Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Jesus Wants Your PIN. (Part II)

Jesus Wants Your PIN. :

    I have to admit, I find it somewhat flattering that a celebrity preacher would go through all the fuss of creating an AOL Journal so as to address my concerns regarding the use of "tithing kiosks."

    Anyway, Mr. Baker, the problem I have is best stated in the Times article here:

The Bakers charge between $2,000 and $5,000 for the kiosks, which come in a variety of configurations. They also collect a monthly subscription fee of up to $49.95 for licensing and support. And a card-processing company gets 1.9% of each transaction; a small cut of that fee goes to SecureGive.
    I find this to be somewhat interesting in that these machines not only give to the church, but they also give to you.  In short, you are using Christian charity for your own personal gain. 

    Now, in your journal, you come close to answering this concern, yet you skirt the issue by saying:
On the first glance, an ATM for Jesus seems to be a way of "ill-gotten" gain, but it's not.  The giving kiosks at Stevens Creek Church is a simple way that our members serve Christ and His Church.  Giving must be a heart issue.  It's not about the machine ... it's about what God can do through ordinary people like you and me.
    Wrong.  It IS most certainly about the machines, and has very little to do with God.  When someone gives to the church from the heart, shouldn't 100% of that "gift" given in Jesus' name go TO the church?  Are your parishioners aware that a percentage of the money they are giving to the church is being funneled directly into your pockets and the pockets of those charging a processing fee? 

A Halloween Memory...

    Now, not to sound like a tough guy or anything, but there's never been a movie that has ever really scared me.  Sure, some have creeped me out.  I think that scene in Salem's Lot (the original one) where the little vampire kid was scratching at the window gave me perhaps the biggest feelings of heebie-jeebies I've ever felt.  I watched it with my twin brother(#7) and my older brother (#5). 

    When scared, #5 talks.  And talks...  And talks.

    "Holy crap, Dan," he'd say.  "Did you see that?  Freaked me out.  Wasn't that awesome?  He's floating.  There's fog.  Is there any more popcorn?  Do you think mom and dad are going to ground me for making you watch this?  What the hell's wrong with Dave?"

     Dave --aka #7-- my twin was not good with things like water, scary movies or vegetables.  All three of them scared him pale, and watching Salem's Lot with him, for example, was a genuine chore.  If he knew it was a scary movie, he would scream like a Girl Scout with skinned knees the second the opening credits popped up, and things continued to descend into utter terrified childhood madness from there.  However, if he knew going in that it was scary, it was somewhat tolerable.  

    On the other hand, if #7 didn't know that what we were watching was a scary movie, at the first sign of terror, he'd run around the house yelping like a neurotic poodle during a thunderstorm. 

    Now, obviously, as a result of #7's fearful nature, Halloween was a wonderful time for #5 and I (I'm son #6).  And, one Halloween post-Salem's Lot viewing in particular stands out to me (though #7 may very well have blocked it from his memory).

    The knock on my door came shortly after midnight.  It was #5 telling me that our black-op of terror was a "go."  I lept out of bed with a giddy excitement and crept toward the bedroom door of #7 where I silently started stacking rolled up sleeping bags, pillows blankets and everything else I could find against the door. 

    Once the first part of my mission was complete, I went downstairs and outside to help #5 wrestlethe ladder from the garage.  We lugged it through the dark and carefully propped it beneath #7's bedroom window. 

    I started giggling with excitement as I held the ladder and watched #5 climb slowly up to the window where he started tapping and scratching on the glass. 

    It didn't take long before I heard the first of #7's blood-curdling screams punctuated by the wild laughter of #5 as he shimmied down the ladder, and we ran into the house, up the stairs, turned on the lights and found #7 wailing in a tangled mess on the floor beneath a mountain of sleeping bags and whatnots. 

    However, our laughter at #7's misfortune was quickly replaced with the bone-chilling fear that can only come from hearing the sound of a sleepless and angry father's heavy footsteps trudging up the stairs accompanied by a raging lecture on the importance of sleep with the closing caveat that should he need to make this arduous trip again, all three of us will pay with our lives. 

    Good times, though.  Good times...


Friday, October 27, 2006


    As far as moods go, today is a Dead Body Day.  I don't know if I can actually put my finger on it and find the words to describe it.  I've reached a certain level of apathy that makes me feel like the thoughts I have are just sort of scraping around inside my head like fingernails on a chalkboard.  Every word of every idea smacks hard against the inside of my forehead and bounces violently back across my brain to plant itself firmly on the back of my head like a smack from an uptight grandmother who caught me joking about yams during an otherwise pleasant Thanksgiving dinner. 

