I Can’t Draw Woody

• I can’t draw Woody (that’s Woody from Toy Story, Davis, not a woody). My daughters asked me to draw Woody for them, but my drawings made him look stoned. One rendition made him look like Oliver Hardy.
• I saw a Dell commercial the other day. A man calls the Dell help line, and someone- speaking with perfect English-answers the phone on the first ring, and says “Welcome to Dell, what can we build for you today?” Oh, puh-leeeeeze!
• On the radio, I heard an ad for a job with the radio station as a “Director of First Impressions,” a position formerly known as “receptionist.” The logic is that the receptionist is the first person a customer sees when they walk into the station building. May I suggest cleavage and leg. Everyone, repeat after me: cleavage and leg, cleavage and leg . . .
• I didn’t see the Emmy awards, but I heard Conan was hilarious. Also heard that people are up in arms that he did a skit about a plane crash on the same day as the Kentucky plane crash. For the love of God and all that is holy, people, please stop it. Stop being so goddamned sensitive. My heart goes out to the families of those crash victims, but it is their pain, not yours or mine. It’s this sort of hyper-sensitivity and irrational fear that makes it impossible for me to see the Liberty Bell without having my prostate checked.
• Rio is building a so-called City of Sex . . . well, what else do you need to know? We’ve found the next Gathering Point.
• That nutjob who’s trying to take the “credit” for killing the Ramsey girl once said that he wants Johnny Depp to portray him in the movies. Sorry, asshole, but Depp will be playing me!
• I stopped at Border’s today, and as the cashier rang up my purchase, she held up the book and asked, “Did you find it?” I’ve been struggling for days to think of a good “Here’s Your Sign” retort, but I have failed. Please help.
• I can’t stop giggling at this, because I’m immature at heart. Just go here and have some fun. Instructions are on the right. Click “add person,” and you’re on your way.
• If you want to add about 15 inches to your vertical jump, just have one of my daughters come up behind you and pull on your leg hairs. It worked for me.
• One of my daughters is so tall now that I can’t take her by the arms and swing her between my legs anymore. I know how it feels. I remember growing so fast that I outgrew that sort of stuff earlier than most kids. It wasn’t long before I was too tall to be swung around, or too heavy to be carried. However, I’m still considerably larger than my daughters, so they have plenty of swinging and tossing and horsey rides left to go. I’d better get in shape, though.

Here’s yer sign.

J.K. Rowling Has a Nice Ass

• Got your attention, eh? Well, what is your first reaction to this pic?
• It’s nice to see some things don’t change. While watching Mr. Rogers with my girls, he came through the door, singing his theme song like always, changing his shoes and into his sweater, then said, “Hi, neighbor, I’ve been thinking about zippers today.” Me, too, Fred. Me, too.
• A botched sewer line repair caused sewage to back up into an Omaha woman’s home. Here is what she had to say, as quoted in full in the news account: I came downstairs and this seat was full of poop. It smells really bad. He put his snake through this here pole. As he was doing that big turds of poop was coming of this drain.
• This evening, a young lady came to the door. All she wanted, she said, was my opinion on some products. She gave me two cans of air freshener, and asked me to tell her which one I would choose if I were shopping. She told me I could keep the one I chose as a gift for helping out. Then, they brought out a vacuum cleaner, and asked if they could come inside for a moment. I told them that I didn’t have time for all that. She thanked me and left . . . and took back the air freshener. Bitch.
• Lately, I’ve been thinking about time. It amazes me how fast it moves anymore. I read an “out-there” book about time and time travel that floated the idea that time is more relative than we think, that when we have those days when time seems to crawl or speed by, that it really is crawling or speeding by. Time moves at different speeds; it’s not just in our heads. Not sure why I brought this up.
• I’ve always been a bit of a loner. For me, the hard part of being a stay-at-home dad is the lack of alone time. Sometimes, I just don’t want anyone pulling on my hand, telling me to “come downstairs and play.” But then, I realize that they won’t want me to play with them forever. Eventually, I will go from being a mythic figure to the most uncool being on the planet. They won’t want me around at all, but I won’t take offense. That’s how things go. A time will come when I can’t be cool, even if my guitar amp is louder than their stereo could ever be. That day will come sooner than I expect, because time always moves fast on the good things.
• I have to say that I’m almost certain this is the first blog post in history to contain the phrases “J.K. Rowling has a nice ass” and “big turds of poop.” If you can find anyone else who beat me to it, I’ll send you a dollar.
  
