I’m too tired to assiduously avoid “blogosphere” “memes.” God, I can’t even fucking believe I typed that sentence, quote or no quotes. I’m not even a big fan o’ Scoble, given he works for the man whose software I begrudgingly use.
But, what the fuck right? Today’s word of the day is brrreeeport. Count me among the lazy and mildly unimaginative, but hip to what the kids do on the internet.
Maybe it’s the “mild heart attack” of Attorney Whittington down in Texas. Maybe it’s the dull throbbing ache of many a painful VD of February 14’s past (like ghosts of Christmas past, but with more crying). Or maybe it’s the frightful level of domesticity I have achieved with M.
I dunno.
But, honestly, I just can’t get juiced for the Hallmark of hearts and flowers. Sure, we had dinner. And, I tried to accuse him of flirting with the waitress to add a little spark to the night. All in all, though, we’re talking Tuesday in February. What’s so fucking sloppy kissed wonderful about that?
By the way, and completely unrelated, the evilest, darkest, wickedest, fucked upped part of my soul is kind of hoping Cheney inadvertently croaks the guy. I know, I suck, wishing something like that on a guy who ain’t done nothing against me but be a Republican Texas lawyer. But, still and all, if’n it’s manslaughter, even this fucked, Teflon-sliding bunch of humps in the current Executive Branch Administration might have to face some music. Fucking A, I mean, perjury, influence peddling and assorted other flavors of malfeasance don’t stick. Maybe a chilling body might.
Look at me with fear and awe. We paid the few bucks to the hard-working hawkers at Penang’s famous Snake Temple.
I am Medusa; I am tamer of beasts. And, M. he looks OK, too. (By the way, those are pit vipers. Some say they are defanged, some say devenomed, but local legend has it their au naturel and just digging the happy temple vibe enough not to kill you.
I never really forgave James Brady for stopping with his own body the bullet meant for Ronnie Reagan. But, shit, despite getting shot, this man has a fine sense of humor.
You just gotta have love and respect for Jim and Sarah Brady’s take on the VP’s fun with guns.
So, the Veep went hunting his buddy’s face. What a rascal, our Dick.
The knee-jerk, bleeding from my 2004-four-more-years-of-this-bullshit, martyred stigmata liberal in me would love to whine about guns, gun safety, gun control, saving cuddly animals and why can’t we all just get along rainbows and unicorns. But fuck that shit.
Why the fuck are we as a nation paying out hard-earned income taxed dollars for this old geezer to spend the weekend shooting at things? Read the fine print in the article — security and medical personnel were on hand to help the poor schmoe with the VIP buckshot-riddled face. Why were security and medical personnel hanging about at the ready? Because Cheney is a frail old coot with a heart kept throbbing by batteries and the blood of welfare babies.
He ain’t Teddy Roosevelt. His candy ass is rough riding only as long as a defibrallator is rolling inches behind him in a tricked out Secret Service Escalade that maintains just enough distance for him to make pretend he’s a rugged outdoorsman. Seriously, it’s 2006. The gentleman hunter image is a throwback to at least a century back, when Mother England filled imperialist dens and museums with taxidermy exotica. You figure he was going to catch and release the quail or does he need them for food?
No wonder most of the world hates our U.S. guts.
While I’m at it and speaking of the world at large. Thank fucking god I was out of the country when the two-fer of wristslashing depression occurred, the appointment of Sammy, say good by to rights and all that sort of messiness, Alito and the State of the Union Address. I saved myself a fortune on psych bills and Prozac by missing them both entirely.
Happily, I can report, though, that the whole Danish cartoon thang wasn’t actually causing that half of the planet to burn out of control, as Western press might have you believe.
Just like here, the local Malaysia papers were full of local crimes, drownings, domestic murders, car accidents and completely misreading other governments and cultures. Only difference is, they don’t delusionally believe their press is anything but controlled.
I just wrote a prose poem to a shitty day, complete with the drama and tension of a co-worker fucking my mojo up. (Past readers can dig how much I like the joys of office bullshit.)
It ended with Old Man, Control Freak, Landlord Nick instructing us on how best to mind the house more than our own naked asses while showering.
Then, I accidentally closed the browser, because I’m stupid. Fucking universe, I fucking hate it all the way through, including Danish cartoons featuring religious idolatry, which really should make me laugh. Nope, just a big ball of hate.
Just to cheer myself up, here’s a couple of pictures I took at Penang’s Botanical Gardens:
This looks crappy, since I created gifs from the webpage. Although, if you’re reading through an RSS feed, it ain’t half bad. You really should look at the website by CLICKING HERE or CLICKING HERE, I guess I’m assuming if you’re reading this you have the Internet.
By the way, best quote of the Malaysian trip said at the hotel “The Internet is closed for the holiday.”
I started uploading the millions of pictures I took. I’ve also ruminated on what I should write, so expect something lengthy soon.
Meanwhile, the beginning of the pics can be found here:
I guess the title says it all.
We got in around 5 p.m. I’ve showered and contemplated and teased the hell out of M. in regard to my fondness for the native soil. It’s now about 9 p.m. I’ve read emails but not responded. M. is in bed, and soon I will be as well.
Too much to write about and too tired. And, miles to go before I sleep.
