Archive for January, 2009

Try to restrain yourselves

Saturday, January 31st, 2009
Yum-my.

Yum-my. That sour puss kind of reminds me of the Cowardly Lion. Or sucking on a lemon.

All right, ladies. I have some pretty exciting news. The moment we’ve all been waiting for has arrived: The world’s most eligible pensioner (drawing a handsome $6070 a month) is back on the market. Try not to get too worked up.

Fiancee moves out of Drew Peterson’s home

Ex-cop suspected in disappearance of fourth wife says ‘it’s over’
BOLINGBROOK, Ill. – A woman who became engaged to a former suburban Chicago police sergeant suspected in his wife’s 2007 disappearance moved out of his home Friday, hours after he spoke about his current and past relationships on a national television show.

Christina Raines, 24, removed her belongings from Drew Peterson’s home as the woman’s father looked on. Peterson, 55, is suspected in the October 2007 disappearance of his fourth wife, Stacy Peterson. Peterson has not been charged, but authorities have said they are investigating the disappearance as a possible homicide.

Peterson has denied any involvement in his wife’s disappearance and has maintained that he believes she left him for another man. Peterson declined to discuss reasons for the breakup with his fiancee, though Selig said it was prompted by Peterson’s appearance Thursday on ABC’s “Nightline.”

Peterson had said on the show that he treated Raines “better than she’s ever been treated.”

Hours later, Raines, her father, Ernest, and a TV crew came to the home to retrieve her belongings. Authorities also are investigating the death of Peterson’s third wife, Kathleen Savio, whose body was found in an empty bathtub in her house in 2004. After Stacy Peterson disappeared, authorities reopened the investigation of Savio’s death, which was originally classified as an accident. Her body was exhumed and her death was reclassified as a homicide following an autopsy.

In December, Peterson had said he was concerned media attention might strain and ultimately end the relationship with Raines, who at the time was 23 — the same age as Stacy Peterson when she disappeared.

No, thats not his daughter. Thats his fourth wife. The one thats missing. Disturbing on so many levels...

No, that's not his daughter. That's his fourth wife. No, not the one that died in the tub. The one that's missing. Disturbing on so many levels...

That’s the downside, girls. Papa likes ‘em young. A solid 30+ year gap, it seems. That puts me well out of the running. I could only be his daughter, not a granddaughter. Even in Appalachia.

However, for those of you young enough to apply (or willing to undergo the cosmetic surgery necessary to ‘pass’), think of the excitement a year-long marriage to a retired cop and probable serial killer could be! Evading death, trying to determine if your food’s too salty or if that’s poison you taste, always wondering if the brakes are actually going to work when you push the pedal…

Oh, the bestseller you could write! (If you live long enough, that is. Otherwise, there’s always that line about ‘only the good dying young’ to comfort those left behind…)

 

Good luck, and don’t forget to have your parents take out a large insurance policy!

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Stupid things that bother me

Friday, January 30th, 2009
You gotta love Austin

Only in Austin.

So thanks to this (not great, but not bad) horror movie “Mirrors” starring Kiefer Sutherland that I watched last night, I’ve spent a chunk of my morning wondering about things that aren’t real and don’t matter…but still bug me.

You see, Kiefer plays this guy who gets a job as a security guard for this department store that burned down, and his first night there the mirrors all over the place start acting scary and come after him for no apparent reason. And by three nights there the freaky monsters in the mirror have killed his sister and are after his family. But the thing of it is, there’s ANOTHER security guard who’s been there for like 15 years and he’s FINE. And he never even says, “Hey, whatever you do, don’t look in the mirrors because they’re evil. And they’ll kill you and everyone you know within a week.” In fact, he seems blissfully ignorant.

And sure, the happy go lucky ‘no evil here’ security guard has the day shift, but what about in December when it’s dark until 8am and gets dark again at 4pm? Surely he’s been in that place in a limited light situation??? Near as I can tell, it’s not even that well-lit during the day. And besides, the mirrors seem to have no problem acting evil during the day (like when the little kid is talking to himself in one of them. It was day.) so some kind of explanation like they only initiate the first evil-doing in the dark seems overly complex.

