Talking to a friend today, he brought up this series of posts – my Adventures in Grindr. Without really hearing his question (I know there was one), I replied, “What adventures? Maybe if Erie were a bigger town there’d be adventures, but as it stands, I have yet to hook up through Grindr. Mostly I post about Grindr because I get ridiculous conversations I can blog about.” And to prove my point I offer you the above chat. Hi-lar-ee-ous, right? Do you think William realizes he’s got getting naked with me? Probably not. I know there are some straight people who are too stupid to breed, but there are some gay guys who are too stupid to bed.
That aside, I want to talk about my friend. He’s definitely not too stupid to bed. Probably too cute not to. He lives nowhere near me, and though we’ve tried to meet, it hasn’t happened yet for one reason or another (believe me, we’ve tried and are continuing to try). I suspect he’d be more than just some guy. And talking about sex in the way of random, casual partners with someone I like seems like a good idea. I obviously can’t back away from previous posts -nor should I, nor do I want to- like I told my friend, we all come with histories attached and I’d like to know his someday. I mean, not on the first date or anything, because that would be a little too much, and I’d like to know him in the present instead of digging into his past and maybe not liking what I see there because it reminds me of things I don’t like about my past.
Or something like that.
Penises.
I was so flattered when, just the other night, the little green Jedi Master who stole my heart back in 1981 returned the favor by trying to steal into my pants. What a dream come true to bag a hero of such renown! Yeah, the age difference threw me for a second, but then I thought, “He could be one of those generous older men and if I play my cards right I can parley meaningless sex into a private pleasure asteroid of my own where I can build an exclusive (yet terribly cute) bed & breakfasts that caters to intergalactic movers and shakers who need some away time from the hassles of fighting an oppressive government and its instruments and agents of hegemony.” Ah, but his age was just the first drip in a cascade of worries that plague any potential hookup. Like most guys on Grindr, I worry about, you know, “satisfaction”. Sure, he’s hell against a Sith Lord, but can he use the force of his love to send me to this side of the galaxy and back? A Samson on the field, a Sleeping Beauty in the bedroom; it could happen. What about size? He’s like, 2’5″ or something, right? Then I remembered an expression in ASL:
And I decided to take the chance.
Eugene Delgaudio of Public Advocate of the United States -I offer this link only for completeness, not as a suggestion that you follow it, unless you want to sign up for his email newsletter, which is always entertaining and can be deleted easily even if the bafflement lingers- wants Catholics who live in fear of roving gangs of lesbians, glitter queens, and teh buttsecks to send him money to… do… something. Something Christian-y, I’m sure, like burning witches at the stake or compelling Jews to accept Christ into their greedy hearts. You know, what Jesus preached about, ideals that Catholics live by even today. Catholics who are apparently more gullible than my email reader (click for the big picture):
Joy Jervis over at Joe.My.God covers Eugene’s buffoonery much more in depth. Stop by and get a taste of the crazy!
Whenever you find Batman, you also find… punchline HERE
“Hey” guy from a few weeks back is back with his strong, Carnegie-like, interpersonal Kung-Fu. If there had been a several day gap in the chat, then this could have been overlooked, but it was slightly over an hour between his “How are you?” and going back to “Hey”. Props for not sending a “????”, which I despise because it a.) shows a lack of patience, which makes me think you’d be bad in bed, and b.) it’s selfish, which makes me think you’d be terrible in bed. I base this on personal experiences, so, of course, it’s true and accurate.
In defense of my chat-lag, I was playing XBOX.
MISSED PROTOCOL: You lost me at hello.
Outside of the confines of Erie, PA, I have never seen any restaurant offer up broasted meat, though I’ve been assured that it’s a phenomena across all the Great Lakes’ cities. I actually think people would line up for a broasted leg of Sean. Hairy but satisfying, and not too gamy.
By the way, was anyone else disappointed that Adrien didn’t win Masterchef last night? I hope he and Ben Starr had some hot conciliatory sex after the after party.
To the best of my knowledge, Grindr actually keeps IMs stored until… I suppose until I erase them. I’ve had several conversations days, if not weeks, apart with the same guy and I can scroll back to remind me of things (like his name) should I care to. This guy may have the excuse that he’s only 18 and may not know how to handle an online conversation, but I have the feeling he’s better at IMing than putting his signature on a rent check (I also have the feeling he doesn’t pay rent, but that’s another post). Or it could just be the in thing with his generation to inundate people with greetings and hope that will seal the deal. And no, I don’t necessarily think it’s my duty to keep out chat moving forward.
