I think most product warnings are silly, and I often wonder what kind of morons they are written for. Do people really use hair dryers in the bathtub? Do we really want to continue the genetic material of people that think drain cleaner is good to drink? Or the sleeping aids that list drowsiness as a side effect? Isn’t that kind of the point?
But I have one to offer that may actually provide you with some level of benefit. Trust me on this one. I have learned the hard way.
DO NOT TAKE YOUR CHILDREN TO MCDONALDS! At least for now. I realize this is a nearly impossible task since children are implanted at some point in the birth canal with an insatiable desire for whatever the guy in the big red shoes has to offer. (I think McDonalds has devised top secret technology to actually beam their commercials directly into the womb.)
I realize that a Happy Meal contains specially developed pre-teen crack and the addiction is a serious one, but you have to be strong. It will be worth it. Right now, in the Happy Meal, they are giving away Kidz Bop CDs. Some of you may not be aware of Kidz Bop, and you are so very lucky. Some sadistic studio guy decided that it would be a great idea to take some inane pop music and then have some tone deaf children sing along at the top of their lungs. He would record this abomination and burn it to CDs to distribute to children. The original plan was to ship them to Guantanamo, but the Geneva conventions forbid torture.
As unsuspecting parents, we slipped the brightly packaged disc into the car’s CD player and were subjected to this wretched thing that makes elevator music sound artistic. But that’s not the worst of it! No, they apparently commissioned the best catchy jingle writers in the business. It sticks in your mind! Long after the car is parked, the ill-conceived (begin exagerated air quotes) harmonies and melodies (/exagerated air quotes) continue to create this cacophony in your mind.
There is but one cure. Be aware that some times the cure is painful as well, but at least it will eliminate the disease. If you have been subjected to the horrific Kidz Bop CDs, click on this link.
Side effects may include: head bopping, toe-tapping, maniacal giggling, inability to see mushrooms the same way again. Use only as directed.
When you’re zeroing in on that gold bead front sight to make a long range shot with your .357, don’t lean in. Don’t forget that the last box of .357 Magnum that you picked up was a little extra spicy.
If you do, you may wind up with a gash that looks like this.
Which bears a striking resemblance to the shape of this.
Yep. That would be my big N frame .357. Not my little snubby. Hasn’t happened with the scores of spicy .357 rounds that I’ve put through it. And no, not even Michael’s .44 Magnum has ever bitten me like that. Now I know why they call it a blade site.
But I did make the shot. Barely.
When someone presents some moronic hair-brained scheme to my mother, she always asks, “Do I have idiot stamped on my forehead?” I sent her the picture so she would know what that looked like.
(Welcome Breda readers! I promise, I’ll get your comments approved shortly.)
I know I’ve mentioned my love of fabulous shoes. Actually, I’m a slave to great shoes. But it’s voluntary servitude. It won’t be required for another few months. (Why yes, I did just slip in a snide comment about Obama there.)
And the lovely green tape peeking through. Apparently, I broke my toe last night. This is not exactly an unusual occurrence for me. The unusual part is that I don’t have a clue how I did it. I must have kicked something on the way to bed last night. Either that, or I’m kicking Michael in his sleep really hard.
Any unexplained bruises this morning dear?
All I really know is that every time the covers brushed across my left foot, pain shot up my leg. This morning, it was misshapen and swollen. Once I put weight on it, it turned colors. Maybe I could write a musical: Jennifer and Her Toe of Many Colors. I’ll cast an Osmond. Now that I look at the picture, I realize the entire foot is swollen. So. Very. Attractive.
No, I have not gone to the doctor. I went to a doctor for a broken toe many years ago, and he just taped it to the next one. You know what? I have tape, and it’s in such a fetching color. I bet Mr. I-have-a-lot-of-letters-after-my-name-and-so-I’m-better-than-you doesn’t have tape in AstroTurf green. Besides, I’m just getting used to the idea of not being able to get an appointment anyway. (Yep, I did it again.)
And did I dig to the nether regions of my closet for sensible shoes? Oh hell no! Maybe now Mr. Giver-of-Crocs will take pity on me. Don’t you see what I will do to make sure my feet are outfitted in style? I could have totally rocked a pair of these today
But I’m still holding out for the purple boots.
Ha! Ha! Ha! You only thought I would grow tired of the shameless linking.
You know, like Bill Clinton.
I’ve rolled my eyes at all the unhinged leftists crying ‘Impeach Bush’ for years. You can’t impeach an elected official just because you don’t like them or disagree with them. You can’t even impeach them for being wrong. You can only impeach them if they have committed an actual crime. All of this is so obvious that I don’t even bother with it, I just roll my eyes and go on.