But that’s another one of those scary movie plot devices that gets tiresome: The overly complex engagement. Like if you were an evil entity able to wreak havoc and destroy life, would you really only wait for someone to watch a bizarre student art film on video (I mean, who even watches video anymore? I’d rather watch something on an iPod than fire up a VHS machine. I mean, what if the tape isn’t at the beginning and the rewind function isn’t working on the machine? Remember how eventually everyone had to buy a separate little rewinder box?) before calling them and whispering “seven days” and unleashing a world of hurt and terror?

Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to prey on all the kids playing “Bloody Mary or “Light as a feather, stiff as a board” or telling ghost stories or pulling the wings off flies or just hang out in department store mirrors and pick on whoever looks gullible? Or how about hanging out at your local Cracker Barrell as a seemingly innocent-looking puzzle box that you trick people into solving…and then unleash upon them painful chains and whips and a new life in a sadistic hell, a la Hellraiser, and all for half-heartedly fooling with a Rubix cube?

Or how about anything involving zombies? People love zombies almost as much as they fear them. And they’re unstoppable. That’s what makes them such good plot devices as well as super useful for sequel after sequel after sequel. You can’t keep a good zombie down.

Speaking of which, you’ve got to have some love in your heart for Austin, the only thing that makes Texas bearable AND where some hilarious people managed to hack into some construction update signs and display the following warnings for several hours. If only every city had citizens so funny.

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Drunk as a Peruvian Janitor

Wednesday, January 28th, 2009

Nice drunk work if you can get it.

Nice drunk work if you can get it.

You can’t fire me, I’m drunk!

 

LIMA – Peru’s top court has ruled that workers cannot be fired for being drunk on the job, a decision that was criticized by the government on Wednesday for setting a dangerous precedent.

The Constitutional Tribunal ordered that Pablo Cayo be given his job back as a janitor for the municipality of Chorrillos, which fired him for being intoxicated at work.

The firing was excessive because even though Cayo was drunk, he did not offend or hurt anybody, Fernando Calle, one of the justices, said on Wednesday.

Calle said the court would not revise its decision, despite complaints from the government.

“It’s not a good idea to relax rules at workplaces,” said Labor Minister Jorge Villasante.

Celso Becerra, the administrative chief of Chorrillos, a suburb of Lima, denounced the ruling.

“We’ve fired four workers for showing up drunk, and two of them were drivers,” he said. “How can we allow a drunk to work who might run somebody over?”

 

Ah, Peru. Where they eat guinea pigs, drink fermented corn, and promote the rights of working alcoholics with a cheerful laissez faire attitude toward the consequences.

 

Now before you go and get all carried away with plans to move to Peru, start guzzling chicha and drinking yourself blind while simultaneously earning income as the friendly, plastered, local janitor…there are several critical considerations:

 

Anybody seen my bucket? I thought I left it right... What day is this? Wednesday? Whaddayasayin? Sabado? What the hell is that?

Anybody seen my bucket? I thought I left it right... What day is this? Wednesday? Whaddayasayin? Sabado? What the hell is that?

 

 

 

 

l        Do you have what it takes to drink all day, every day?

l        Think about the last time you were on vacation. Did slugging back Mai Tais by the pool for six hours send you into a fast and semi-unconscious slumber? Or were you still able to put back three bottles of wine and a six-pack before hotel security got involved?

l        Do you regularly get cut off after the fourth or fifth martini or are there bars all over town where you’re running a four-digit tab?

l        Have your family and friends performed at least three (failed) interventions on you?

l        Is there a suite named after you at Promises?

l        Are there any photos where you look like this?

 

Provided you passed the above evaluation with flying colors, it’s at this point you really need to evaluate what kind of drunk you are.

Waaaaaah! I love you, Leonardi DiCaprio!

