Like many of you, I get spam. Oodles and oodles of it. Most of it gets filtered out by my mail client, but some gets through. This one was too good not to share:

From: maric52@sbb.co.yu
Subject: Hunger Strike 80 Days
Date: August 26, 2004 4:59:44 AM PDT
To: maric52@sbb.co.yuDragan Maric

Sincerely,

This is the second “political” spam I’ve gotten . The first was more targeted: it was a screed against Kevin McKeown, one of Santa Monica’s city councilmembers. It’s only going to get worse.

Filed under: Complete Wastes of Time



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When one gives a person weapons, explosives, lightsabers, katanas, rocks or pointy sticks, one has armed that person.

When one takes a refrigerator and monkeys with its innards and turns it into a Doomsday Device, one has weaponized that refrigerator.

Weaponize means to turn something into a weapon. It does not mean to give someone weapons. The only way I know to weaponize someone is to give him retractable adamantium claws.

I only bring this up because I saw someone write about Imperial Japan “weaponizing its expatriates” during WWII. I don’t have anything to add to the discussion, other than, dude, the only way Japan could’ve weaponized its expats would’ve been to teach them something out of Street Fighter that would’ve allowed them to shoot fireballs out of their rectums. The word is armed. Armed.

I mean, if I have to use proper English to get editors to read my stuff, why doesn’t everyone else?

Filed under: Spleen Venting



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In the interest of lifting up the National Discourse, I give you this from Ed Cone: Don’t Talk While I’m Interrupting.

Speaking of the National Discourse, I have two lazyweb questions:

First, we all know about Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr’s duel. Who were the last American politcians to duel to the death? (And, a followup: would more Americans pay attention if today’s candidates were required to do the pistols-at-dawn bit? Would that be on basic cable?)

Second, the bio of John Adams I’m reading has a cartoon of two Congressmen going at each other with fire tongs and a walking stick. When was the last physical altercation on the floor of Congress? (And, if Congressional fistfights came back into fashion, would C-SPAN become more popular? Would the guy who introduces the President to the Speaker get replaced by the “Let’s get ready to rummmmmmmble!” guy?)

Filed under: Other People's Brilliance



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This previous post was uncalled for. It was weak. It was unenlightened. It was, in short, destructive, and my motto for this year has been “Build up; don’t tear down.” (It probably sounds better in Latin.)

Demanding the tongues of Bob Costas and Katie Couric solves nothing. It leaves them with serious oral hygiene problems, and it also means that some other vapid morons will take their places. These moves will lend speed to the aliens and their rendering machines; they’ll know that we’re barbaric and that we’re idiots and thus have no compunction about boiling us for machine lube.

No, the better thing, the more enlightened thing, the constructive thing is to ask for Katie and Bob to become more erudite. More articulate. More clueful. So, I ask you both: please, for our sakes, don’t be vapid. Don’t be morons. If you have something to say that’s relevant to what’s happening on screen (and by relevant I mean increases the knowledge and intelligence of the audience, not this reminds me of something funny that Al Roker once told me in the NBC steam room during a nice schvitz), then, by all means, lay it on us. If, however, you feel the need to comment on how the costumes the dancers wear brings to mind something that Sammy Sosa said after the playoffs or to say how you think it’s a shame the Dream Team got their asses handed to them by Puerto Rico, then please keep it for yourself. Think of the children. Thank you.

Filed under: Spleen Venting



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If you’re thinking about getting me and Anne a wedding present, I’d like to request two little things: the tongues of Bob Costas and Katie Couric.

I should’ve asked for them a while ago in the hopes of getting them before the opening ceremonies of the Summer Olympics, but, hey, I had lots of stuff on my mind. Plus, I didn’t think they’d be so misused.

How wrong I was.

I liked it when they stuck to their scripts and explained the symbolism of the sculpture floating overhead or the parade of living artwork that rolled by. That’s cool. That’s background information and provides this thing that people have forgotten about since learning it in fourth grade, this little thing called CONTEXT. (I think the media would be an order of magnitude less sucktacular if they would go back to their fourth grade reading comprehension worksheets and go over the lesson in context again. Hell, I think everyone should review it.) Works of art make more sense within their proper context, and the opening ceremonies are just one big ball o’ art. I commend the schulbs who did the research and wrote the script.

But when those two vapid dolts strayed from the script and started injecting their opinions on the proceedings (”Mr. Blackwell, wherever you are, we await your judgement,” said Bob ask Bjork took the stage. “I hope they measured out enough cloth for that skirt,” he said later. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” we all screamed as we watched), I knew what had to be done. I need their tongues, America, not only to make the closing ceremonies enjoyable, but to save us from their future ramblings. I need their tongues to save us from the alien hordes who watch our broadcasts and see what we’re like and are probably warming up their Big ‘N’ Burbly Human Rendering Machines to turn us into lubricants for their factories. Do you want your children to be boiled down into Lil’ Human Machine Lube? Then bring me the tongues of Bob Costas and Katie Couric, for all our sakes.

Filed under: Spleen Venting



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Dear Lady In The Mercedes Convertible-

Madam, I don’t know what the dealer told you when he sold you that car, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t trump California state law. I’m also pretty sure that same state law says that you cannot roll your car through the intersection and come within a Botox needle’s width from my ass. Wait until I’m on the curb, and then you can fire away.

Keep in mind that I didn’t use any profanity when addressing your oversight of pedestrian right-of-way, as it would have curdled the ears of your daughter there in the passenger seat. I couldn’t hear what you said, but I’m sure it wasn’t pretty. Someone with your driving manners probably doesn’t have good speaking manners, either. And that’s what it all comes down to: manners. Politeness. Being aware of other’s people’s rights to cross the street with arms full of groceries and not get clipped by some twit in a Mercedes. That probably isn’t in your owner’s manual, but I hope you’ll keep it in mind next time you drive through my neighborhood. In the meantime, I hope your implants implode.

Love and kisses,
-Adam

Filed under: Spleen Venting



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