MISSED PROTOCOL: Be sure to hold up your end of the conversation. Especially if you started it.
Apparently, my toes are quite the thing on Grindr. All 14 of them in glorious polydactyly.
MISSED PROTOCOL: Don’t draw attention to physical shortcomings. Save it for the ten-year anniversary.
Due to wanting to return to a profession whose sensibilities run to “delicate as a hot-house orchid”, I maintain a no-face picture policy. Right now, my legs and feet are being broadcast to local guys. I myself am not into feet as a sexual turn-on. I’m not really into any paraphilia, though I have gone out with guys who would insist I wear my glasses (indeed, one guy I saw a few times in DC bought me a few pairs of glasses (glass lenses, not prescription) because he was way into them), or keep my socks on, or, in one extreme sartorial case, keep my clothes on entirely. When the guy above IM’d me, I thought I would be flirty back and use my words to entice him into further conversation. So far, no response. Maybe I should have used my Food Network words – amazing, nutty, savory, crucnchy, herby, festive, Bobby Flay – to really get him going.
Thinking about it, any prospective employers could probably find this blog relatively easily.
MISSED PROTOCOL: Makes sure your fetish is my fetish.
I haven’t had much success with Grindr. Like, zero. I would probably have more luck getting laid at the local Sears’ restroom. My lack of adult situations could be because I live in a very small town and most of the gay guys here are either married or engaged or here for Roar on the Shore. (Oh, yes, Bikers. We know who you are. We saw whom you blew.) Then again, even when I was in DC Grindr did not work its sexual magic for me. I’m starting to think it may be me.
Beyond the fact that I could be completely physically repulsive (it’s possible), I think it’s that I expect there to be some kind of protocol to convince a (sometimes faceless) guy because when I get random IMs like the one above, I can’t help but wonder if he would approach me in a (dark) bar and say the same thing. “Hello” is always a good start, am I right? No need to rush. No need to start yanking and pulling before I can even undo my belt (metaphorically speaking). But on the other hand, boring me by talking about your sweet new ride and how much it cost is not going to seal the deal either. So, I like to throw a little Sean their way and see how they respond. This guy got as far as “Huh?”.
Also, I’m equally amazed by guys who only use Grindr to “find friends” because they are otherwise happily dating someone else, but could always use a third for… Uno or… Cat’s Cradle.
Do you have a Grindr screenshot you’d like to share? Send it to me with your story and I’ll post it here.
Is it possible that Jim Lee lobbied to get Ms. Lee folded into the relaunched DCU? Or is she just the first character to appear in what will be the real new Universe wherein Marvel and DC become one? Time will tell!
I won’t be watching the Super Bowl this year, but I do want to pass along this confection which be a part of the normal deluge of outstandingly creative advertising campaigns.
I blame Jon Macy for posting about oglaf.com on Facbook and thereby causing me to lay helplessly on my couch until I had read every cartoon. Well, not every cartoon, not all at once. There was a break for sex somewhere in the middle. Though it wasn’t sex with a giant spider nor Jon Macy, it was still outstanding sex.
But I am now curious about that spider.
This clip introducing The Daily Show and Jon Stewart’s newest segment “Let’s All Stand on John McCain’s Lawn is – no exaggeration here – the funniest thing I’ve seen on TV in years.
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon – Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Let’s All Stand on John McCain’s Lawn | ||||
|
||||
Please please please Diamond Select Toys, mass produce Puppet John McCain and Puppet Michael Steele like you did for Angel!
Please??
Even though I agree with Lake Superior State University that the phrase “teachable moment” should be vanished from our collective vocabulary, I think I actually had one yesterday. or at least I had a moment and I turned it into a lesson.
My students have been struggling (mostly) with their most recent assignment Narrating a PERSONAL EXPERIENCE. I know they know how to tell stories, because that’s all they really do (it’s a Deaf Culture thing), so I’m beginning to suspect that it’s the structure and the limitations I’ve put on their story-telling abilities – “one specific moment told in interesting clarity” – that’s giving them agida. And I’ve been giving examples of how to do this out the wazoo, to varying degrees of success.
