shaken & stirred

welcome to my martini glass


The words "Shout Out" are just not really doing it for me, and since Palimpsest is already taken, I'm at a loss. Just saying "comments" seems lame. Please leave your suggestions for a new word tag for the comments feature in the "Shout Out." Yes, this is a ploy to make you comment. Do it. Do it now. Do it so I'll stop talking about it.

(It's just that I can't quite believe that little letters and symbols inserted here or there can make something interactive so quickly. It's like magic.)

(Which means I can smite you all with it if you don't use it! MWAHAHAHA!)

(Quite has two meanings which are sort of opposite. Think about it.)

(Comment: Enough with the parentheticals already. Get on with it.)

(Get on with what?)

(The blogging. Are you insane?)

(Yes, I've turned into a computer program. Translation: 0101010101010101.)

(This is total gibberish, but fun for me.)

(But probably really dull to, snap out of it.)

(Snap. Out. Of. It. Parentheticals are the wave of the future.)

(Parentheticals can't wave!)

Snapped out of. Whew. That was close. The cycle of parentheticalism almost got me. The Staple God is wiley.

This Max Powers entry is pretty damn funny, but only if you read James Lileks' Bleats. But then who doesn't?

And everyone should check out the not-so-well-written articles on Rael in today's Washington Post. Oh wait, did I say Rael? I meant His Holiness Rael. Or was that Claude Vorilhon? You Canadians--(yes, I'm talking to you, Mr. McLaren)--may get to feel all righteously superior to our horrid foreign policy right now, but don't forget that Rael lives in your country. The thing about Rael that I find so interesting is how much he and his little sect of loopy loops bore me. Aliens cloned humans and we're going to eat air food and download our brains into teenage bodies. Right. Boring. Bad cliche science fiction. Read it. Heard it. Seen it. Over it. Who cares if Eve's been cloned or not? I'm willing to bet she's going to end up marrying one of Michael "Glove Monster" Jackson's kids someday and they can live on Ranch Screwed Up Completely. Now, if Rael could explain the existence of MJ, maybe we could talk. Until then, I'll go ahead and start saving money for the wedding of "No. 3" and Eve. If it doesn't pan out, I can put the money into my cryogenic fund. There is a half-way interesting companion piece where the reporter asks various psychic and aura-reading UFOlogists what they think of Rael. One seems to think Rael's in the whole thing for some kind of sexual cult practices, but the prevalent opinion is that Rael gives serious UFO hunters a bad name. I'm not touching that one. (I love the word foofah though. "All kinds of foofah.")

I really hope God Saves the Blackberries!

And, finally, this is my most concerning link of the day. There are people--granted people who have enough time to spend answering a phone poll--who actually think the government should be able to control what the press reports. Not just during war time, but all the time. People this stupid deserve a vacation to Iraq during the upcoming war, or at least a spot on Planet Rael. I like to think they misunderstood the question.

But it still worries me that the question had to be asked. Sigh.


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