar disorder, autism, Baron Munchausen's disease, that one disease where you say what you believe, regardless of the government's position. Tourettes, that's it.
3) The mascots are Syd, Ollie, and Millie. Chairman Mao help you if you bring up any of these.
4) These Olympics are sponsored by Coca-Cola, among other companies. If you try to bring Pepsi into the country, you will be deported to the nearest Myanmarese country. What's a Burma? Is that like a Tibet?
5) Athletes are free to express themselves using whatever means they deem appropriate. But remember, in polite company, a gentleman or lady does not bring up religion, politics, oppressive police states, Big Brother, air pollution, water pollution, noise pollution, rickshaws, Japan, Genghis Khan, Kublai Khan, Morty Khan, Hong Kong, Taiwan, child labor, capitalism, North Korea, Yao Ming, the internet, rock and roll music, smog, asthma, choking, lung cancer, and whatever that Tibet thing is.
6) You may root for whomever you please, but don't yell anything mean. Or obnoxious. Or racial. Or political. Or religious. Or using words. Some nice, encouraging grunts are really welcome.
7) You are free to root for the Chinese athletes.
8) If you have any problems please find one of the many volunteers on staff, who are there to answer any of your questions. If your questions are hard, or relate to a sensitive topic, one of the many undercover agents disguised as volunteers will detain you until an acceptable time is determined for your release.
9) Curfew is at 10 sharp. Lights out at 11. Stories at 11:30, but only if everyone's in PJ's.
10) If you're caught sneaking out of your Olympic village for a romantic tryst, to attend a protest, or to use the bathroom, you will be shot on sight. But what the heavily armed undercover agents dressed as volunteers don't know won't hurt you, so enjoy the thrill of sneaking out!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Taxes suck, waa waa waa
I understand people who complain about taxes. I really do. You made the money, you should keep it. Obviously. My only problem is that these people are Communist pinkos, who want nothing more than to freeload. Go back to Russia-town, Stalinists!
You pay for cars, houses, clothes, everything except music and porn on the internet. Why exactly should you get to live in America for free? It's a great gig - we have good movies, decent restaurants, and football, miles and miles away cooler than soccer. We have the greatest, most powerful army in the world that fights wars with only the most technically advanced weaponry, when Congress actually spends that money on the troops, as opposed to contractors (just kidding, Blackwater. Please don't kidnap and torture my family).
Living in America is a privilege, not a right. Don't like it? Move to Iceland or Ireland, the only developed countries with average tax rates lower than ours. And it's never really the people without money who complain, is it? It's the ones with plenty of money, who can afford their own health care, but just don't want to support anyone else. Well you know what? If you agree not to take anything from the government - not Social Security, or Medicaid, or Medicare, take 911 off your speed dial, remove all the smoke alarms because you can fight your own fires, you big burly men you - then hey, don't bother paying the taxes.
The government has a $3 trillion deficit. Eventually, they're going to have to raise taxes because they don't have enough money, and none of us (other than Chinese immigrants, maybe) want the national anthem to be in Mandarin in 30 years. So suck it up, pay your taxes, and find something a little bit more interesting to base your vote on, like, say, sound fiscal policy, or a reasonable solution to the drug problem, or whether a particular candidate has a crazy preacher. Because even that is a more legitimate beef than bitching about how much Uncle Sam is ripping from your liver-spotted arthritic claw.
You know who demands to tear down the market system, and get things for free? Welfare recipients, and Bolsheviks. America gets to charge what the market will bear, that's your whole capitalism thing, right?
You pay for cars, houses, clothes, everything except music and porn on the internet. Why exactly should you get to live in America for free? It's a great gig - we have good movies, decent restaurants, and football, miles and miles away cooler than soccer. We have the greatest, most powerful army in the world that fights wars with only the most technically advanced weaponry, when Congress actually spends that money on the troops, as opposed to contractors (just kidding, Blackwater. Please don't kidnap and torture my family).
Living in America is a privilege, not a right. Don't like it? Move to Iceland or Ireland, the only developed countries with average tax rates lower than ours. And it's never really the people without money who complain, is it? It's the ones with plenty of money, who can afford their own health care, but just don't want to support anyone else. Well you know what? If you agree not to take anything from the government - not Social Security, or Medicaid, or Medicare, take 911 off your speed dial, remove all the smoke alarms because you can fight your own fires, you big burly men you - then hey, don't bother paying the taxes.