Then yesterday, something happened to me on the way home from work that I thought might be the best example yet. I typed it up in an email and sent it out to my students with the hopes that their love of the arabesque (seriously; one student wrote about ripping open his scrotum on a spiked fence post) would connect to the experience, and maybe help them with their own writing. Here’s what happened (broken down into sections so my students can see what each looks like):
TOPIC SENTENCE:
Yesterday while driving home, I had a heated verbal exchange with another driver which I later felt badly about.
BACKGROUND:
I think I am a safe driver even if my friends disagree with me. They say I drive too fast, that I’m impatient, and that I should stop yelling at other drivers when they make a mistake. I tell them that in the last 20 years I have only had three tickets (for allegedly running red lights, which I still think were all bogus) and no accidents. None of them can say the same.
BODY:
Be that as it may, on my way home yesterday, it was raining, which means I had to drive more attentively since Austin drivers tend to forget how to drive in the rain. On the 183/Airport Boulevard exchange, a lady in the car next to me tried to merge into my lane, almost hitting me. To avoid her, I pulled all the way over to the side of the road, honked, then resumed driving. I passed her as soon as I could.
A little bit down the road, I came to a stop light. While waiting for it to turn green, the door of the truck in front of me opened, and a woman stepped out. She glared at me and yelled, “You’re too close to me!”
Unsure I had her her right, I said, “Sorry?”
“You’re driving to close to me! That’s why you almost hit that lady back there!”
That was not why the lady and I had almost collided, but I was too incensed to want to discuss it. Instead, I retorted, “Well, I haven’t hit you yet, so try not to worry.”
She got even more angry and yelled, “It’s raining out. You need to back away from my car.”
Now thoroughly upset, I responded, “Thanks for the advice. Where should I send the Mother’s day card?”
“I mean it! Back off or I’ll call the police!”
And, I, unfortunately, said, “Put down the Ding-Dongs or I’ll call Weight watchers!” (She was… husky.)
Now she was completely upset with me, and started to walk towards my car. But before she could reach my window, I ducked down in my seat, covered my face with my arms and started screaming, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Just don’t eat me! I’m sorry!”
She stopped dead in her tracks, stunned, then started crying.
Luckily at that moment, the light turned green, and put my car into gear and drive around her, my heart pounding with righteous indignation.
I made my way home, muttering angrily to myself the entire time. However, by the time I reached my front door, it occurred to me that I had really argued dirty. This woman who had to tell me to drive “better” was probably doing so out of concern for her own safety. Again, Austin drivers do not drive well in the rain. I know that, and she probably did too. So, I felt a little bad about bringing up her weight when that wasn’t really what the argument was about.
CONCLUSION:
It is unlikely I will see this particular woman again, but in the future I will try to remember to be polite to other drivers on the road.
The ending is a bit saccharine, but with a certain staff member who is looking for any excuse to bitch to my boss about me, I decided to ameliorate any possible offense by taking the mea culpa road. I’ve already posted about this on Facebook, so it’s out there in the public forum already, but I haven’t said how much is true and how much is my (very angry) imagination (see ASMD!!! and Rise of the Pink Ninjas). I’m trying to teach my students to be good liars by being one myself.
I’m excited to see what they give me on Tuesday. I mean, if I’m allowed to go anywhere near them.
After Marvel proudly announced to the world that they are the biggest assdancers in comics publishing after Diamond, Adloph Hitler had this reaction:
Thanks to Andy Mangles for pointing this out!
A friend on Facebook just posted this picture, but through Amazon Web Services so I have no idea where it came from, but I would sincerely like to know.
In MS Paint, someone has managed to ecapsulate and render all that is The GMo better than any number of pretentious grad students who drop “post-modern” into conversations like truck drivers fart on Chili Night at Ethyl’s down on the freeway. And I must know who that person is. Anyone have an idea?
From France, raphaelB‘s gives us “the Last Spider-Man Story”. And talk about peripeteia! It’s lightboxed here (click on the graphic to see it in its full glory), but the original is on raphaelB’s site.
My French isn’t strong enough to remember what “Il revient et il bave” means. I’m assuming it’s an idiom because it literally means “He returns and he drools”. Maybe “falls”? Or “drops”? Anyone out there with a French degree that needs put to use? I’m now inspired to re-learn French for two reasons: my boyfriend has taken an interest in doing the same, and the only cartoon I really understood on raphaelB’s site had the punchline, “I’m going to stop peeing on churches.” How will that help me on my next trip to Paris, I ask you?
News from home about my nephew:
The boy during schoolwork:
Me: “OK, spell ‘here.’”
