Thought We Were Gone, Did You?

see Obama pictures

Submarine Races

With the excitement of the Democratic Primaries at a lull, here is something to satisfy your appetite for meaningless entertainment.
(scroll down)

SO WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?!?

The Recently Taken and Probably For Real Photo-polooza

OK, OK. But here's some real entertainment. Just take a drive and pay attention.

Now We Know What The Bush Legacy Will Be!!!

By now everyone with a TV has seen the footage of President Bush break into an impromptu dance routine while waiting for Republican nominee John McCain to arrive at the White House



This is nothing new to a President that can tap dance around a reason for invading Iraq, a tax break for the rich and the inevitable recession. Karl Rove believed Bush's magic feet of political maneuvering could bring about a new respect for the country and administration lost among the nations of the world. He wrote a detailed foreign policy diplomatic strategy action plan come to be known as the "Interpretive Dance International Objectives Treatise."

Acronym IDIOT.

Yes the I.D.I.O.T. action plan was basically to go around and act like an Idiot. Surely this would heal old wounds and bring about international goodwill. Enjoy.










(O.k. this one really creeps me out.)



Yes George W. Bush will go down in history as the Dance Dance Danci-est President EVER!!

For those who just can't get enough Bush Boogie we have the inspired mini clip game.

Just Stopped By To Drop This Off...

Sorry I havent been around much lately, life and all that yada yada.

Thought you might find this interesting.
Discuss amongst yourselves.
Comment.
Enjoy.

Our New Mascot: A Cautionary Tale

Abby tells me that this bold experiment in commentary that is Falafel Sex (no matter how many times I type "falafel" I first type "felafel." Is it me or does that really suck?), began in the wake of the worst national tragedy of this decade. I'm referring, of course, to the re-election of George W. Bush, whose face no doubt will one day grace some denomination of U.S. currency, or better still, have a large airport or two named after him. Who knows, it could happen. We, for reasons that will cause wise and moral men to scratch their heads, named one after Reagan. If you remember the Air Traffic Controllers' strike , like me, you may wonder if one day there won't be a George W. Bush University.

But, I digress. Since the "re-elected" President Bush, retook office in January of 2005 following this election, this represents an anniversary of sorts (Hey does anyone else remember Bush's comment following his "re-election": "This gives me a lot of political capital now, and I intend to spend it." Boy, you have to hand it to him, he did he make good on that little post-campaign promise).

Where was I? Oh yes, the anniversary. And recall that our name comes from the infamous antics of Bill O'Reilly, who, uncharacteristically, was running his mouth. While being the seductive, debonaire bastard that he is, he was talking sex in a shower with a loufa and used the wrong word, the awkwardly spelled "falafel." Well, in honor of the occasion, I would like to share a little joke I heard a good while ago. And I would like to make the suggestion that this become our "mascot." I doubt that a blog has ever had a story as its mascot. But wait, blogs don't usually have mascots. Now I'm getting confused. Just listen to the joke:

It was a hot summer night in the Deep South (or maybe the Midwest, or maybe the Los Angeles area, it doesn't really matter. Just let me finish the joke). A firebrand Evangelical preacher was preaching a sermon that would make Osama Bin Laden (or Barak Obama, I forget which of those are which) fall to his knees and let the Holy Spirit come down and personally wash him in the blood of the lamb.

So he gets toward the end and begins calling for witnesses. If you grew up in the South (or the Midwest, or maybe even the Los Angeles area) you may skip the next part because you already know what this means.....

Ah to hell with it, it's hard to explain, and if you need it explained you probably won't get the joke anyway. So let's all read on together shall we. Who knows, I may even remember what the fucking joke I was telling was.

Witnessing - everybody gather around me at this point here. Are we all here? OK.

So the first member of the congregation to speak up, a little gray-haired old lady says, "Oh praise the Lord, brothers and sisters. For years I have held within me a deep guilt. As a young woman, I cheated on my husband for years and he never found out. I committed adultry, and I was untruthful and deceitful, but I know God will forgive me, because I have found the Lord!"

The preacher beams at her from the pulpit and says, "Oh yes, sister! Tell it, for by confessing you are forgiven! Amen."

