"Superdelegates are by design supposed to exercise independent judgment,"

LOAD-OF-BULLSHIT

Superdelegates are by design a big whig shim sham, and are supposed to wheel, deal, pull and call favors. It's about control, not independence. Both by design and in practice.

Self serving lies do not not earn my support. But when it comes down to superdelegates, popular support really doesn't matter, does it? Cow. You're not getting my worthless vote.

A "Little Death" of my Dignity

I just recieved a “e” get well card with an attached message that said this:

Sorry about your hand! Yeah, sure, you wore it out by "falling off your bike." ;-) Seriously, get better soon!

To which I replied thusly:

Aw. That was very sweet of you to send me an ecard. Thank you.

"Yeah, sure, you wore it out by 'falling off your bike.'"

I can't, or don't want to, imagine the furious, violent and pathological self abuse that would cause someone to fracture a hand-bone. Har, I just said "hand-bone."

Although, now that you mention it, once in my high school years I did pull a neck muscle so badly doing "that" that I had to lie on my back and wait 2 hours for my father to get home so he could drive me to the ER. And, NO, I wasn't trying to suck myself off! I just clinched up really badly at the moment of poetic death and pulled a neck muscle. It was awful.

The whole car ride to the hospital my father kept grilling me, "What the hell were you doing that hurt your neck?!"

Der, "Um - I don't know. It just happened - I guess."

Ahhhhh. Memories.

Shut up.

If It Worked For Ted Bundy....

So how was your Thanksgiving? Good? Great. I fell off my bike and broke my hand. Yay. Typing is hard, and since I just finished typing a too long email to a friend (and since I only use this blog to share my own emails that amuse me), instead of spending a half hour doing it again, I’ll copy and paste the pertinent part of the email:

Working with one hand is difficult but doable - sort of like typing this. [redacted] I’m practicing my pained wince.

Luckily:

-it is my right hand and I’m left handed.
-even though my hand is swollen to the size of a bowling ball and makes me think of Hellboy, it actually doesn’t hurt too badly.
-it is a simple, uncomplicated fracture.
-the emergency room I went to coincidentally happened to be attached to the hospital with the world’s #1 hand clinic. [which probably doesn’t really matter as the break should be simple enough that a Caribbean trained monkey doctor would be qualified to fix it]. But, the specialist I’m scheduled to see has degrees from Hopkins and Harvard and shit -so I guess that is good.

Unfortunately:

-the fucking hand clinic is apparently so goddamned special I have to wait until friday to get in, so I have to wear a giant ER splint for a week.
-yesterday, a tiny little bug that looked like an albino baby earwig crawled out of my splint. Probably just a single bug that happened to be roaming around, but in my imagination I’m convinced that something laid eggs in there and soon hundreds will crawl out. HUNDREDS! After they eat all my fingers and I’m left with bloody, boney finger stumps of course. Mr. Special Specialist who won’t see me until friday will be sorry then.
-the ER doc was hot and I wasn’t thinking clearly... so when she asked me if I wanted any pain killers the moron horny part of my brain didn’t want me to seem like a pussy and I said “Nah.” DUMBASS! I could have gotten Percocet! Granted, it really doesn’t hurt that badly, but I looooooooooove Percocet. That would come in especially handy when the bugs started consuming my hand. Oh well.

Hopefully:

-I won’t need any nuts, bolts, screws or surgery. According to Dr. Google-Search, I probably won’t. If I’m reaaally lucky, I *might* not even need a cast and just use a low profile splint. Although I doubt that Dr. Special-Specialist would be thrilled to hear my diagnosis derived from my own internet searches. Still, I’m praying this is the case because for some reason for this particular fracture Doctors like to cast from the elbow to the end of the pinky.
-if I do need a cast, I’m hoping that some chicks dig that sort of thing - and I’ll be able to exploit this for some nurturing pity sex - or something. Here is my plan: when some hot dumb young girl in my building is doing laundry, I’ll put on my sling and pretend to be all clumsy and helpless and incapable of holding the laundry basket. With this ploy I will coarse them into carrying my laundry to my apartment. Hey, if it worked for Ted Bundy...

