Sometimes I amuse the heck out of me. Today, in referring to a particular news writer, I remarked to a colleague: "Her stories are a rich vein of failure. If her errors were silver, her stories would be Virginia City, Nevada, in the mid to late 1800s."
Wait. When did Bombay become Mumbai? How did I miss that?
There's a special place in hell for you if you shoot a volunteer fireman with a pellet gun. There is an even more special place if you shoot him while he's dressed as Santa. I think the only way this kid could have damaged his karma more would be if the Santa/fireman had recently returned from a tour of duty in Iraq.
Or, he could have been French.
You know, it just doesn't feel like Christmas until someone stabs to death a rabid fox.
Terror* runs free in West Wales. Bill Clinton is to blame.
There's a very simple lesson in all of this: Rattlesnakes are not good pets.
Nothing says classy like the Confederate flag in red, white and blue sequins. Take the rifle off the gun rack, honey, we goin' to town!
More than 60 million Americans will be traveling this holiday. This site is for them.
So, The Dears sound like The Cure, 3 Inches of Blood sound like just about every heavy metal hair band of the mid-1980s, and Good Charlotte sounds like Sublime. What the hell is going on in Canada? It's as if they are trapped in some sort of rift in the fabric of time. Perhaps I should go up there and do some sports betting.
Not really as innovative as Beatallica, it's The Beastles -- a mash-up of The Beatles and Beastie Boys. Considering my generally low opinion of Beastie Boys, this actually makes them sound almost good. I'm very simplistic that I don't ever seem to tire of mash-up songs.
Star Wars' C3PO singing a Christmas song. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.
*Assuming you are terrified by pheasants.