Then an old man stands up, walks down the aisle and turns to face the entire congregation. "I succumbed to the Devil's sin of gambling. My family never knew that I made far more money than I told them but most of it went to horse-racing and poker. Many nights my children would go to bed hungry and crying. Many Christmases Santa passed by our house, all because of my sinful ways. But I know I will see my family in Heaven and we will rejoice together, because I have been saved!"

Now the preacher can't contain himself. He comes down from the pulpit and embraces the old man saying, "You truly have found the Lord Brother. Tell it Brother. Tell it like it is - Praise God!"

After a few more confessions the preacher's level of religious fervor is surpassed only by the members of the congregation. From far back in the seats and middle-aged man rises up and begins, "I am a married man. I have a fine family and am a respected member of the community. I have been blessed with the financial ability to have left my work and we all now live on a beautiful farm in the mountains overlooking this valley. But for years I've been burdened by strange sexual wants and now I've taken to acting on them."

"TELL IT, BROTHER!" cries the preacher, "TELL IT."

For the last few months now, at least every other night I sneak out of the house when everyone else is asleep dressed up in my wife's nightgown. I go out to the barn and read pornographic magazines about homosexual acts with amputees and midgets until I get so aroused that I have sex with whatever sheep, cow, or horse happens to be in the barn."

The preacher stops, straightens his tie and says "Damn, I don't believe I'd a tol' that, brother."

The Inspiration of a Christmas Tradition

Beautiful, isn't it? Our tree this year has surely been the finest of all. Annually our tree is lovingly chosen and miraculously transformed into a glorious spectacle of Christmas, shining brightly and adorned with colorful, sparkling, ornaments. An angel, a family keepsake so old I have no idea where it came from, is carefully placed on the top by one of the children while I hold him or her aloft amid the encouragement and applause of the rest of the family. Each and every Christmas tree has played host to the heartwarming scenario of family togetherness, generosity, and childhood wonder.

But that was last week. After its crescendo the tree is now only a sad portrait of former glory. The floor underneath stands naked except, perhaps, for some wrinkled covering at its feet, fallen tinsel, and discarded wrapping paper and ribbon. Once watered with loving care, now it sucks at whatever remaining moisture clings at the bottom of its stand. Sometimes we've left trees up through the New Year holiday to turn it on at night after everyone is home from the work we have dispiritedly resumed that week. Sometimes even this is forgotten and they've stood dark, alone, and somehow more barren throughout the night. Even if the tree is allowed to stay up for that week it is, in the end, little more than pathetic.

Today I felt an eerie chill as I walked past it. This may sound twisted, but it was as if it was watching me with a mixture of despair and resentment. I hear whispers in both pleading and hostile tones. "Why? Did I fail? Did I disappoint you?"

In it's brief life, it was only a little tree uprooted from its natural home and shuttled off to a distant and unfamiliar location where it waited unknowingly for someone to come take it home.

I've always felt kind of bad about having to discard these symbols. Eventually the day comes that they are denuded, lowered from their stand, and unceremoniously dragged out back where they brown until they rot, or to the street where they are trucked to the local dump and, if lucky, burned. It seems to me that these symbols of Christmas spirit, of festivity, of goodwill toward our fellow man deserve something better than this.


But then I remember the family angel once at the top of this and of each and every tree. I realize that she is also a symbol of hope as well as renewal. No, I can rest without guilt or remorse for surely the essence of each tree lives after it in her. She carries it's little arboreal soul within her angelic heart where it shines forth and makes each Christmas a little brighter than the last.

How Great Ideas Are Born

Hey! That tattoo rocks, Jack. Hand me another beer.

Here ya go. Yeah, she's with me where ever I go now. Hand me another, will ya.

Here ya go. Jack, those tits on her are awesome, man. Too bad they aren't real, eh. Hand me another beer.

Here ya go. Yeah, too bad they aren't real, ha. Gimme another.

Here ya go. Ya know, dude, you could put some fake tit stuff in there and they'd be real. Hand me another.

Here. That's fuckin' stupid, why would I want to.... hmmmm..... that might be fuckin' awesome. Got another?

Here ya go. Yeah, dude, I know this guy who could...

For more on Falafel Sex's Traditional After Christmas Tattooed Boobs with Silicone Implants post, click here. God bless us every one.


Thanks to Keith Bostic.

Who Says He Lacks Intelligence?!