• Oh, and why doesn’t Blogger’s spell-check recognize the word “blog?”
  

You Are Here

• Just to put it in perspective, you live on that little blue and green ball, the one dwarfed by the solar eruption. I think I can see my giant goddamn willow tree from here.
• My dad works with a man named Richard Edward (last name unknown). Dick Ed. Poor bastard. “Hi, Dick Ed! How was work?” I could do this all day.
• Speaking of my dad, yesterday I thought I heard a semi’s air brakes outside my house, but it was just Dad, snoring in the recliner.
• Who collects the royalties from sales of Hitler’s Mein Kampf? What do they do with the money?
• Today at the library, I saw a poster for something called the “Golden Sower” reading program. The Golden Sower, by the way, is a sculpture that adorns the top of the Nebraska state capitol building. Of course, if you’re a pervert like me, you saw “golden sower” and had to do a double-take to make sure there wasn’t an “h” in there somewhere.
• I stepped out of the shower to find one of my 2-year-old daughters standing in the doorway. She looked at Lil’ Jimmy and said, “Daddy, what’s wrong with your tail?” It’s on the wrong side, I guess.
• Ever go into a room in your house or apartment when it’s still daylight, and you don’t emerge until it’s dark, and the house is pitch black because no lights have been turned on? Ever walked down the hallway of your pitch-black house and straight into a baby gate that is still up in the middle of said hallway? Ever tripped over that gate and fallen like a redwood tree, landing perfectly flat on your face, injuring both knees, both hands, your back, neck and pride? No? Well, I don’t recommend it.
• In the newspaper, I read a story that there’s a growing backlash against “McMansions,” those 6-10,000 square-foot houses that are sprouting up all over suburbia. Really? Really? Is this what we’ve come to? People don’t like it that somebody has a big house? Is it any of your damn business? Only in America.
• My daughters have arrived at a fabled milestone of childhood: they now think burps and farts are funny. Boy, if they thought I was the coolest dad before . . .

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Mommies

An interesting photo from a recent pro-polygamy rally. All I know is that it’s hard enough to remember one anniversary.

"Teen Guilty of Assault After Penis Stunt"

Headline of the day.

A Waterloo teenager was sentenced to 60 days in custody yesterday after admitting in a Guelph court he tried to hit two other boys at a youth treatment centre in the face with his penis.

It’s a manoeuvre known around the facility as “a helicopter.”
(If he hadn’t been making the thup, thup, thup helicopter sounds, he might’ve gotten away with it.)

Last Dec. 19, the two victims were lying on their beds at the Portage centre near Elora when the teen came in. He removed his penis from his pants and, while holding it, tried to strike the victims. He did not make contact with either boy.
(He missed? Maybe you shouldn’t do the helicopter if you can’t hit anything. Just do the “propeller hat” instead.)

Philadelphia "Freedom"

• Looks like I’m the last one to weigh in on that hurricane of laughter and frivolity that hit Philadelphia this past weekend that we called The Gathering. Seven jolly bloggers–most of whom had never met in person–went to the time and expense to meet in the sometimes misnamed “City of Brotherly Love.”
• I had my first cheesesteak sandwich. Oh, Lord. That was good. With provolone. Oh, Lord. That was good.
• My mother will be surprised to learn that Davis has a long-lost twin brother. Fletcher and Davis must have been pulled from the same cosmic ether and brought to Earth. I’m glad they found each other.
• To the “lady” at the United counter at O’Hare: Fuck you, you rude bitch. I’m glad you likely have a husband who doesn’t love you and children who don’t respect you. So there. Security can’t reach me here. Yet.
• Benjamin Franklin—who invented damn near everything, we learned—once wrote that those who would give up liberty for security deserve neither liberty nor security. I wonder what Ol’ Ben would think of people being searched by uniformed officers before visiting the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall. I’m proud of our group for refusing to participate in such a sad irony.
• People in groups are strange animals, but travelers are insufferable animals. What is it about commuting in cars or planes that brings out the asshole in people? These people deserve the rubber glove.
• Speaking of the rubber glove, Davis saw an elderly woman getting a pat-down search. Boy, did that make me feel safe.
• There’s a much greater show of police authority in a big city: transit cops, parking cops, regular cops, guards at the monuments, etc. I’m not used to that living in Omaha. Also not used to relying on public transportation so much, but I think I could get used to it.
• Honking is the national pastime in Philly. Boy are they horny.
• After dinner one night, the gang retired to the hotel bar across the way for a few drinks. I ordered a drink for myself and a comrade. When the waitress delivered the two drinks, I gave her a twenty for the tab. She brought back $.58 in change. For two drinks.
• We discovered we share an affection for Larry the Cable Guy (or at least a polite tolerance).
• “We went down to that there waterfront, yessir. They had all sorts of ships and what-not. We ate at this place that had the best sammiches right there, I don’t care who ya are. Boy, I was happier’n Rosie O’Donnell at a buffet full of Ho-Ho’s, I tell ya what.“
• We watched a William Shatner film, Incubus, that had been lost for 30 years, restored and transferred to DVD. I think it deserves more respect than the Mystery Science Theater 3000 treatment we gave it, ha, but it did provide some of the biggest laughs of the trip, so no harm done. It was, however, very atmospheric and contains some interesting camera work. Jim-Bob says “check-it-out.”
• Well, the weather was great, the food was great, the drinks went down well and the companionship was great. It was amazing to see the fun and joy that followed us around. Waiters and waitresses who were surly and frowning were laughing, smiling and walking with a spring in their step by the time we were done with them.
• Thanks, my friends, for a wonderful weekend.

