Spotted this little note in yesterday’s paper, in a report on the president’s speech at Miami-Dade College:
As he has often done when visiting Miami, Mr. Bush criticized Cuba, where he said “the opportunity to participate in an open debate does not exist.” He also alluded to Fidel Castro’s recent illness, saying the day is nearing when “the light of liberty will shine” on Cuba.
“The reign of every tyrant comes to an end,” Mr. Bush said. — NY Times
Bring on 2008.
The big topic in Florida is…. no, not the imbecilic fixation on college football’s draft: don’t embarrass us! Lord have mercy, that’s not just sports, its amateur sports. Football, no less. Puh-leeeeeze.
No, the real story is water, and the fact that in a place where 60 inches of rain falls per year, we’re running out. If you read yesterday’s rather breathlessly and shoddily written lead story on the Miami Hurled, you know that Miami-Dade is actually in better shape water-wise than the rest of the state, which confronts impending disaster. Nevertheless , we got ourselves a world-class drought.
On Sunday I caught up with “Merkin,” a builder who used to post comments regularly on this blog, but who more or less stopped because much of what he read here disgusted him. That issue aside, Merkin knows something about providing water to South Florida’s population.
“I’ve been preaching this since 1975,” he says. “South Florida is no longer a natural environment. When it was, you couldn’t live here. Now millions make this their home. Miami is a major Ame
rican city. Water is a commodity like electricity, chicken, and gasoline. Deal with it.”
I’m already lost. Does gasoline fall from the sky like rain? How about chicken legs?
“No, shit for brains. What I mean is, forget the fact that we got a lot of rain. The issue now is how to manage the water, including the rain. And the answer is, Build More.”
Build more what? Clouds?
“You’re as dumb as you look, and that’s sayin’ something. Here it is in a nutshell. Most water consumed by Floridians ends up on their goddam front lawns. Nobody needs a front lawn. But everybody needs a place to live, unless you’re a pervert and sleep under an interstate. So the answer is, build more houses. Build more, and build ‘em closer together. In South Florida, we need more cement, more asphalt, and less useless front lawns. That preserves water.”
Pave paradise and….
“…put up a parking lot. Absolutely correct, sir. And the proof is, look at Dade, where the population is most dense, and the lawns are the smallest per household. There’s a statewide drought but here we’re above average for the year — you know why? We don’t waste it watering the crabgrass.”
So, the enemy is grass, is that it? Flowers, trees, things that grow.
“Fuckin A. Pave the parks. Criminalize sprinkling. Save the water for agriculture, washing your armpits, and mixing with Scotch. Clean your windshields, and watch how traffic improves. Drink water, eat less. That’s what’s important, and when you got a commodity is short supply, you need to prioritize.”
Right. And this perverted view of nature has nothing to do with the fact that you build houses for a living right?
“The state of Florida decided half a century ago that nature has nothing to do with living here. Nature is the enemy. That’s why we got air conditioners, interstates, and oceanfront condominiums planted on sand. Get with the program, or get the hell out. I-95 runs both ways.”
See you in hell. Say, how’s business these days?
“You know me: every day is an opportunity. That’s the Merkin way.”
A Sudanese man has been forced to take a goat as his “wife”, after he was caught having sex with the animal.
The goat’s owner, Mr Alifi, said he surprised the man with his goat and took him to a council of elders. They ordered the man, Mr Tombe, to pay a dowry of 15,000 Sudanese dinars ($50) to Mr Alifi.
“We have given him the goat, and as far as we know they are still together,” Mr Alifi said.
Mr Alifi, of Hai Malakal in Upper Nile State, told the Juba Post newspaper that he heard a loud noise around midnight on 13 February and immediately rushed outside to find Mr Tombe with his goat. “When I asked him: ‘What are you doing there?’, he fell off the back of the goat, so I captured and tied him up.”Mr Alifi then called elders to decide how to deal with the case.
“They said I should not take him to the police, but rather let him pay a dowry for my goat because he used it as his wife,” Mr Alifi told the newspaper. — news.bbc.uk
Class act. Looks like he picked the ugliest one, too.
Aliens Among Us
British bookmakers slashed the odds on discovering extraterrestrial intelligence after astronomers announced Tuesday that they had found an Earth-like planet 20 light-years away. Deciding to take less risk, [bookie] William Hill cut its odds on proving the existence of extraterrestrial life from 1,000-to-1 to 100-to-1. For William Hill to pay out on an aliens bet, the prime minister has to confirm officially the existence of intelligent extra-terrestrial life and it has to be done within a year of the bet being placed. – NY Times
When I phone my gambler buddy Duck Diamonds to ask him if he’s in on this one, he sounds puzzled. “Intelligent aliens?” he asked. “Like those Cubans and Haitians you got down there? The hell kind of bet is that? If there were any, don’t you think we’d have seen ‘em by now?”
Nice. Could be worse. He might have said Prince or Dennis Kucinich.