But it seems now I have to add another ‘You can’t impeach…’ to the list. You can’t impeach an elected official before they have taken office. The ‘Impeach Obama’ Facebook groups are an embarassment. Get a freaking grip people. I don’t like him either, but I’m going to make the best of it. I refuse to sink to the level of the leftist retards.
He has been convicted of no crime. If and when he is, there may be grounds for impeachment. Until then, find a hobby. Watch his every move and make fun of him. I don’t care. But until he actually takes office and is then convicted of a crime, you should call your group ‘Throw Rotten Bananas at Obama’ because it would actually be more relevant.
Oh Rott, always good for a laugh.
Today, like everyday, we are making fun of liberals. This one, like many, happens to be a journalist.
Here we have a picture of the scary gun-tottin’ Sarah Palin
and the comment by Elizabeth Snead
Hey, is that even the right way to hold a rifle? Can’t you shoot your foot off like that?
The title of her article is How did Newsweek get Sarah Palin to pose with a rifle?
Well I don’t know Elizabeth. Do you have any examples of her posing with a rifle in Newsweek? Because sweetie, that’s not a rifle.
This is a rifle
And a big scary assault weapon at that. Which, I might add, is pointed in a safe direction and not at the photographer.
What Sarah is holding in the stock photo on the cover of Newsweek is a shotgun. And yes, it is completely disabled with the break action open and her fingers miles away from the trigger.
Research: A completely forgotten concept that once existed in journalism.
It’s really user error. I accidentally deleted several recent comments. If you have commented recently and your comment is gone, I still love you. I just had an ID10T error. I got a little overzealous with the spam marking. Instead of just marking the ones caught in the filter, I ended up hitting all the most recent comments. My most sincere apologies.
I will try to restore them, but I make no promises
UPDATE: Success! I got them back. Hopefully, the only remaining evidence is this blog post.
Wow! I knew there were stupid people in the world. But seriously, trying to steal guns from the right under the clerk’s nose. No really, check it out. That is a real special kind of stupid.
In case anyone is unaware, the people at the gun range tend to be armed. Lucky for the morons, this particular clerk did not hit his target. Also lucky for them, no one else decided to take up the slack. I’m sure the clerk has contact with someone that can help him brush up his handgun skills. Even if the people that worked there were not armed, a large number of the patrons would be. God must have been watching over these idiots is all I can say.
Sometimes there is genetic material that should just be purged from the pool. We can all hope that should these guys ever reproduce that there is some recombinant DNA that falls into the mix.
I blame the liberals. They’ve taught these guys that there is no need to work for the things you want or need. They have shown them that they are entitled to it by virtue of…um…virture of…I almost had it there..virtue of…well no one really knows. The nanny state will take care of them and there are no consequences to their actions.
UPDATE: Here is a link to the video
There are certain people that we all have in our lives that belong in a certain setting. We fail to recognize them as actual people with lives outside of this particular environment. Seeing them outside of their standard roles can shake us up a bit. We recognize them as familiar, but can’t place them without the appropriate context.
Case in point:
A while back, my husband and I started attending a church which we finally joined. After doing the whole church hunting bit, we had finally found one that we really liked. (Church hunting sucks. It’s like going on blind dates with 150 new people every weekend.) So we started attending regularly and getting to know the congregation.
Week after week I saw this woman who just struck me as someone I knew elsewhere. I tried to place her to no avail. I tried to write it off. I had been a bank teller at a bank in the area for a year so lots of people were familiar from there, but again I was unsuccessful. I was certain that I actually knew this woman. That I had some regular business with her. I snooped around to try and find out her name hoping that would jog my memory. No dice. I was unsuccessful in discovering her name through basic detective work.
I finally decided to bite the bullet and ask her name directly. Which she ever so sweetly told me.
The shock realization embarrassment utter-mortification hit me like 3 tons of bricks. Rather than introduce myself, I immediately jumped onto to table to lie on my back. I put my knees in the air to peer at her from the far more familiar vantage point. Ah yes, this woman is acquainted with my vagina. I kid you not, I go to church with my gynecologist.
Ok, so I didn’t really jump on the table, but I felt like turning myself inside out. Which, I suppose, would have triggered her memory about how she knows me.
I’m going to see her today. We’ve both made the connection at this point. When I leave the office, she will say, “See you Sunday.” Thankfully, she sees less of me then.