Boy:“Give me a minute.”
Me: “OK.”
Boy: “I’m trying to picture it in my head.”
long pause, face tightened with effort
Boy: “Nope. There’s nothing in my head but dark.”
and
More interesting notes about the boy, this one regarding how bright he is.
We’re driving to Tae Kwon Do yesterday and I’ve got The Pogues–they’re an Irish band, Mom–on the radio. There’s a moment of silence where he listens to the singer and he says, “That guy isn’t American, is he?”
Big props.
I second that!
Last week, I sent my brother a link to the now-viral College Humor video, “We Didn’t Start the Flame War”, which we both found to be horrifyingly accurate and therefore hysterical. Then a few days ago, he sent me this email:
I am reading Gorgias and this quote reminded me of the Flame War video you sent along the other day.
Socrates: I suppose Gorgias, that like me you must have been present at many arguments, and have observed how difficult the parties find it to define exactly what the subject is which they have taken in hand and to come away from their discussion mutually enlightened; what usually happens is that, as soon as they disagree and one declares the other to be mistaken or obscure in what he says, they lose their temper and accuse one another of speaking from motives of personal spite and in an endeavour to score a victory rather than to investigate the question at issue; and sometimes they part on the worst possible terms, after such an exchange of abuse that the bystanders feel vexed on their own account that they ever thought it worth their while to listen to such people.
And that in 405 BCE, eh?
Mr. Portokalos was right, everything can be traced back to the Greeks.
How I wish this graph from GraphJam weren’t as true as it is:
If I had a criticism, it’s that the creator was too generous with the “time spend doing legitimate research.” As a teacher I rely on my also being a tutor to know when my students show up at the Learning Lab to start typing their homework (sadly ranging from twenty minutes to an hour before the paper is due). Not that I wouldn’t be able to divine it even if I couldn’t see it every day with my own eyes. At the beginning of the semester, I do diagnostic essays with all my students to get a baseline on their skills and weaknesses. If in a matter of hours their English-aptness suddenly includes words like “frissible” or sentences like “It has been said that Derrida was the Camilla Paglia of his time but with a better haircut” I’m pretty sure that the work has been “wiki-enhanced”. Yet, for some reason, my students think I won’t notice or, worse, that I’ll let it slide, which is why I find find this graph to be more true and therefore more disturbing:
Let me tell you a story.
I hate plagiarism. I find it unnecessary, lazy and, quite frankly, insulting (see “baseline skills” above). At the beginning of every semester when I review my syllabus, I spend a good 10 – 15 minutes explaining what I think of plagiarism and cheating (see previous sentence) and what will happen if I catch a student engaging in this behavior (“I will make it my mission to be sure you are kicked out of school and not allowed back in. Don’t believe me? Try it. You’ll see what happens. Still don’t believe me? I’ll bet you know at least two students I’ve had expelled. Ask them if I’m serious.”). And yet every semester someone (sometimes “someones“) tries to pass off a Google-bite as their own. Worse, when I tell them they’re out of my class they argue with me even after I show them the print out of the page they copy-and-pasted.
Last semester, a student – I can’t remember her name so we’ll call her “Twyla McLesbianish” – was absent when we did in-class peer-editing, so it was up to me to give feedback on her rough draft. Which I did. Which wasn’t her work. Transparently. Obviously. Not. Her. Work. Twelve seconds on Google got me the article her intro was taken from. Twelve. So, I decided to do… nothing. If this student was honest, she would recognize her work as a fraud and change it to reflect her own abilities; however, if she were out for a “fast A”, then I’d let her hang herself.
She decided to hang herself in the final draft.
So, I did what I said I was going to do: I wrote a note on Twyla’s paper explaining why she was be withdrawn from my class, stapled the Google page to “her” paper, copied all of it and submitted it to the Dean, then deleted her from my class and gradebook. And just because I’m a swell guy, I emailed her as well, just so she wouldn’t show up to class unnecessarily.
The next day, Twyla came up to me in the tutoring center to ask me about a homework assignment that was due in an hour *sigh* I was somewhat taken aback because I knew she had a Sidekick and was forever checking her email, texting friends and writing Odes to Kristy McNichol on her blog. Nevertheless, I asked her if she had received my email from the previous day. She said she hadn’t. I switched into emotional neutral and explained my withdrawing her.
