Horton Hears a Hu

Ok, I'm taking my name out of the running for King of the World.
While I still think I would be the best King that the world has ever seen, I fear that I would spend far too much of my time laughing and far too little of my time kinging.

For example, did you see this picture?
This is a picture of the special "Uranium Enrichment Pageant" that they held in Iran when they'd successfully pulled off the enrichment of uranium. See the dancers holding the representative enriched uranium rods? See the fake flying doves holding the Iranian flag on the special banner? It's all very touching and special, I suppose, but if they'd invited his majesty the Idiot to their special homage to weapons grade radioactivity, there's an excellent choice that I would have launched into a giggle fit as soon as they brought out the radioactive dance troupe, which is probably not good for international relations.

The other example is this Hú Jintāo fellow, the current President of the People's Republic of China and General Secretary of the Communist Party of China. He's currently at the White House meeting with our lovely and charming and idiotic President. I'm glad I'm not there, because I would of course have to poll the room several times;

Village Idiot: "Ok, talking about greenhouse gases now people, I gotta ask, is it that big a deal? Ok, let's do this... raise your hand if you give a shit about greenhouse gases."
(Hu Jintao, the current President of the People's Republic of China and General Secretary of the Communist Party of China, raises his hand).
Village Idiot: "Yeah, just as I suspected, Hu gives a shit!"

and more dumb jokes would no doubt follow....Hu's on first... Hu dunnit...Hu farted....Hu are you kidding?.....Hu do you you think you are?.... Screw Hu and the horse he rode in on .....and so on until he storms out and gives the command to launch the missiles.

I would probably have the Who's "Who Are You?" stuck in my head the whole time, especially the "hu-hu, hu-hu" part, and looking at him, Ol' Hu doesn't seem to be the kinda guy hu would think I'm very funny.


So, it's probably for the best that I'm taking my hat out of the ring and leaving the running of the world to far greater minds, like Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld.

Highway Ornithology

I'm not a hater, especially on the road. I used to be. In fact, I once saw a movie featuring Ken Wahl in which he tricked out a pick-up truck and went around harpooning drunk drivers. I was so taken with that idea, I wanted to do it to bad drivers. Over the years though, I've mellowed and I have now only this observation:
Bad Drivers are like birds, they come in all kinds of varieties:

The Nimrod- gets in the wrong lane and then cuts over without looking, or sits at the light that just turned green for a minute because they're lost in their cell phone conversation.

The Peckerwood- drives 55 in a 65 until you try to pass them, then they speed up to 75. If you give up, they slow down. Peckerwoods do this without knowing they do it. There is another species that does this intentionally and maliciously, and I believe they are the Rednecked Assbag.

The Dipshit- This species is known for a plethora of bad moves, most notably for creeping into a backed up intersection. Though they do this during a green light, it's almost assured that the back-up will cause them to still be in the middle of the intersection when their light changes, further backing up the intersection. The amazing thing about this species is that they seem to do this same maneuver again and again.

The Poser- this species drives a pick-up truck though they almost never actually haul anything with it. The rear window will be festooned with racing stickers, either of performance parts that they would like to have on their truck, or of NASCAR racers they like. (There is also some variety in the plumage depending on the region- if for example, you spot a Pick-up Poser with a WEBN sticker on their back window, be prepared to give them a wide berth as there could follow any number of seriously assinine driving maneuvers). The Poser's driving is among the worst known to man, featuring unnanounced lane shifts, random acceleration and slowing, wandering from lane to lane and other strange acts of driving incompetence, most of which is marked by the driver assuming the "cell phone to my ear" position. It is easy to confuse the Poser with other species of men who drive pick-ups; the general rule of thumb is that the cleaner the truck bed is, the bigger the Poser.

The Serious Ass*ole- Runs red lights and stop signs, often at a high rate of speed, because they are in such a hurry to get to McDonald's or whatever dumbass place they're headed for. As a motorcyclist, I hate this species and encourage you to also.

The Flatout Nutjob- this is a species I've experienced to be especially native to New England, though it may be native to all rural areas. These drivers get paranoid on the highway if you approach them too fast from behind and will actually slam on their brakes to teach you a lesson about going too fast or getting too close. Sadly, their tendency to drive in the left hand lane of the highway at or just slightly above the speed limit makes them much like little psychotic bombs just waiting for you to come up behind them and set thyem off. In some rare cases, Flatout Nutjobs get so worked up they follow you home or spend many highway miles harassing you to ensure that you've learned your lesson.

