this is the heavy heavy monster sound, the nuttiest sound around

It probably sucks to be Tank Johnson right now. The big dude is locked up in an Illinois cooler for a while. But cheer up, Tank: every cloud has a silver lining. If he was out and about with us civilized folk, Tank would constantly be on verge of an apoplexy during the brief moment after his phone rings but before someone other than “GOODELL, ROGER” came up on the Caller ID. Can the NFL Network make a special out of this?

So, which side are you on?

“Mr. Web 2.0” Tim O’Reilly is pushing a voluntary blogger code of conduct. If O’Reilly thinks some bullshit internet handshake agreement is going to keep belligerent morons from waving their internet-dicks then he is sadly mistaken. Frankly, the whole things smacks of censorship right down to the little bits of flair they would have your blog wear.

Spineless supplicants would get their very own genuine Little Bill Dagget sheriff’s badge (above left). Those who prefer free speech and the open exchange of ideas, and the occasional unpleasantness that accompanies same, would get an “anything goes” badge (above right). What kind of godless commie thinks a stick of dynamite is representative of free speech? Actually, I kind of like the badge with one tweak-- it needs to be modified to reflect the wisdom of Big Daddy Drew Kane:

Exhasutive scientific studies confirm what we
have known for years: pimpin' ain't easy.

Speaking of ho's, this Imus thing has been talked about ad nauseum, and I don’t have the patience or energy to add anything further. Big Sexy makes some salient points about double standards, but misses the fact that Imus was referring to a small, discreet and readily identifiable set of people and not just “womankind” in general. I bring all of this up only to tell you about THE STUPIDEST MAN IN AMERICA:

Buffoonery, thy name is Morning Gary.

Morning Zoo DJ’s are second only to sports radio clowns (cough, Schrutebag, cough) when it comes to unabashed idiocy. After the Imus fallout, it would seem that last thing any DJ with a double-digit IQ would do is have your listeners call and scream “Im a Nappy-Headed Ho!!!” in order to win NASCAR (shocker) tickets. Yet that is precisely what “Morning Gary” on WSBG in Allentown, Pennsylvania did Tuesday morning. The good news for Gary is his out of work ass can now call himself “Sleeping Til Noon Gary."

Finally, KSK was name-checked today by “Mr. Flip" in the Baltimore Sun (but not linked— thanks, dick). What was it, you might wonder. The latest adventures of Sexy Rexy? Unsilent Majority’s sage gambling advice? No, it was Texas Gal’s nail polish pointers from the Ladies… takeover yesterday. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Up yours, Bawlmer.

I Think I’ll Have The Chicken

What are you having, dear? Quail? Ooh. Sounds exotic. Oh, me? Well, you know me. I think I’ll have the chicken.

Yes, I know I order it every time, but doggone it if I don’t like it. Besides, all this other stuff on here looks potentially exciting. This steak comes with a small thing of horseradish on the side, and horseradish has a real kick! No, that’s too adventurous for me. Good old chicken does the trick. In fact, I may have the chef just boil it and serve it to me unadorned. But I’ll be sure to have him boil it thoroughly. I wouldn’t want to get salmonella!

Hello, waiter! Jeez, he’s been ignoring me for hours. Maybe I should raise my voice just a teeny tiny bit. Umm, waiter? Yes, I know that wasn’t louder, dear. I’m building up to it. I can’t just go from zero to apoplectic in two seconds! If I turn and look at him with longing eyes for a solid hour or two, he may notice me.

Hey, where are you going? What do you mean, this always happens when we go out? Well dear, these waiters are very busy. You can’t expect them to serve EVERY table. Some may fall by the wayside. Like ours. Every time. Yes, I’m being assertive! I just furrowed my brow at him! And you know how hard it is for me to furrow.

You know what? We can just go home. You make chicken for me every night just the way I like it. No need to visit some fancy restaurant for it. Just good ol’ chicken, unsalted rice, and tap water. Mmmmmm, delicious! I can hardly wait!

Why are you crying? What do you mean, you can’t live this lie anymore? You’re what? You’re sleeping with another man? Well, who is he? Jim? Oh, Jim’s a really nice guy. And he’s sleeping with you? Why, that sly old coot! Boy, I guess he really knows how to please a woman. Wish I could do that. Maybe I’ll ask him for advice.

Am I mad? I guess I should be. But I don’t want to be rocking the boat too much here. If you’re happy loving another man, well I’d hate to get in your way. Divorce? Okay, if you want. 75% to you sound good? I don’t want to be any trouble. Yes, yes. You can have the houses and children as well. I’ll stay at the Motel 6. They’re very nice there. Plus they have pay-per-view television, so I can masturbate quietly and then cry myself to sleep.

Now, where’s that chicken?