Normally, when I speak to students – anyone, really – I try to keep things light and jovial. However in situations like this, I remove all traces of my personality from the equation, just so no one gets the impression that I think what they did is funny or “no big deal” or that I in some way approve. I’ve recently been told this gives me a bulldoggish appearance, and I look more aggressive than passive. Students later complain that i was “mean” to them, when really I was trying to not be mean. Next time it happens (and it will) I’ll have to make a run for a mirror and see for myself how fearsome I become.
Twyla denied any wrongdoing even when I showed her her paper and the printed page from where she had lifted the text. No, I wrote that myself. What an odd coincidence! I maintained that such “coincidences” were still frowned upon, and that I had already withdrawn her from class. This was notification, not bargaining. But I didn’t cheat!
I’m sorry you think that, but I’m holding the proof here in my hands that you did.
Twyla then tried anger:
You hate Deaf people! (This goat-song has got to be the worst meme invented (personally I point to Toxic Bitch and Alleged Rapist as the flashpoint for all this chest-pounding and bleating), yet I hear it every semester with the regularity of my dog farting. If I really hated Deaf people would I have stayed in the Deaf Ed Biz for 15 years? Probably not.)
No. I hate cheating.
And because no argument is complete without triangulation, Twyla announced, I’m telling P. about this! (P. works in the registrars office as a counselor and, as much as I love her, she is really the wrong person to complain to. My boss’ name is M. She‘s the appropriate person to complain to, but she has the nose of a bloodhound when it comes to smelling bullshit at 50 paces, which, of course, is not what my students want. Honestly, P. has the same kind of nose, but she comes off as more sympathetic to the students than M. does, even if the end result is the same.)
Well, have fun with that. You’re still out of my class.
The events of the next few days leading up to the meeting with P. included a pre-meeting meeting with Patti (adults only), scheduling and re-scheduling said meeting, fending off ridiculous statements from my colleague Donika like I have a student crying in my office about being withdrawn from your class. Why don’t we try to solve this misunderstanding?, and enduring watching Twyla tell all the Deaf students within eyeshot of me how unfair I am and how much I hate Deaf people (see above) and how there should be a petition going around to get me fired blah blah blah. And when it came down to it, the whole kerfuffle felt just like “blah blah blah“:
Meeting with P. blah blah blah.
Further denial of wrongdoing blah blah blah.
My producing evidence to the contrary blah blah blah blah.
Student claiming she didn’t do it (it seems it was her girlfriend who typed the paper, which doesn’t help her case at all as it’s still an expulsive offense (“unauthorized collaboration”); which makes me wonder how said girlfriend would feel about being thrown under the bus that way) blah blah blah.
My expressing no sympathy blah blah blah.
Student threatening to call her parents (even though FERPA laws prevent me from discussing any student’s grade with any person in the world except said student) blah blah blah.
My explaining FERPA to student blah blah blah.
Student deciding to escalate to my boss, M. blah blah blah.
Huffy departure from P.’s office blah blah blah.
My wondering why I still do this blah blah blah.
By this time, I had spent almost three hours explaining a policy I had already taken 15 minutes to explain on the first day of class, compared to the 75 seconds it took me to identify the cheating and fill out the withdrawal paperwork. My ray of hope was that M. would look at the student and say, “Get out of my office.” Which she did. Metaphorically speaking (M.’s too classy a dame to be that dismissive).
So, long story short: I have no sympathy for people who cheat and waste my time. I have even less time and sympathy for liars who want to avoid the consequences of their actions. So, if any of my students are reading this, be warned. Again.
This week I adopted two new pet obsessions – “Sorority Girls from Hell!!” (“DUNH dah dah DUNH dah dah HAHAHAHAHAH!!!”) and this cartoon form HijiNKS Ensue:
This is just one of the extensive BSG-based comics the guys at HE have come up with. The commentary that accompanies each is worth the visit every time. Also, if you need to get me a gift, the have this t-shirt (I’m a medium. I AM!):
A little late in the season, perhaps, but if they update it to “’12″, I know which cancer-ridden president I’ll be voting for!
“I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use.”
– Galileo Galilei
With any sort of luck, extremist Christianity is gasping its last, though if what I saw on January 4, 2009 at the Creation Museum in Petersburg, KY is any indication, they’re definitely going down fighting, even if it’s through a fog of self-deception and pitiable myopia. Dedicated to the beliefs that a.) the Earth was created in six days, b.) the Earth is a mere 6,000 years old, c.) Noah’s flood was a worldwide disaster and d.) dinosaurs roamed Eden alongside Adam and Eve, the Creation Museum was a have-to-go side trip on my way back to Texas after two weeks at home with my family. Why did I go? To make fun of it? To know what is being said? To satisfy my curiosity? To know the enemy? To see if I’m missing out on something? Ostensibly, this was a side-vacation to see the ever-adorable Jonathan Riggs, but why this place to meet up?