The Celler- we've all seen cell phone users do some dumb crap on the roads, so all I have to say about this one is that I actually had someone on a cellphone walk into me at the mall the other day.

Now, fair readers, what species did I miss? Please add your observations to the comments!

It's the Thought That Counts

Last Spring I wrote a piece about Wally (and his stalker Molly). Well, a few weeks ago baseball season was coming around, and Mrs. Idiot's birthday was coming around, and I put the two together and bought the Mrs. her own little Wally.

My thinking was that we'd put Wally in the fambly room, and since he's such a Sox fan, I might use him as a cheap ploy to switch over to the game a little more often.
And yes, before you say anything, this was not her only gift.

Anyhow, the very day after I ordered Wally, Mrs. Idiot and I had a discussion (or two) about clicker control here at the Chez, and in those discussions she expressed great disdain for the entertainment value of Red Sox broadcasts. Needless to say I thus expected that Wally would go over like a turd in an ice cream cone.

Actually, I shouldn't have worried, Wally has become part of the family. He has his own adirondack chair and everything, and he's settled right in place and watches whatever's on.

Here he is, in his little chair, chillaxing with the Idiots.

The problem is, that Mrs. Idiot is far far smarter than I am, and she took to him so much that she actually learned to communicate with Wally. We'll be drifting into an episode of Criminal Minds, for example, and I'll look over at Wally and say. "Jeez, hon, I think Ol' Wally would like to watch the Sox game."

Mrs. Idiot looks over and says "Nope, he clearly likes Criminal Minds. Look at that smile."

And I have to say, she's got a point.

This is Wally watching supernerds solve crimes on Criminal Minds.



This is Wally watching the Red Sox beat the Mariners yesterday.

Mrs. Idiot explained that no one knew that Wally like all sorts of television shows because all he ever used to watch was Red Sox games, but now that he's at our house it's like a whole new world has opened up for him. She went on to explain how happy she'll be to introduce Wally to PBS, the Academy Awards, all of the different CSI shows and on and on...

Mrs. Idiot beat me at my own game.

(Speaking of TV, I don't want to go into detail because it might spoil it for people, but I love the fact that the Sopranos are branching into New Hampshire as of last night's episode. They think it's tough to be a gangster? They just better hope they don't get between a native and his (or her) Dunkin' Donuts in the morning. The motto ain't Live Free or Die for nuthin').

(By the way, Wally and his little chair are available here),

It's Still Better than Goddamn Poland

Here's my new favorite page in the Wikipedia. Thanks to occasional anonymous poster Janice for the tip.

Fucking, Austria.

Hurricane Hall of Fame

Did you see this story?

They are retiring the names of five hurricanes, which is, I suppose, akin to being elected to the hurricane Hall of Fame. I mean, major league baseball retired Jackie Robinson's number, the Celtics retired Larry Bird's jersey, and the World Meteorological Organization retired Wilma.

Here's the part of the story that interested me:
Each of the retired names is replaced by a name that starts with the same letter, so Dennis was retired and will be replaced by Don, Katrina will be replaced by Katia, Rita by Rina, Stan by Sean and Wilma by Whitney.

I totally need to be on the committee that picks the new name. I mean, Hurricane Sean? Hurricane Whitney? Please! Those are so boring!

Where's Puddin'? Pea-Eye? Dimwit? Fartknocker? Wouldn't you rather have your town leveled by Tropical Storm Mr. T than by something wimpy like Alvin? If your house was destroyed by Hurricane Buttmunch, you could at least take solace in the fact that the name made you grin at least once.

Some more fascinating stuff about the hurricane Hall of Fame;
Some 67 names have been retired since storms were first named in 1953. The first to be dropped, in 1954, were Carol and Hazel. Last year's five is the most retired in a single year.

This year's hurricane names will be: Alberto, Beryl, Chris, Debby, Ernesto, Florence, Gordon, Helene, Isaac, Joyce, Kirk, Leslie, Michael, Nadine, Oscar, Patty, Rafael, Sandy, Tony, Valerie, William.

Hurricane Debby? Give me a break. When I'm king, we'll have some real names.
If that number of names suffices.

Late Homework

I know, I know.

I said I'd post something on Sundays, but yesterday I was busy. We had a beautiful Spring Day, the Masters was on and the leaderboard was close (until late) and blah blah blah.

So, as a token of my esteem, and as a peace offering for having missed my Sunday posting, I share with you a great website.

Awww, come on, check out their Gallery, it's a freakin riot!