This just in:

December 13, 2007

PRESIDENT BUSH REPORTS THAT HE HAS FIRST-HAND KNOWLEDGE OF IRAN'S NUCLEAR PROGRAM DEVELOPMENT

It Ain't Over Until it's Over

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

And God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light.

And God saw the light, that it was good; and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness He called Night.

And the evening and the morning were the first day.

And God said, "Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters." And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament; and it was so. And God called the firmament Heaven.

And the evening and the morning were the second day.
And God said, "Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear"; and it was so. And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called He Seas; and God saw that it was good.

And God said, "Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind. God saw that it was good.

And the evening and the morning were the third day.

And God said, "Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life.”
And God created great whales and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly after their kind.

And God blessed them, saying, "Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply on the earth."



And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

And God said, "Let the earth bring forth the living creature after his kind: cattle and creeping thing and beast of the earth after his kind"; and it was so.

And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind; and God saw that it was good.

And God said, "Let Us make man in Our image, after Our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth."

So God created man in His own image.

And God blessed them, and God said unto them, "Be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth."

And God saw every thing that He had made, and behold, it was very good.

And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.

And on the seventh day God ended His work which He had made. And God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it.

He had rested from all His work which God created and made.

And God awoke on the eighth day and beheld his work.



And He had flatulence saying “Let Us Returneth to the drawing board.”



And it was so.

The Importance of Reading Memos

Click on the picture for a closer look.

Original link here.
Thanks to Keith Bostic.

Even the Rich Like Family Photos

You know, the Bushes and Bin Ladens have been family buddies for years. At least that's what Michael Moore says, and Michael Moore, he's like.... like.... like.... Well like a cross between Walter Cronkite, Lenny Bruce, and God.

So I dug up these old family photos taken at "The Ranch" years ago. As I understand from my sources, the Bushes sometimes had the Bin Ladens out to the Ranch, and they would occassionally bring their little-sheik-to-be, Osama, with them. Apparently on one Halloween before W.'s private education and drug use began, little Osama was visiting, and George the Elder and Barbara thought it would be adorable for the two of them to go trick-or-treating (Do you ever wonder about what they called the younger George?).

I know this is disturbing, but the Public has a right to know.


LITTLE GEORGE


LITTLE OSAMA

From a loose association frame of reference, this also brings up the question of where would members of the Bush family take their kids to trick or treat. But such things are not for us to ponder at any length, at least while sober, so I'll let it go for now and maybe bring it up with Abby next time were out knocking a few down.

Or I may just consult my sources, because when Abby has a few drinks and starts talking about Republicans in public, it can get unpleasant.

Don't ask me about where I got these. I thought I'd covered that before. If you still want to know, ask Cheney. He's a regular blabber mouth, especially after a few drinks on a hunting trip.

This, of course, is also according to my sources.

Hope everyone had a good holiday,

Zach

Just Wait 'Til Your Dad Gets Home

Dear Rex:

I'm going to scold you now. It's really more for my therapeutic benefit than for any real cat behavior management, since you can't read, and if you could, your tastes would run more toward the "Gaslight Your Owners" blogs than this one.

Let me preface this scolding by saying that I do understand the irresistible draw of the sunbeam. Totally. I get it. Especially on this, the day after our national day of gluttony. I'm having trouble staying out of them myself.

But I now point out two things:

1. You and the adversary cat with whom you share this home did not partake of said gluttony. On the contrary, we, your enslaved, were so distracted by our own indulgences that you barely got fed at all -- and after a long night of being walked all over by the tag-team that is you and Rosko, I have paid my debt to cat society, so you can stop playing the "you neglected us and we almost starved" card.


2. This particular sunbeam is in a room in which you know you are not allowed.

I'm tired of chasing you out of the room. You know this. Clearly, you are taking advantage of my post-gluttony sloth (two... two... two deadly sins in one) and my susceptibility to the searing glare of your all-powerful cute.

So stop it. Stay out of the living room. Find another sunbeam. Because Dad will be home soon, and he is immune to all of your feline manipulations, including the patented crazed hypnotic stare. He, unlike me, will not be assimilated.

It's for your own good.

When Good Bits Go Bad

Last Saturday night, Vito and I attended a Halloween party hosted by a co-worker of Vito's. Yes, costumes were required. More importantly, the costumes had to be in keeping with the party's theme.