The government has a $3 trillion deficit. Eventually, they're going to have to raise taxes because they don't have enough money, and none of us (other than Chinese immigrants, maybe) want the national anthem to be in Mandarin in 30 years. So suck it up, pay your taxes, and find something a little bit more interesting to base your vote on, like, say, sound fiscal policy, or a reasonable solution to the drug problem, or whether a particular candidate has a crazy preacher. Because even that is a more legitimate beef than bitching about how much Uncle Sam is ripping from your liver-spotted arthritic claw.
You know who demands to tear down the market system, and get things for free? Welfare recipients, and Bolsheviks. America gets to charge what the market will bear, that's your whole capitalism thing, right?
Thursday, October 18, 2007
A Glorious Day for Uniflexicom and its Message!
Consumers,
Today is a magnificent day here at Uniflexicom. The Board of Directors and I have declared October 18, 2007 to be “Free Speech Day,” and as I write this our 55,000 family-members/employees are exercising their freedom to wearing the t-shirts Marketing crafted for this new corporate holiday: “Uniflexicom: One Spirit, One Voice, One Mind!”
First, a special thanks to Friend of the Family John Rockefeller, Democratic Senator from the great state of
For too long Two Tongues Media, Uniflexicom’s communication branch has had to deal with the obfuscation of its message. Certainly, with 150 local and national television stations, and 200 print media outlets, TTM is able to get is carefully crafted releases past the muckraking, scandal-hungry talking heads to you, our devoted customers. But sometimes those polished, carefully worded communications are muddied by trumped-up claims and statistics, or preposterous stories of corruption. But Kevin Martin – who may grill a great
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Is it War? Are We at War Yet?
9 million more toys recalled for lead content, first strike capabilities
We are a privileged generation. When you've got your grandson on your prosthetic knee, and he asks you between languorous picks of his nose, "did you fight the Chinese, Grampa?" you'll be able to look him in the eye, and say, "first of all, it's Poppop. Second, hell yes I did.
"When they made their first strike, we were caught off guard. What kind of sick bastards use toys as weapons? But then it turned out they'd put lead in everything: our clothes, our shoes, our appliances, our little troll dolls at the end of our pencils. Which, incidentally, don't use real lead. Ironic.
"And when the great Chinese magnets came across the Pacific, we thought they were UFO's. Yokels grimaced, and took down their overralls for yet another anal probing. Nerds rejoiced, and danced awkwardly. But I knew better. I knew they were finally coming for us, we finally got to fight against the great Communist threat, and I was ready.
"We fought them in the playrooms, and in the pantries. We fought them in the classrooms, over tricycles and sippy cups. Sure, I saw awful, terrible things. Young man, you never, EVER want to see a melted, disfigured Polly Pocket.
"They tried to poison us with toxic metals, but we had more bombs. And now the 'Great' Wall is nothing more than a doorstop for America's renewed manifest destiny. Yee. F-in. Haw. Now go run and get your Poppop a bourbon."
We are a privileged generation. When you've got your grandson on your prosthetic knee, and he asks you between languorous picks of his nose, "did you fight the Chinese, Grampa?" you'll be able to look him in the eye, and say, "first of all, it's Poppop. Second, hell yes I did.
"When they made their first strike, we were caught off guard. What kind of sick bastards use toys as weapons? But then it turned out they'd put lead in everything: our clothes, our shoes, our appliances, our little troll dolls at the end of our pencils. Which, incidentally, don't use real lead. Ironic.
"And when the great Chinese magnets came across the Pacific, we thought they were UFO's. Yokels grimaced, and took down their overralls for yet another anal probing. Nerds rejoiced, and danced awkwardly. But I knew better. I knew they were finally coming for us, we finally got to fight against the great Communist threat, and I was ready.
"We fought them in the playrooms, and in the pantries. We fought them in the classrooms, over tricycles and sippy cups. Sure, I saw awful, terrible things. Young man, you never, EVER want to see a melted, disfigured Polly Pocket.
"They tried to poison us with toxic metals, but we had more bombs. And now the 'Great' Wall is nothing more than a doorstop for America's renewed manifest destiny. Yee. F-in. Haw. Now go run and get your Poppop a bourbon."
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