Better Luck Next Year

Last night I was sad to see my University of Maine Black Bears lose in the NCAA Hockey Frozen Four to Wisconsin. (I was especially saddened because there was a bit of heckling involved from a buddy of mine from Wisconsin). In fairness, the Bears lost to an excellent team- Wisconsin goalie Brian Elliot was so good that the only way they could have had a better player in goal would have been to replace him with an enormous brick wall.



We'll get 'em next year.

The Lord Giveth...

Here's Something...

On Wednesday of this week, at two minutes and three seconds after 1:00 in the morning, the time and date will be 01:02:03 04/05/06.
That will never happen again.

Too Much TV

Last week it was my sad misfortune to watch a LOT of television. I'm not sure why, perhaps my body got used to plunking itself on the couch for the NCAA Tourney two weeks in a row only to find the games not there anymore. Mrs. Idiot, who was able to quit her raging television addiction several years ago with the help of the TV patch, seemed awfully familiar with all of the shows we suffered through, so I wonder if the monkey might not be making its way back onto her back, but that's a different story. (Plus, she quit reading my blog months ago so it doesn't matter what I say here).

Anyhoo, first, the good: (Advertising Edition)
The Sonic Commercials during the tournament in which the one guy slaps the tater tot out of his chum's hand and says "Don't you bring that weak tot action! You go strong to your mouth or you don't go at all!" is absolute genius. I desperately searched the internet for it to share with you, but couldn't find it. The best I could do was a parody of an older Sonic commericial that's still pretty funny. Click Here for it, and bring your speakers. Advertising people take note: based on that commercial, I am actively looking for a Sonic to patronize.

The Bad and the Ugly: (Advertising Edition)
The Travelocity Gnome. Ok, we get it, it's a bumbling lawn ornament, why the heck would I want to book a vacation through a company that uses a lawn ornament as its spokesman? I've seen him ram a bus into a buidling, fly a lawnchair into a set of stadium lights and get caught under a baggage cart. Go hire William Shatner and then we'll talk.

The Direct TV Idiots. There's a commercial in which one guy brags that he got a promotion and his loser friend brags that he got Direct TV. If only the guy who got the promotion would fire his loser friend and end the commercial right there.

The Good: (TV Edition)
There are a bunch of good shows on network TV. The Office is hilarious. Scrubs is funny, and I've already fessed up to being a fan of both Survivor and The Amazing Race. (I'm glad they're moving the Race to 8:00. It's a good show, but it ain't worth staying up till 11:00 to see). Dick Wolf has given us zillion hours of taut drama with his three Law and Order shows, but for me those shows are like the fig newtons in the pantry. They're good enough, but since they're always there, they're not nearly as interesting as they could be. I mean, there's a Law and Order on some channel 24/7.
For new shows, The New Adventures of Old Christine with Julia Louis Dreyfus is funny and The Unit, a new show about a special forces team by David Mamet, is excellent.

And that's the whole list:

The Bad and The Ugly: (TV Edition)
CS friggin I.
I was fed up with this series the first time I saw an episode. Crime Scene Investigators who help the police bust down doors? Who interview suspects? Who have crime labs that NASA would envy? I'll suspend my disbelief enough to let Mr. Spock beam klingons around the galaxy, but this Crime Scene people have stretched me to my limit. If these guys are so good, why the hell is OJ walking around free and where the hell is that girl in Aruba? Last week, after one of them, the producer Jerry Bruckheimer had a fifteen second spot in which he magnanimously donated a GMC SUV to a couple of real CSI units, the ones in Las Vegas and Los Angeles I think. ONE SUV each! Holy crap! The show must earn enough to buy each department its own battleship, and he's giving them ONE LOUSY SUV!

Now they've spun the show off into Miami and New York. If there's an actor on TV who is better at overacting than David Caruso, please tell me.

Last week I suffered through Criminal Minds, Cold Case, Close to Home, and Conviction, all of which seem to be the same taut crime drama formula that made Law and Order and CSI so popular, but these aren't as well written or are just plain stupid. Ditto with Numb3rs, Crossing Jordan, Bones and Without a Trace.

What we need is to clean house in L.A, or wherever these TV people live. First of all, we need to hire some middle eastern TV writers because those are some seriously creative people. Have you heard some of the press releases those terrorists issue? We need a little less CSI heroics and a little more "smiting with the two headed serpent sword of the lion of the brotherhood of mighty Utnapishtim's left testicle the ungodly foul odor from the backside of capitalism." Plus, that could be a pretty good way to fight the war on terror: hire them, give them six figure salaries, and make them into TV addled couch potatoes like us.