Today I found myself communing the spirit of President Theodore Roosevelt were he to see the state of the national park system he set up: "So, what is there to shoot?"
I did my best to sound intelligent on Welsh radio this morning when talking about Cheney. I failed miserably, but fortunately the BBC has brilliant editors and they were able to splice my conversation in such a way that I came out sounding far more clever than I really am. Thank you, Radio Cymru, for promulgating the myth.
Britain has finally made it to the medal podium, thanks to a woman who's good at hurling herself down a mountain head-first.
Man, I love the Olympics. I really love the Olympics.
I mean, I just cannot express how great the Olympics are. I really, really love the Olympics.
The best part is that these slideshows exist on a site run by my benevolent employer. So ogling Lindsey Kildow is work-related activity. Poor ol' battered and bruised Lindsey. She needs a massage...
"The day I don't look at pretty girls, I die." -- I want that on a T-shirt. It is my new mantra.
Judging by the above two bullet points, I am a Dirty Old Man trapped in a 29-year-old's body. I'm very close to being proud of that.
Random painful memory: the band Ugly Kid Joe.
Gah! And Jackyl's chainsaw song. Remember the chainsaw song (aka "The Lumberjack")? If it's been a while since you've heard this song, be sure to suffer 1:30 into the song for the solo. Oh, Christ on a tricycle, I need to sit down.
The great thing about this technology is that it sets up the potential for one to pawn their dead grandmother for drug money. It also lends itself to a good name for a band: 8 Ounces Of Me.