It’s going to be pretty warm here today (21F) but thankfully not so warm that the pond will melt, so I’m planning to do some limbing of my fallen pines with a bow saw while the ice is good and firm. On the down side, I saw an opossum in the barn last night and had to set the trap. If I catch it, I’ll either have to chop a hole to drown it, try to kill it with truck exhaust, hatchet the poor thing, or shoot it. I don’t really want to clean up the hatchet or the gun, so I may try exhaust. No, I will not use the flamethrower.
Oh, and I have to put in something like 10-12 hours at work (all paid, at least). How’s your day ahead look?
This seems a little risque, how’d it get into the binders?
Statistically, millions of Americans are going to just barely work this week while still pretending that they aren’t just looking busy until Friday. Don’t be like them, be the outlier that actually gets a lot done this week so you can start off the new year well ahead of the game, you’ll be glad you did.
NOTE: SECRET SANTA gift opening will be Tuesday, 12-20, at 7pm EST.
This will be an exploration of my long held theory that Bill will not allow Pickles McParkinsons to win the election so that he can continue to dick bimbos for the short remainder of his life.
Have you seen the first dude lately? He looks like he hasn’t had a decent meal in ten years or that his alleged syphilis is finally winning the war on women. I kid, I kid. He’s a vegan so you know he has syphilis.
So here’s the theory, in case you missed it in my survey class taught at Muppet U, or if you forgot what was written in the first paragraph: Bill will do anything to prevent Smiley McOpenmouth from getting in the oval office. Way too important to keep his little Gore wet. Yes, for those of you scoring at home, he calls his blank shooter Al Gore.
I bet you’re thinking I’m totally wrong. That the allure of being half of the first ever male/female presidential couple is just too, er, alluring. Consider this: whenever things get good for her, he trots out some sorry statement that even he, a veritable Da Vinci of lying can’t clean up.
Man, that’s gonna sting. Don’t get me wrong, no one cares what he said…except for the only man that might actually make a difference in the election: Golfy McOkieDoke. St Trayvon’s Dad is notoriously thin skinned and its well known that Obama and Bill already hate each other. Bill once told Obama that he should be getting him coffee rather than schlonging his wife (that’s Web Hubble’s job) and Obama’s black half never got over it. If you locked these two in a bedroom closet only one would emerge–probably Bill with panties on his head, wearing high heels, but that’s besides the point. The hate is real my groovy babies, the hate is real.
Weenus + Viagra >Husband + Most Powerful Woman in the World
Its math, and therefore indisputable, although its probably racist.
Hello office twerkers, and welcome to Big Boob Friday.
Your model for today is a 20 year old French woman, model and law student. Please stop cross-fitting and welcome, Miss Audray de Macedo!
Not of MMM, mind you, but of my time in this weird job. There are some parts of it I’m definitely going to miss (like my coworkers, and being able to kinda sorta talk about my job and having people be interested in it), and some parts I really won’t miss (like commuting past the airport, not having my kitchen right there for lunches, not having my gym nearby). Friday (or possibly earlier, depends on when we determine that I’ve sufficiently brain-dumped to coworkers and management) will be my last day in the industry. I am definitely going to miss the people. They are generally great to work with even if we couldn’t talk about much else, and to a person they really want to solve the problem. It’s been really nice to be part of a team that is focused, competent, and positive. If things don’t work out with the new gig, they have said they’d have me back. I don’t know that I’ll take them up on that, but I wouldn’t feel awful doing so. Even if it’s “just a a job”, it really isn’t a bad one, I just think I’ve found a better one for me.
Okay, time for some abs.
I got squash for days. Days. And about a hundred green tomatoes just about to go red on the vine. Phone screen this afternoon that I really, really don’t want to screw up. I don’t have any reason to think that I will, but after bombing the last interview my confidence is a little less than rock-solid. I’ll have to be sure to do some prep beforehand. Maybe listen to this a few times. Or possibly to this. And almost certainly to this and this (hey, I like that one, it ain’t about you).
And I should probably review some cybersecurity basics and architectural design patterns. Even if he doesn’t ask, the practice will help my confidence.
Is that Miami?
That’s how long I’ll be here. May as well grit my teeth and make the best of it. At least it’s honest work and the pay is pretty good and the benefits are nice and there are lots of holidays and my office chair is comfy…
Huh, maybe I’m just a whiny malcontent after all.
So, there were some neat parallels between July 4 1776 and June 23, 2016. Both times, it was a big group of Englishmen (primarily) who wanted out from under the thumb of a distant, oppressive, unaccountable government. Both times, the last straw might have been tea. Look, I’m going to warn the rest of you earthlings for the last time: do NOT get between a Briton and his beverage of choice. We burn continents, destroy empires, and generally make a big mess of things over this stuff. Yoo-rope should be thankful that they just walked out this time. You fools ought to be hiding under the table and counting quietly to 100 hoping they won’t come back and torch the place.
Anyhow, I’d like to think that we good folk descended in part from the best and brightest the Iles had to offer the world a few centuries back might have had something to do with it. Showed ’em how, as it were. Now, we should probably talk about orthodontia and rhoticity at some point, but it can wait until after you’ve got a decent Prime Minister, and possibly until after we’ve shed the Muslim Brotherhood plant from our white house. In the meantime, I wish you folks the best of luck making Britain great again, and I hope you’ll take a little bit of joy watching us celebrate what we won for ourselves so long ago, and perhaps feel just a bit more kinship than in years past.
Also, stay tuned for #TEXIT, #AKEXIT, and possibly #QUEBEXIT.
I thought about trying to find patriotic fit girls, but that seemed like work and I’m on vacation. Also I looked and there aren’t a ton of images just waiting to be poached.
So, a dancer first.
So phragmites (frag my teez) are an invasive rhizomous monocot that grow in and near ponds and marshes. My side of the pond is absolutely filled with them, and I need to fix that. The leaves above the water are sharp like razor wire, and the roots go very deep. I spent an hour of my first Father’s Day about waist-to-chest deep in the pond pulling these things up and throwing them into piles on the shoreline so they could dry out and I can burn them. In the process, I turned my hands into hamburger. I’ve got two bandaids on the left hand and four on the right.
Oh, and I completely forgot to call my dad. Not because I’m an awful, ungrateful child, but because it completely slipped my mind. I’ll call him later today.
Let’s start off with some monochrome.
I remember it. Not well, because it sucked and it wasn’t really something I could relate to as a little white boy in the suburbs, but I’m pretty sure Two-Two-Seven was a black sitcom with mostly female leads in the 80’s.
Yep. Aired from ’85 and ’89, starred Marla Gibbs and Jackée Harry. There was really nothing there for me. Pretty sure it still sucked, even if you could relate to it.
Anyhow, Pupster sent me this, so you can all accuse him of being into trannies too.