His reply:

I was thinking of Silence of the Lambs when you mentioned the cast. The part where he's trying to get the sofa into the moving van. I think that movie alone will probably kill the pity that you would have otherwise gotten. Maybe if it had been your foot.

My reply reply:

Yeah, Silence of the Lambs got that from Ted Bundy. That was his M.O. But then again, Ted Bundy was a lot better looking than me also, so..... the hot chicks would probably just roll their eyes and ignore me... as per usual.

Panties From Heaven

I just sent this email to a friend of mine:

Hey, I just found something far more entertaining than my last email to you. Apparently, the is a democracy/civil rights group called Lanna Action for Burma that has the most novel little protest called the Panty Power Campaign.

See here for details.

Supposedly, in Burmese culture, men avoid ladies’ undergarments, for fear that they drain men of their power. Lanna Action for Burma are calling on women worldwide to mail their panties to their respective Burmese embassies, or directly to the military regime’s headquarters, etc., etc...

Unfortunately, I don’t really have a panty fetish. But if I did, boy, I would have THE MOST BRILLIANT IDEA IN THE UNIVERSE!

You see, what I would do is this: Start up a web page called something to the effect of “Union of Myanmar State Peace and Development Council American Postal Processing Center.”

Attached would be the instructions:

Please send all mail intended for Senior General Than Shwe or the State Peace and Development Council to this address:

[MY ADDRESS]
Baltimore, MD 21202

Then I could just fill up my bedroom with all the strange panties from floor to ceiling and swim through them whenever I wanted to.

I mean, sure, I guess it would be a strike against freedom, but if I had a “P” fetish and all those panties, what the fuck would I care? I’d be in panty heaven!

California Bans Cell Phone Use for Teen Drivers

Bully for them. A step in the right direction. I might question the scientific foundation of Schwarzenegger's claim that teenagers "have a slower reaction time" thing, but otherwise, kudos. Next, they should ban cell phone use among lady drivers. I’m also all for a law banning women from talking on cell phones in grocery stores... or at least the grocery store should provide me with foam leg guards to protect me from lady cellphone-talking-while-pushing-a-cart-into-my-shins syndrome.*

Or, ya know, they could just ban cell phone use for ALL drivers... or something.

* The first time a dude does this to me, I’ll return to this blog and apologize for being chauvinistic. But until that happens, you ladies are winning the bumper cart competition something like 10 to 0.

9/11

”Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

”9/11”

“9/11 who?”

(feign look of incredulous and appalled disapproval)”I thought you said you would never forget?... I can’t even look at you right now.”

Limits

Two emails I received this morning:

1. I just found out that McNulty (or the actor who plays him) is having a garage sale tomorrow. I can find out the address if you're interested. I'll be in C________ for most of the day - so I won't be able to go. But I figured you might like to see if you can buy his underwear or something.

2. Okay, it could be Wire goodies (props and such, since they're done filming) or it could be other crap. Either way, tt all goes down in the garage behind the Assembly building over in Hampden, 12-2. 2031 Clipper Park Rd, 21211. I guess I'd say get there early 7 or 8, if you plan on going. Just a heads up.

And my response:

Thanks for the heads up, but I think I'll be passing on the opportunity to dangle from Dominic West's nuts and fawn over his temporary Ikea furniture. I like to think my fandom of that show has some limits. If I ever attend a celebrity yard sale, kill me.

It is good to know that my friends have such a high opinion to think I would be interested in such bullshit.

But the rest of you should have at it. Dominic West: boxers or briefs? Here is your big chance to find out. You might be able to score his second hand tupperware. Can you imagine? Licking a tupperware container that once belonged to a second/third tier celebrity actor. This could be your bargain basement brush with greatness.