Something Wiccan This Way Comes
The Department of Veterans Affairs has agreed to add the Wiccan pentacle to a list of approved religious symbols that it will engrave on veterans’ headstones. Until now, the Veterans Affairs department had approved 38 symbols to indicate the faith of deceased service members on memorials. It normally takes a few months for a petition by a faith group to win the department’s approval, but the effort on behalf of the Wiccan symbol took about 10 years and a lawsuit, said Richard B. Katskee, assistant legal director for Americans United.
There are 1,800 Wiccans in the armed forces, according to a Pentagon survey cited in the suit, and Wiccans have their faith mentioned in official handbooks for military chaplains and noted on their dog tags.
In reviewing 30,000 pages of documents from Veterans Affairs, [litigants] found e-mail and memorandums referring to negative comments President Bush made about Wicca in an interview with “Good Morning America” in 1999, when he was governor of Texas. “I don’t think witchcraft is a religion,” Mr. Bush said at the time, according to a transcript. “I would hope the military officials would take a second look at the decision they made.” — NY Times
Reached for comment, Karl Rove at the White House offered his insights. “Look, the President knows that the military is pretty well stretched: that’s no secret. To make the numbers, they’re accepting felons, perverts, retards, cripples, and drug addicts, in addition to the usual run of morons who go to officer training. So yeah, we’re accepting witches, what the hell (he he)? Maybe they’ll cast spells and the insurgents will break out in a plague of boils, or their dicks will fall off, or something.”
Spector? He KILLED her!
Phil Spector, the mastermind behind hit songs like “Da Doo Ron Ron,” “The Long and Winding Road” and “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’,” went on trial on Wednesday on charges that he shot to death Lana Clarkson, a struggling actress. Clarkson, 41, actress and nightclub hostess he had met a few hours before, had accompanied Spector back to his palatial house for a romantic evening. A star of B-movies like “The Barbarian Queen” (1985) and other cult hits, Ms. Clarkson was found slumped in a chair in the foyer, shot through her mouth. — NY Times
Way bummer. The talent-free Lana Clarkson had a sensational body, and both cult-classic movies — BBQ and the sequel (BBQ 2) — showed it off to maximum advantage in the hokey torture/interrogation scenes. Which suggests what be the appropriate punishment for Spector, if convicted. Actually, playing some of his own flatulent musical arrangements, endlessly and at high volume, would be sufficient torture by itself.
Spector’s star fell years and years ago: a virtual nobody any more, even in L.A. any mention of his name likely draws a blank. In fact…
The sole moment of levity on Wednesday was when the prosecutor played the 911 call from Mr. Spector’s driver, Adriano DeSouza, who spoke breathlessly and with a Portuguese accent as he said Mr. Spector had shot somebody and repeatedly gave the name of the producer.
“Seal inspector?” the operator asked, struggling to understand.
Even when corrected, she did not seem to recognize the name.
“Seal inspector.” Is that precious? If only I were that creative, maybe I, too, could lure beautiful over-the-hill starlets back to my domain and shoot them in the mouth. Well, next life.
Southlake, TX — An elementary school was evacuated for more than an hour after a fourth grader showed up with a hand grenade, the authorities said. The grenade still had the pin in it, but it was later determined to be inactive, a school district spokeswoman said. A bomb squad was called in to remove it from a classroom. “He just thought it would be cool to bring it to school,” Cindy Bedriche, Southlake Department of Public Safety told The Fort Worth Star-Telegram. — NY Times
Yeah, you see how this works? Next thing you know, every moonbat in creation, still railing about Virginia’s allegedly lax gun laws that failed to prevent a certified mental from purchasing a semi-automatic weapon and shooting up a campus, will now descend on Texas to demand action, just because one little 4th grader chooses to exercise his 2nd amendment right to carry a hand grenade to school.
Quit whining, America! Arm yourselves and make this world a safer place for everybody!
* with apologies to Tom Waits
Back in the day, when you bought yourself a couple of brown quart bottles of Schlitz Beer to pound down, you were said to “go with the gusto.” Nobody knew or cared what that meant, but somehow, it summoned up praise for the drinker’s reckless lifestyle, breath stinking of stale digested hops in a taproom reeking of cigarette smoke and beer farts. Aaaaaah.
So today’s Go with the Gusto award goes to:
Redmond, WA — A woman arrested following two car crashes registered a .47 blood-alcohol content on a breath test — nearly six times the legal intoxication threshold and possibly a state record.
Deana F. Jarrett, 54, blew .47 on a portable breath tester after she collided with two other vehicles in quick succession, the patrol said. A check of all 356,000 breath tests administered since 1998 in Washington turned up only 35 above .40 — and none of those was higher than .45. The legal intoxication threshold in Washington is .08. — AP, via Sun-Sentinel
Miraculously, nobody was injured.
Officer Jack Cates, a patrolman involved in the arrest, was still shaking his head in disbelief hours later. “We figure it’s Mel Gibson, a professional athlete, or a politician,” he told the Redmond Register. “Sure are surprised when it turns out to be a 50 year old woman. Man, her car stank like a vulture’s ass when we rolled her out.”
