Archive for November 2007
Okay, for the most part I can sit back and laugh at the antics of the Global Warming nut cases who can’t see a minuscule increase in temperature for the naturally recurring weather pattern that it actually is.
I figure once their testicles drop they’ll hopefully have more important things to occupy their time and, in the mean time, their histrionics have at least some comedic value.
But friends, when the unshaven, Birkenstock shod, beasts of questionable hygiene that pass for eco chicks start coming after the family Beer Fridge, the hoax that is Global Warming ceases to be funny.
In response to Joanna Yarrow, let me steal a line from Mr. Heston:
“FROM MY COLD DEAD HANDS!”
As if there was ever any doubt that CNN is nothing more than the co-opted propaganda arm of the DNC:
Do you ever wonder why democrat Presidential candidates refuse debates that are moderated by Fox News? The answer is that it is human nature to expect people to act in a manner similar to you in a given situation. The above story proves that not only would dems plant questions, but that they do so on a regular basis.
From the pony tailed idiot in the 1992 Presidential debates, straight (no pun intended) to last night, and no doubt in future debates, the democrat party shows itself to be a corrupt organization run by people whose ethical doppelganger is Josef Goebbels.
With thanks to Smalltown Lowdown, edited and expanded by The Scolai.
1.) When you are queried by a buddy’s wife, girlfriend, mother, father, priest, shrink, dentist, accountant, or dog walker, you need not and should not provide any useful information whatsoever as to his whereabouts. You are permitted to deny his very existence.
2.) Unless he murdered someone in your immediate family, you must bail a friend out of jail within 12 hours.
3.) You may exaggerate any anecdote told in a bar, or fire station, by 50% without recrimination (are you reading this Carl?); beyond that, anyone within earshot is allowed to call BULLSHIT. (Exception: When trying to pick up a girl, the allowable exaggeration rate rises to 400%)
4.) If you’ve known a guy for over 24 hours, his sister is off limits. Forever.
5.) Bitching about the brand of free beer in a buddy’s refrigerator is forbidden (even if it’s Miller Lite). You may gripe if the temperature is unsuitable.
6.) Agreeing to distract the ugly friend of a hot babe your buddy is trying to hook up with is your legal duty. Should you get carried away and end up having sex with the beast, your pal is forbidden to speak of it. Even at your bachelor party.
7.) If a man’s zipper is down, that’s his problem — you didn’t see nothin’.
8.) The universal compensation for buddies who help you move is beer and broaster chicken.
9.) If you compliment a guy on his six pack, you better be referring to his beer. (I hope Young Jake is reading this one. The little metro.)
10.) Never hesitate to reach for the last beer or the last slice of pizza, but not both. That’s just plain mean.
11.) Phrases that may NOT be uttered to another man while weight lifting: “Yeah baby push it.” “C’mon, give me one more! Harder!” “Another set and we can hit the showers.” “Nice ass, are you a Sagittarius?” (This one was definitely written with The Driver of the Wartabago in mind.)
12.) Unless you’re in prison, never fight naked.
13.) A man in the company of a hot, suggestively dressed woman must remain sober enough to fight.
14.) If a buddy is outnumbered, out manned, or too drunk to fight, you must jump into the fight. Exception: If within the last 24 hours his actions have caused you to think, “What this guy needs is a good ass whoopin’ ,” then you may sit back and enjoy.
15.) It is permissible to consume a fruity chick drink only when you’re sunning on a tropical beach… and it’s delivered by a topless supermodel…and it’s free.
Unable to confront Ann Coulter in the arena of ideas, some chickenshit liberal numb nuts have stolen a page from the muslim extremist playbook and, no doubt hoping to get her to pull a Salman Rushdie, taken to hit and run attacks outside of the swan necked hunk o’ cheesecake’s Palm Beach home.
The fact that none of the attacks have been physical leads one to believe that they are being orchestrated by emasculated liberal males; as they are most often lacking in physical courage (check out their record on the war on terror). I’d like to know Ted Kennedy’s whereabouts for the nights in question.
Just say the word Ann. Chivalry is not dead in The Scolai’s world. There are plenty of conservative men out here who would gladly defend your honor and your person.
In fact, let me be the first to volunteer. I would gladly force a liberal to play “Beat the Glock” in your defense.
Finally! I found the video to one of my absolute, all time favorite songs.
Black Flag, Rollins Band, Spoken Word, Books, Movies, IFC, I am a fan of all things Hank with the notable exception of (once again, as with so many others) his politics.
I am admittedly a man who has had more than a few conquests that were realized with less than altruistic intent, and certainly, at times, not with anyone else’s feelings in mind. Maybe that is why I understand this song so well.
Before the hate mail comes over some of the video images, let me say: IT’S THE LYRICS THAT ARE IMPORTANT HERE PEOPLE!!
Haven’t done one of these in a while, but this was too good not to share:
An Irishman walks into a bar in Dublin, orders three pints of Guinness and sits in the back of the room, drinking a sip out of each one in turn. When he finishes them, he comes back to the bar and orders three more.
The bartender approaches and tells him, “You know, a pint goes flat after I draw it; it would taste better if you bought one at a time.”
The Irishman replies, “Well, you see, I have two brothers. One is in America, the other in Australia, and I’m here in Dublin. When we all left home, we promised that we’d drink this way to remember the days when we drank together. So I drinks one for each o’ me brothers and one for me self.”
The bartender admits this is a nice custom, and leaves it there. The Irishman becomes a regular in the bar, and always drinks the same way: He orders three pints and drinks them in turn.
One day, he comes in and orders two pints. All the other regulars take notice and fall silent. When he comes back to the bar for the second round, the bartender says, “I don’t want to intrude on your grief, but I wanted to offer my condolences on your great loss.”
The Irishman looks quite puzzled for a moment, then a light dawns in his eye and he laughs. “Oh, no, everybody’s just fine,” he explains, “It’s just that me wife had us join that Baptist Church and I had to quit drinking.”
“Hasn’t affected me brothers a bit though.”
Yesterday’s post was roundly criticized by some of my more provincial cohorts. While far from attempting to defend that particular post (I haven’t felt good about myself since removing “The Guy From Boston” and have since vowed to unapologetically stand behind whatever I choose to do with this site), I feel the need to further the cultural education of some of my worthy constituents.
Serge Gainsbourg has variously been described as: “…An agent provocateur, a scoundrel, unapologetic drunkard, and chain smoker.” Further as: “Henry Mancini, Keith Richards and The Marquis de Sade, all wrapped up in a disheveled package.”
Besides being all of the above, the man had an incredible talent for pulling beautiful women. A very partial list of his conquests includes:
and Jane Birkin
Even more respectable is the fact that he continued to pull this kind of quality to the end of his life! Maybe instead of saying I wanted to be “Expressively French,” I should have said “Expressively Serge Gainsbourg.”
At the risk of alienating “big boy” I am posting Serge Gainsbourg’s most famous, and one his most controversial, songs “Je t’aime, moi non plus.” This song (released in 1969), while tame by today’s standards, was banned in most countries for being too explict.
So, for the cultural benefit of Big Boy and the always stalwart Driver of the Wartabago, here is Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin with “Je t’aime, moi non plus”