Last year, the costume instruction was to come as someone you hate. There was a nun; Minnie Mouse; various rednecks; and Michelle Duggar. Vito and I dressed as Razorback fans. (If that's not a clear image for you, imagine Aggie fans. Or UT Vol fans. Or Ole Miss Fans. Or any Generic Southern University fans. You get the idea.) I puffed up my hair to three times its normal volume, caked on the make-up, donned the huge hoop earrings, and wandered around with a to-go cup mumbling, "Ah am sooo druuuunk."

It took me WEEKS to get all the Aqua Net out of my hair, and I swear I can still see red spots from the little Hawg decals that were stuck to my cheeks.

This year, the theme dictated that we dress as someone we knew to be or was rumored to be gay - or a gay icon. It was quite an educational evening. Our host and his partner dressed as Bo and Luke Duke. The Dukes of Hazzard? Gay icons? Who knew?! The videos playing in the background included clips of Liza Minneli, Dolly Parton, several drag queens, and Wonder Woman.

(I need to note here that the hosts were a gay couple, and the party was a celebration of gay culture -- no gay-bashing intended or tolerated.)

After the stunning Harry Potter revelation a couple of weeks ago, Vito had his heart set on going as Dumbledore. "It'll be easy," he said. "We'll just get some batting and glue it on something and stick it on my head."

I gasped. "That's so... so pedestrian!! That's like... it's like.... store-bought cheese dip!"

Vito backed down, but he wandered away mumbling, "I like store-bought cheese dip...."

I sacrificed two pairs of pantyhose and spent six hours threading fuzzy gray and white yarn into a skull cap wig and beard.

My costume was much easier. I was going to go as Hillary Clinton. All I needed was a power suit and heels and a bobbed hair-do. But I was still stitching old-wizard-hair into a cut-up control top half an hour before we were due at the party, and the thought of wearing heels became increasingly daunting.

So at the last minute, I decided to go as Ellen Degeneres instead. Surprisingly, it was essentially the same outfit as the Hillary Clinton costume, but with different shoes.

I dug up an old Beanie Baby dog to take with me. My plan was to offer it to people ("Please take my dog") then snatch it away as soon as they reached for it ("No! You can't have him!"). I reveled in my cleverness.

There were only a few people at the party when we got there, and we didn't know any of them. Our host introduced us around. Everyone complimented Vito's Dumbledore costume (once he pulled out his wand and they realized who he was). They were a little slow to figure out mine.

I turned to the woman sitting closest to me and offered her the Beanie Baby. "Please... take my dog." She looked baffled and didn't reach for the dog. I snatched it back anyway. "No! You can't have him!"

Ooooooohhhhhhh.... people said. Now we get it. Ellen Degeneres. (Polite chuckles.)

Later, Vito and I were talking with the woman to whom I had initially offered the Beanie Baby dog. She was our host's mom. She mentioned that she almost didn't come to the party.

Earlier that day, she had backed over her dog in the driveway and killed him.

I buried the Beanie Baby dog in a deep pocket in Vito's robes, tucked in my shirt, and spent the rest of the evening walking around on my toes, saying, "I'd appreciate your vote."

How to Date Online Unsuccessfully for Less Than $20 Per Year

I believe I'm single for a lot of reasons. I'm 47. I have a six year old son. I'm not a good cook. I have a strange, sometimes frightening, sense of humor. I live in Tennessee, and I'm a progressive voter. I write essays about bad first dates and publish them on "the internets."

I'm sure there are many other reasons only my therapist knows but is too afraid to tell me for fear of reprisal or complete emotional decompensation.

But though I'm doing just fine as a single person -- and don't want a relationship unless it's the right one -- and simply need to give love and be open to the possibility of love -- and all those things people say when they are trying to convince people that even though they are partner-less, they are still emotionally healthy and highly evolved, dammit -- I still couldn't stay away from the most recent pitch from match.com.

Here's how it works: Pay for six months of the online matchmaking subscription to match.com. Put a picture up. Keep your profile visible. Each month write to five other deer-in-the-headlight subscribers, just like yourself. And at the end of six months, if you haven't found your "special someone," you get six more months of match.com free!