Fly Me to the Moon

A 757 flying across a full moon, lit up by the morning sun. Cool, eh?

Strange Monuments

A gallery of strange monuments from around the world.

I Want to See Madonna’s Balls

• I’ve always been a Madonna fan, but she’s really starting to bore me, especially with her latest publicity stunt—staging a crucifixion at her concert. Now, everybody knows that the only two religious groups unprotected by the P.C. police are Catholics and Christians, so picking on them is so easy it’s an act of cowardice. So, Madonna, if you really want to be shocking and offensive, how about coming on stage wearing a burka and simulating sex with Mohammed? You could begin your encore by performing in blackface. C’mon, Madonna, let’s see your balls.
• I hate fat white guys with goatees and ballcaps who drive big 4-wheel-drive pickups. Hate ‘em.
• Watching Sesame Street yesterday with my girls, I was livid to see that Cookie Monster now eats fruit, and he has been admonished that cookies are a “once-in-a-while” snack. Fruity Monster? Fuckers.
• A school district in Texas has enacted the following rule: The display of cleavage is unacceptable. Low cut blouses, tops, sweaters, etc. with plunging necklines are not allowed. That cans it (sorry). I’m homeschoolin’. If I’m going to pay thousands for my teenaged daughters’ boob jobs, I expect them to be able to show it off! If I had cleavage, I’d post it here.
• I’ve read a couple of reviews of Oliver Stone’s new movie about the 9/11 attacks. Several have said that it’s “too soon.” No, it isn’t. It happened five years ago, and it’s way past time for our filmmakers and other artists to be commenting upon it. Hide under a bed if you’re too sensitive. And if you’re a film critic, please . . . never come out.
• This past week marked the 40th anniversary of the release of The Beatles’s Revolver. A true work of art. If you don’t have it, go buy it right now. Not only is it frequently voted one of the best albums ever made, it is also the favorite of my two-year-old daughters. They love to hear “the ooo song” (“Here, There and Everywhere”), “the good song” (“Good Day Sunshine”) and Yeyow Submanine. What other recommendation do you need?
• I’m going to run up the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum punching the air and singing “Gonna Fly Now.”

How wide are those slats, exactly?

You can’t make this shit up:

Deckchair trapped testicles

A Croatian man got a nasty surprise when he tried to get out of his deck chair and found his testicles had got stuck.

 

Mario Visnjic had gone swimming naked in the sea at the Valalta beach in western Croatia, reports 24sata.

 

His testicles had shrunk while in the cool sea and slipped through the wooden slats when he sat back down on his wooden deckchair.

 

But as he lay in the sun they expanded back to normal size and got stuck between the slats.

 

He was eventually freed after he called beach maintenance services on his mobile phone and they sent a member of staff to cut the deck chair in half.

Jimmy has some questions:

1. How, exactly, do you begin such a call?
2. Instead of cutting the chair in half, why didn’t they just dunk his balls into a glass of ice water to shrink them down again?
3. How far down does your sack have to hang in order for this to be a problem? The story says his nuts expanded as he “lay in the sun.” Think about it. Your bag would have to hang down past your asshole, through the slats and still hang low enough to allow for warmth expansion.
4. What kind of saw did they use?
5. Did they put a cup on his scrotum to protect it from flying splinters?

I can see why he didn’t wear a bathing suit. I don’t think they make them big enough to support a package that big.