Waaaaaah! I love you, Leonardi DiCaprio!

l          Emotional wreck -  If your nicknames are Town Crier, Don’t Cry for me Argentina, and Water Works or if two Cosmos have you bawling like Kate Winslet at the Golden Globes, Peruvian janitor could be a good match. At least that’s what your few remaining friends said. And it would help if you don’t speak any Spanish. Check into the employee benefits for mental health care while you’re at it.

 

l        Silly drunk – If you look better with a lampshade on your head and everything seems a whole lot funnier after three vodka tonics, then taking out the trash while drunk should be a HOOT. Run, don’t walk, to the nearest international airport.

l        Mean drunk – You know who you are. Cuts, bruises, broken bones…and you should see the other guy! Remember, what got Pablo Cayo his job back is that he didn’t offend or HURT anybody. Should you really be in possession of a broom handle while intoxicated?

l        Slutty drunk – Broom closet + any available warm body = HELL-O new janitor!!!

l        Sleepy drunk – Not to invoke any cultural stereotypes or offend anyone or anything, but you should fit right in! I think you’re a natural Peruvian janitor. Remember, they don’t call it a siesta for nothing.

l        Stupid drunk – Stupid like you can’t remember the name of the town you grew up in or stupid like you rob a liquor store and then try to exit through the miniature bathroom window? Assess your limits, remember you will be working with toxic chemicals, and make the career choice that’s least likely to result in your winning a Darwin Award.

l        Unconscious drunk – This is probably more of a ‘step two’ than a natural inclination. If your drinking tends to end when you come to three days later in a dumpster with a fresh raccoon tail in your hair and a tattoo that says “ Monica can eat cheese”, Peruvian janitor may be too labor intensive. Consider positions like Plasma Donor, Gonzo Journalist, or Michael Dukakis’ wife instead.

 

Buen suerte and buen trabajo!

 

 

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This is how it’s gonna go down

Tuesday, January 27th, 2009

Newspaper claims suspect transformed into a goat

LAGOS, Nigeria – One of Nigeria‘s biggest daily newspapers reported that police implicated a goat in an attempted automobile theft. In a front-page article on Friday, the Vanguard newspaper said that two men tried to steal a Mazda car two days earlier in Kwara State, with one suspect transforming himself into a goat as vigilantes cornered him.

The paper quoted police spokesman Tunde Mohammed as saying that while one suspect escaped, the other transformed into a goat as he was about to be apprehended.

The newspaper reported that police paraded the goat before journalists, and published a picture of the animal.

Okay. Here’s how it’s gonna go down:

Me, Jimmy, and Spike shape-shift into panthers and go into the bank. Steve? You transform into a Blue Whale and wait outside, singing as loudly as you can, just like we did that time at that Lexus dealership.

The sound of the singing should provide ample distraction, during which time, JoJo and I will collide our rings, scream out “Wonder Twin powers…ACTIVATE!!!” and change into a silver back gorilla and a bucket of dirty mop water, respectively.

JoJo/Gorilla, you then pick up the bucket and throw me all over the teller line, while simultaneously pounding your chest and handing them a note to place the cash into the bags. Maybe include a line in the note about ‘any funny business and you’ll be dealing with the business end of a panther’ or something like that? And then gesture toward Jimmy, who will let out a ferocious sound or maybe swat at the air.

While this is going on, Spike will metamorphosize into a West African elephant and quickly suck up all the spilled water and place me back into the bucket, which he will pick up and carry with his trunk. Meanwhile, JoJo will carry the bags of money into the lobby area where all four of us will shape shift into a flock of cockatiels, grab two money bags apiece, fly outside, and give Steve the signal…which is? I expect to hear everybody say it together.

That’s right, “Pretty Bird.”

You may want to practice this with two large bags of cash in your beak.

Meanwhile, Steve, when you hear the signal, release the cage of decoy cockatiels stored in your blowhole, transform into a sewer rat, and meet us at the secret hideout.

If you see any shamans, sorcerers, witch doctors, or Zulu medicine priests DO NOT make eye contact and don’t let them throw a handful of bones at you. If they start chanting, hum “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” really loud to drown it out.

Otherwise, the plan is pretty much foolproof.

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Butterfish Blowout

Monday, January 26th, 2009
Yea, baby! Raw! This oughtta get the job done twice as fast!