Okay, so yes, that's a little bit like surviving the sinking of the Titanic and being given a cruise as a lovely parting gift.

But I'm drawn to match.com like I'm drawn to the flashing neon "Hot Doughnuts Now" sign at Krispy Kreme, which come to think of it is probably another reason I remain single.

Match.com calls this their "Make Love Happen" Guarantee. (Guarantee, no less! How could I possibly NOT sign up?!?).

Only my goal isn't to find love. My goal is to get the six free months.

In my goal-directed excitement, I made the mistake of talking with a friend about it. I'm sure he meant to say, "I support you in this!", but somehow it came out, "Dear God, no, you're doing that AGAIN? Are you really THAT naive?"

Me: But this time I pay for six months and then get it free!

Him: Oh, okay, I guess it might be worth it if you get a free lifetime membership. Sounds sort of like Weight Watchers.

Me: It's not a lifetime membership. It's six months free. And I got a special deal of six months for nineteen ninety-five!

Him: So you are putting yourself through six months of dating hell for a twenty buck payoff?

Me: Well...

Him: I guess it is like Weight Watchers, except instead of gradually losing weight, you gradually lose self-esteem.

I. Hate. Him.


And now it's the end of yet another month. The monthly match.com "make love happen guarantee" clock is ticking.

And once again I've just sent out five emails like this:

Hi,

I don't fit your qualifications as a match, but hey, I've got to send out five unique emails this month in order to keep the guarantee going...

... so there ya go.

Best of luck in your search,
Abby

Yes, I'm making love happen! Thank you, match.com!

(sadly, to be continued...)

The Traditional Fourth Anniversary Gift: iPods

Understand, I'll slip quietly
away from the noisy crowd
when I see the pale
stars rising, blooming, over the oaks.

I'll pursue solitary pathways
through the pale twilit meadows,
with only this one dream:
You come too.

- Ranier Maria Rilke

I know it's sappy. This was one of the poems that was read at my wedding, and it still makes me get all verklempt. I'm a huge wuss about some things.

Before our wedding, I took Vito's wedding ring to the jeweler to have it resized. I impulsively asked them to engrave it - "You come, too." As gestures go, it was mostly symbolic -- Vito can't make out the tiny words, so it's not like he's going to be gazing fondly at the inscription when he's feeling all romantic-like. But nevertheless, I left feeling pretty smug about the high-caliber wife I was so on my way to becoming.

The day after the wedding, we took my son to the zoo before he had to leave to fly home. I mentioned the engraving, and the Golden Child wanted to see it. Vito took off his ring and handed it over, while I explained, "It's the last line in one of the poems from last night -- it says, 'You come, too.'"

"No, it doesn't," GC said.

"Yes, it does," I insisted.

GC consulted the ring again. "It says, 'You go, too.'"

I had given the jeweler the wrong quote. I was horrified. Vito was wholly amused. "What are you trying to tell me?!" he demanded. For weeks, he went around telling everyone that I had gotten his wedding ring engraved to say, "Go away, Buttmunch."

Fortunately, the ring had to be resized again, and we were able to correct the engraving at the same time.

Last year, Vito ordered an iPod for me for Christmas. When I opened it, I ooo'd and ahhh'd. Then he turned it over to show me the engraving - "You come, too."

Awwwwwwwwwwww....

I love my iPod. However, I can't exercise with it very easily -- it's too big for one of those armband-thingies, I can't attach a lanyard to it and carry it around my neck, and a lot of my exercise clothes don't have pockets.

When I was running or walking, I would just carry it, which wasn't ideal but it worked. Recently, though, I took up cycling -- hands on the bars, not the iPod. My compromise is to stick it in one of the pockets of my CamelBack (a backpack-style water carrier), which is just one pocket leak away from disaster.

To mark the occasion of our fourth anniversary, Vito got me another iPod -- a little Shuffle that I can clip to my shirt when I go out for a ride (it's red to match my helmet).

This one is also engraved. "You bike, too."

(Happy Anniversary, Sweetie!)

PHOTOGRAPHY CAN BE FUN!!!

I just came across this photo and got curious about the poster in the background. I've heard that our Commander-in-Chief is fond of motivational posters and frequently has them hung in several White House offices.

So, using some of the photoediting and analysis skills I picked up while working at the National Security Agency, I checked into it in more detail. It's amazing what a little curiousity together with time normally spent adding phoney experience to one's resume' can accomplish.

