We had a lovely party. Pretty girls came.
Some could do tricks. 
The boys were handsome. 
Games were played…
…and we let them eat cake. 
The next day we went to Weba’s house to munch on her baby. I took daddy porn pictures.
First, a rousing cheer for the ancient geezer to whom I am married. I’ve been lucky enough to share 4 of his first 30 years, and by the time he’s 60, I will have been around for the majority of his life. Can’t wait. 
Next, I’m pleased to announce that yesterday was the long-awaited birth of the Peanut, who is the cutest little PuertoKorecuan legume I’ve ever seen. 
A gem from Engrish.com
I stole this from a friend’s Facebook profile. It seems to be some sort of English Naval recruiter’s version of an Uncle Sam poster. I prefer not to join.
The phrase is falsely attributed to Winston Churchill (”Don’t talk to me about naval tradition. It’s nothing but rum, sodomy, and the lash.“) and is also the name of a best-selling album by The Pogues.
The album cover painting is based on “The Raft of the Medusa” by Theodore Gericault, which in turn may have been inspired by
John Singleton Copley’s “Watson and the Shark.” Brook Watson was a 14-year-old crew member of a trading ship whose leg
was eaten by a shark. Copley met him in London (where Watson later became mayor) and the painting was subsequently commissioned. Upon Watson’s death, a copy was given to a hospital to warn kids of the dangers of swimming in shark-infested waters. I suspect the intended lesson of this public service poster may have been too late for anyone sitting in the ER with a missing leg.
The figure of the unfortunate Watson (did the shark eat his clothes, too?) was based on “The Borghese Gladiator” by Agasius of Ephesus. The gladiator’s form is also echoed in Rubens’ “Conclusion of the Peace at Angers.”
It’s sales conference week at work, so today and tomorrow are spent listening to editors present their spring 09 titles. Great fun and deathly boring, depending on who’s presenting. Nice to have free food and get out of the office, dreadful because nothing gets done and the guy in charge purposefully keeps the temp at about 45 degrees “so we won’t fall asleep.” Perhaps he is not aware of the sleep-like quality of death, once one is frozen into that state.
Meanwhile, back at home, the landlords keep it so hot the only way to sleep is spread-eagle naked with an ice cube on your tongue.
more animals
1. ”Oh, hi! I’m a Christian with 30 million dollars. Let’s see… AIDS, poverty, missions, starvation, illiteracy….Nope, I think I’ll keep gay people from marrying!”
2. I am not really a political person, but I seem to be unable to stop ranting about these goings on. My sister and I have moved on from our “here come the Obamalypse” Facebook friends, abstinence-based sex-ed, and purity rings to scheming how to get fresh veg NOT drowned in cream-of-what-have-you sauces at Grandma’s Thanksgiving.
It was quite an effort to get Grandma’s permission to bring anything, but I am allowed one pumpkin pie. J3 will offer “breakfast pastries.” I will also be packing a keg of cran-grape for P, who is a fruit juice vampire. Grandma makes wonderful things to eat and plenty of them, but they are of a mayonnaise-, bacon fat- and margarine-based nature, which gave us pause once we reached an accountable age. We’ll just have to break up the inevitable family drama with jogging and soccer.
On the non-self-absorbed front, we’re thankful she’s still around and willing to host, as family events are much pleasanter there. Our poor family camps together in the rec room, while we married couples get the two bedrooms. We’re going to turn one of them into a speakeasy with a password to get in.
Groucho: How much would you want to run into an open manhole?
Chico: Just the cover charge.
Groucho: Well drop in some time.
Chico: Sewer.
And I’m still pissed about this letter. Even though it is so batshit that it makes me laugh. You know how Obama voters were threatening to move to Canada if McCain won? Turns out the Dobson crowd is headed to Australia and New Zealand. Apparently, it’s chock full of homeschoolers there.
Like this adorable gentleman.
Dear disappointed conservative friends and family,
Rend not thy garments and fret not thyselves. It’s unlikely that the Homosexual Agenda (that rabble-rousing army of drag queens) will chase you down the street, brandishing their genitals and threatening to “roast marshmallows” with your young Boy Scout sons. The dark, godless heavens will not rain down condoms and contraceptives upon your praying heads. And Dora will not be Exploring more than her bi-lingual cartoon maps.
So instead of writing 16-pages of crazy, why don’t you find a pregnant teenager and buy her a pack of diapers.