Holy hump day! Blowing a .47 makes her the Barry Bonds of drunk drivers. Most mortals would be zonked out, if not dead. She was still driving. Sort of.
Meanwhile, across the fruited plain, here’s a drunken dolt who picked the wrong place, the wrong time, and the wrong building to drive his car into:
Philadelphia, PA — A drunken driver veered onto a sidewalk and crashed into a police station, knocking bricks loose from the building, police said. The headquarters of the city’s 18th Police District was still structurally sound, said Lt. Joel Dales, a district supervisor.
Investigators said the 22-year-old driver had been arguing with a woman in another car. He was charged with driving under the influence. — AP via Sun Sentinel
DUI? Really? I happen to know that in the City of Bodily Harm, red brick police stations routinely step out in traffic just to entrap innocent drivers so that officers can issue tickets. They’ve been balancing the municipal budget this way since before the days of Cheese-wiz on horsemeat — which tastes great with a quart of Go-With-the-Gusto.
“We just as soon have fewer drunken drivers, even at the cost of reduced ticket revenue,” lied Police Sgt. Juan Honglow with a straight face. “But he buttered his bread — now he’s gotta lay in it.”
Cinco de Mayo falls on Saturday this year. Just a reminder.
Following up on a previous post or two regarding a rather private matter, I stumbled across this, in Digimills. My only question: does it come in flavors?
In case you thought your duly elected representatives were doing something serious about your vanishing lifestyle, disappearing paycheck, outrageous tax bill and insurance premiums, etc., up there this month in Tallahootchie, check this out:
Promoting a bill that would make fraudulently impersonating established musical acts a crime, a troupe of state lawmakers on Tuesday committed melodious mischief.
The rock ‘n’ rolling reps took to the stage — actually the House floor — to sing their support for a proposal that would crack down on other musical impersonators popping up around Florida.The bipartisan singing group, led by bill sponsor Rep. Mike Davis, donned sunglasses and opened with Poison Ivy by The Coasters to promote the ”Doo-wop Bill,” which passed the House 113-0.
In addition to making impersonating an existing band a misdemeanor, the bill also would allow courts to impose a $5,000 fine for each violation.
The Senate version of the bill, sponsored by Republican Burt Saunders of Naples, was approved unanimously last week.
The harmonious House members — named The Pretenders — had several other South Florida legislators singing back up, including Democratic Reps. Luis Garcia of Miami Beach, Matt Meadows of Fort Lauderdale and Dorothy Bendross-Mindingall of Miami.
But the real musical talent was up in the House gallery, where Carl Gardner of The Coasters and Jon ”Bowzer” Bauman of Sha Na Na looked on.
The Truth in Music Committee at the Vocal Group Hall of Fame has been pushing for similar laws around the country, said Bauman, the committee’s chairman.
The law has been particularly important in Florida, where impostor 1950s bands from the doo-wop era have been especially popular, he said. — Miami Hurled
The wailing legislators called themselves “the Pretenders” — perhaps unwittingly doing exactly what they were legislating into illegality, as the genuine Pretenders, a British/American band led by Chrissy Hynde, were nowhere to be found.
“We make the laws, we don’t obey them,” Saunders explained. “We’re politicians. We’re expected to be frauds.”
This one is Vintage Orwell. This one is so ineffably Russian, it wears a woolly cap and smells of vodka.
Moscow — At their first meeting with journalists since taking over Russia’s largest independent radio news network, the managers had startling news of their own: from now on, they said, at least 50 percent of the reports about Russia must be “positive.”
How would they know what constituted positive news?
“When we talk of death, violence or poverty, for example, this is not positive,” said one editor at the station who did not want to be identified for fear of retribution. “If the stock market is up, that is positive. The weather can also be positive.” — NY Times
Where to begin? I call my friends Boris and Natasha — not Russians, but their parents were — and Natasha picks up.
“Basically, these people are nuts,” she says, disdainfully. “These are people who can’t run a peanut stand, and they want to control everything there is.”
Are they actually serious about this 50/50 rule?
“Serious? These people make jokes about as well as a cat can bark. Besides, it’s not about the actual news, it’s about striking fear in hearts. In effect, they muzzle the news, and achieve complete control.”
What counts as good news in Russia? ‘Only 250 dead in mine disaster?’ ‘Economic indicators reveal standard of living higher now than during Dark Ages?’
“Russians are not a particularly happy people. I suppose what counts as good news to your average Russian is the relative absence of pain and disaster, at least at the moment. If the glass is half empty, perhaps it is good news if the drink was poison to begin with.”
Who decides if the news is good or bad?
“Oh, some faceless state bureaucrat. Some agent of official oppression, who in turn simply follows orders from one more senior than he. Ultimately, it is Vladymir Putin himself.”
Vlad the Decider. Sounds familiar.
“You know, Boris had a grandfather who worked for a newspaper called ‘The Sun,’ back before the Revolution. He had bright red hair. He used to introduce himself, ‘Hello, I’m Red from the Sun.’ He was sent to Siberia and executed.”
What, for telling a joke?
“No, for telling the truth. No need to worry about anybody doing that any more.”