Yea, baby! Raw! This oughtta get the job done twice as fast!

A little over a year ago, the Butterfish and I first met. It was a cold, snowy night on the lake in western New York – isn’t it always? In hindsight, I was just an innocent babe then; trusting and carefree. But not for long.

Although it spent just minutes in my mouth, the Butterfish legacy is a memory that will haunt me for many years to come.

I was in Buffalo attending some meetings, and since my boss never wanted to spring for a rental car, I had to slog a half a mile twice each day in three feet of snow past drug dealers and panhandlers and uphill and in four-inch heels. Worst of all, I was more or less trapped at the Hampton Inn each night. Food options were scarce, but there was an Asian fusion restaurant downstairs that offered room service. I’d eaten there the night before and opted for some Thai soup and a salad, which was pretty good. However, on this particular night I was tempted by the butterfish, touted as the ‘filet mignon of the sea.’

Filet mignon, you say? And for just $17.99? Bring it on!!!

A half an hour later, it was delivered to me in a Styrofoam box along with some plastic cutlery. Despite the unassuming presentation, I will say that on the way down it was delicious. Rich, flavorful, and quite buttery – it really was some damn good fish. I still recall savoring the last bites, as little did I know that the filet mignon of the sea doubles as the Ex-Lax of the sea.

But more about that in a second.

What I’m about to describe you will not doubt find disturbing. Not quite as disturbing as I did that cold December week…but disturbing. Nonetheless, I consider it a critical public service to warn you about the dire threat this unassuming salt water dweller poses to your underwear, your pants, and yes, even your couch.

Remember “Olestra”? The fake oil put into “WOW” potato chips, potent enough to require that warnings be posted on the bags?

Kudos to wwwpmcaregiverscom where I found this image.

Kudos to www.pmcaregivers.com, where I found this image.

Well, move over, Olestra. Butter fish would like to show you how it’s done.

You see, although it’s oh-so-good on the way down, Butter fish – thanks to its high content of indigestible wax esters – makes orange oil shoot out of your @ss. Whenever it so pleases. For a week.

Why am I bringing this up?

Well, because I saw it on two menus in Hawaii! And I only ate out three times. And it was presented there as a viable entree, without any kind of posted warning or danger symbol or requirements to sign a waiver. And because I’m just insane enough that I was tempted to get it just to see if it was as good as I remembered and – of course – for blogging purposes. Because no one loves stories about inadvertently ruining rental cars and plane seats more than me. Guaranteed hilarity! But then thoughts of my window seat on a packed six-hour red eye – and the reality that they probably wouldn’t let me switch seats after I ruined mine – knocked me back to my senses.

Anyway, when heading into battle, it’s important to know the enemy. Like any good demonic entity, the fish is known by many names:

  • “Butterfish”

  • “Hawaiian Walu”

  • Sphincter Surprise”

  • Escolar”

  • Thar She Blows!”

  • Fire Butt”

  • “Super white Tuna”

  • Say Goodbye to Those Khakis”

and

  • King Tuna”

And if that isn’t enough, take a gander at this little nugget of investigative reporting I swiped from another site reporting this alarming but absurd (but true!) story as hard-hitting news:

‘As early as 1990, the FDA issued a warning bulletin recommending the cessation of escolar exportation due to the unpleasant evacuation results. It was lifted a short time later because the fish was found to be “nontoxic.” Meanwhile, Japan banned sale of it the fish outright, a ban that continues to this day. In 2007, the Canadian Food Inspection Agency issued a “fact sheet” about escolar that alerted customers to the potential for adverse effects.’

And from this I conclude three things:

  1. The American obesity epidemic might be greatly reduced if we started subbing escolar into all Friday ‘Fish and Chips’ school lunches.

  2. The Japanese are an imminently sane and rational people.

  3. Should you decide to try a little Butterfish for yourself, insist that the waiter provide you with a doggie bag full of Depends adult diapers and a Tide Stain Stick ToGo. And make sure you have an aisle seat for the flight home.

Bon Appetit!

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