Interest piqued, I couldn't help but browse for some more photos and came across this one. Notice what seems like a flower print on the wall here.

A little closer look, please. VOILA' !

And here's one he insisted be hung in the Situation Room.

But as we can see "The Decider" sometimes invites input about which motivational posters to hang from his team.

After all, it is going in the Oval Office.

Now this one... well my theory is that, since it hangs in the First Bedroom, a certain little Texas librarian had a role in choosing it.

Another well-known motivational saying is, "When the going gets tough, the tough get going." The sooner this tough guy goes, the better.

A Real Toe-Tapping Recipe, aka Cooking with a Wide Stance

If I were a different person, I might feel bad about continuing to do Larry Craig jokes. I mean, hasn't the man suffered enough? And what about his family?

But I'm not a different person.

And let's face it, when a man's unconscious denial was so strong that he ended up putting recipes like this out on the Internets...

"Wash and dry potato. Rub with shortening or butter. With an apple corer or small knife, core out the potato center (end to end). Push hot dog through the center. "

Ohhhh. Yeahhhhh.

Republicans. They plump when you cook 'em.





Tap your foot here for the Super Tuber.

And for my friends Cynikell and Vito, who are always looking for a new Friday night activity for the kitchen, here's the recipe reprinted in full. Bon appetit!

Super Tuber is a great snack that uses one of my favorite vegetables: The Idaho Potato. Of course, I suppose any type of potato could be used, but I cannot guarantee that a Super Tuber made with anything but a true Idaho potato would taste as good. Sincerely, Larry E. Craig, United States Senator

Ingredients

1 hot dog, cook's choice

1 Idaho baking potato, 7 to 10 ounces

Mustard for dipping, any style

Other condiments as desired such as cheese sauce, sour cream, chili, chives, bacon pieces or black olives.

Wash and dry potato. Rub with shortening or butter. With an apple corer or small knife, core out the potato center (end to end). Push hot dog through the center. Bake until potato is cooked through.

To Microwave: Place on microwave safe plate; cover loosely (to avoid splatters). Microwave on high about 4 minutes per potato until fork tender.

To Bake in Conventional Oven: Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Bake for approximately one hour or until potato is fork tender.

To Barbecue: Wrap in aluminum foil and place above medium hot coals, turning at least once during cooking. Cook until potato is fork tender.

Serving Suggestions: Allow potato to cool slightly. Eat as a finger food, dipping in your favorite hot dog condiments (mustard is my favorite).

Suzanne Craig

Thanks, minchur_golf!

The Mom Song

NeoCon Leadership Strategy Revealed!

Two blind pilots both are wearing dark glasses, one is using a guide dog, and the other is tapping his way along the aisle with a cane.

Nervous laughter spreads through the cabin, but the men enter the cockpit, the door closes, and the engines start up. The passengers begin glancing nervously around, searching for some sign that this is just a little practical joke. None is forthcoming.

The plane moves faster and faster down the runway and the people sitting in the window seats realize they're headed straight for the water at the edge of the airport. As it begins to look as though the plane will plough into the water, panicked screams fill the cabin. At that moment, the plane lifts smoothly into the air. The passengers relax and laugh a little sheepishly, and soon all retreat into their magazines, secure in the knowledge that the plane is in good hands.

In the cockpit, one of the blind pilots turns to the other and says, "Ya know, Bob, one of these days, they're gonna scream too late and we're all gonna die."

Thanks, minchur_golf and JD!

Hypothetical Post

Joining Me in the Real World

Stephen Colbert often says that if enough people believe it, then it's real (or something to that effect). Since only trusting facts has made me the bitter, cynical person who stands before you today, I've decided to get on the wagon. So below is a real quote but embedded within it I've inserted some additional fact.

WASHINGTON (CNN) -- Iraq's government is dysfunctional, the U.S. ambassador to Iraq told a Senate hearing Tuesday, but he said the fact that Iraqi leaders recognized it as such was a sign of progress. Now if we could just recognize how dysfunctional ours is we could catch up to them, he continued.

Don't bother to try and sort it out. Just accept reality.

As a matter of fact, don't waste your time looking for something that isn't there. If you don't believe old Zach who can you believe?