Ever Adorable. Amen.
down the rabbit hole
Of late, whenever I’m approached at a red light by someone from a church organization looking for a donation to keep drugs off kids or trout-mouth slatterns out of the Senate offices or whatever, I tell them I’m an atheist. I’m not (per se), but it ends the discussion and makes me feel like I’ve ruined someone’s good time. I know. It’s horrible of me, and it’s also becoming something of a compulsion. One that I’m going to have to get control of, especially after what I did a few minutes ago.
Last night, we had snow in Austin, and my friend Ann changed her status on Facebook to something about how we should all pray for more snow, and then this happened:
It gets worse, the respondent is a kid, maybe 19. It’s like firing cannonballs at a dinghy, I know, but… eek. This is not good, and certainly not in the Christmas Spirit. I’m not moved to apologize or delete the comment, mind you. I’m more concerned about my becoming someone I wouldn’t want to hang out with.
When Joan Osbourne asked “What If God Were One of Us?” (sorry to be a grammar Nazi, but the subjunctive is a beautiful thing) she had no idea that He might actually dive headlong into our Culture of Exhibitionism and get a Facebook page chronicling his best LULz ever: the Creation of the World.
by Andrew B.
Not being a big fan of the Big Guy’s Biggest Fans (you know who you are), I often hope funny things like this raise their blood pressure up just that much more.
From my brother:
So Dominic and I are playing today.
D: Let’s do that scene in Spider-Man.
Me: Which one?
D: The one with the Green Goblin on the balcony.
Me: There aren’t that many lines there. Its just him fighting Spider-Man most of the time.
D: No, the scene with MJ.
Me: When MJ is going to fall off the balcony?
D: No. She’s on the edge of the balcony.
Me: Right, where the Green Goblin kills those guys with that bomb?
D: No, the Green Goblin has MJ here (puts arm out) and those people here (puts other arm out).
Me: Oh! That’s not a balcony, little man; that’s a bridge.
D: Oh.
Me: Yeah, he had MJ and those kids on the bridge, right? At the end?
D: Right.
Me: Where he gave Spider-Man a Sadistic Choice. Can you say “Sadistic Choice”?
D: “Sadistic Choice.”
Me: Good.
D: OK. Let’s do that scene.
Me: I don’t know the lines from that scene.
D: (no pause) Me neither.
I really wonder who this kid is going to turn out to be one day.
Via my brother
So Dominic and I are playing “Castle” today. This is a game we play with his castle and teams of knights set up. One player picks a knight to attack another on the opposing player’s team and then rolls a die. If a 1, 2 or 3 is rolled, the attacking knight misses. A 4, 5, or 6 yields a hit and the attacked knight dies and is taken out of the game.
The last time we played, Dominic secured a siege ladder to the castle walls using a rubber band. One of the guys got tangled up in it and hung from the walls. He thought that was cool, so now whenever one of my guys bites it, he gets hung from the castle walls.
So today:
D: I’m going to put this up here and any of your dead guys get hung here.
Me: OK. You know, real kings back in the day would do the same thing to their enemies. To teach them a lesson.
D: What lesson?
Me: Don’t fight the king.
D: (confirming tone) Or he’ll destroy you.
Flawless.
I know I know I know I know I know I know I said I wasn’t going to get into the political arena here
BUT
this is totally relevant to my favorite hobby: comic books). Strewth! Hayden Panettiere of Heroes (see?) did a PSA telling Americans they should “…smoke, vote for John McCain and not wear safety belts.” Really, I could also say here how much I admire her ability for parallelism. It’s the English nerd in me.
I swear I would post something bi-partisan if the GOP came up with something just as funny and true. Oh, and related to comic books.
Normally, I’d say “Keep the kids away from the Bible! You don’t know where it’s been!” but these takes on those stories of dubious origin are kinda charming, especially the retelling of the story of Saint Patrick by a child from the film Give Up Your Aul Sins. It’s the simple Faith I love.
Then there’s this sarcastic git:
Hysterical and accurate. I wish there were more.