    I think it has a great deal to do with some sort of campaign fatigue.  Everyday, I turn on the television for a little background noise, and all I hear is something that sounds as if it sprung from a preschool sandbox.  It's mindless, pointless, irrelevant bickering, and as a result, I have a whole new level of respect for parents, teachers, and anyone whose profession is to deal with children.  If nothing else, this election has lead me question whether or not I am at any sort of point in my life where I could take on the duties of being a parent.  It's a constant barrage of attacks as they try to demonstrate why their opponent is undeserving of the sandbox, while they never say why they themselves ARE deserving. 

    It's brutal.  And, it makes me want to unleash a herd of crap-happy cats upon that damned sandbox.  There have been ten ads in the past fifteen minutes, and not a single one of them has been what I would consider positive. 

    There are other things weighing me down.  The weather here is a lot like living in England without the good beer.  It's cold, gray and wet, and it makes me feel like an unhappy, sober flounder hanging out on a chilly and dark ocean floor. 

    Ah well...  It'll clear up soon enough.  Enough of my griping.  Have a wild and wonderful weekend, everyone! 


Thursday, October 26, 2006

What the....?

    Now, what's wrong with this picture? 

    Yes.  That's a pelican.  And, yes.  That's a pigeon in his mouth.  I know the British like their squab, but this is ridiculous.   Strange things are afoot in England, methinks... 


*update*   I should point out that the pigeon didn't make it (thanks Paul).  Apparently, in my complete and utter shock at the whole event, I forgot to mention that the pelican wrestled the pigeon around for twenty minutes before managing to swallow it whole. 

Get a Helmet, Fred!

    Hey, I just saw on the news that manhole covers are blowing off in Baltimore as a result of a gas leak.  So, Fred?  Can you get a hardhat? 

    Just lookin' out for ya. 


Greatest License Plate Ever!

    Paul turned me onto the Pharyngula site a while back, and I find it to always be a fascinating, thought-provoking read with the occasional funny bits thrown in here and there.  I just can not stop laughing at this picture he snapped of a vanity plate.  It's just so disturbing...  so very, deliciously, disturbing...  Happy Halloween!

    For those who need a little background, here's a Wikipedia Entry on Cthulhu.


Halloween Costumes...

   Now, this is a bit of a short entry today since I've got loads to do, but, as I'm out doing my stuff, I wanted to direct your attention to an entry by Brian at WFMU in which he directs our attention to a Retrocrush entry containing the Worst Halloween Costumes of All Time

    I've had some pretty lame costumes in my childhood.  But, had I ditched the standard Depression-Era hobo outfit for a Joanie Loves Chachi costume, I'd have been pummeled ten seconds after leaving the house.  For those of you who actually did have one of these costumes, well...  I feel your pain.  Hopefully, your parents bought you a big house and a nice car to make up for destroying your childhood. 


Wednesday, October 25, 2006

It's All Gone Monkey Now...

Here's me plagiarizing Shakespeare.   Yes.  I am still typing like a monkey at the moment.  Fortunately, I've got nothing to turn in for quite some time, and I can familiarize myself with the subtle differences between this keyboard and my old one.  It's weird that this would be such an issue, but considering that I've never taken a single typing class in my life, I suppose it's not such a stretch to understand how such a small change could turn me into an utterly dysfunctional wreck.  Trust me.  I've developed a whole new respect for temps in the short time spent plundering the unfamiliar keys of this sweet, little gizmo.

    Anyway, I got a very special comment from a very special lady in yesterday's entry.  I'm not going to tell you her name since she's in a sort of "stealth mode" as she bounces around teh internets looking for a safe place to keep her written thoughts and feelings from the unwanted eyes of her family.  

    I think that's something that plagues every writer at one time or another.  We pick and choose our words so as not to upset or alter the opinions of those closest to us, and it's tough to shake that sort of censorship.  My situation is kind of an odd one.  My parents have never read anything I've ever written, and though I have dumped off publications, invited them to readings, and even gave them tickets to my one and only play, they never took any sort of interest in that side of me.  And, as bad as it sounds, it's got certain perks.  For example, I can say things like, "the only thing keeping my dear, sweet mother from embarking on a boozed-up killing spree is the fact that no one's ever given her the sniper rifle she keeps hinting about every year when Christmas rolls around." 

    See?  Perks!    

    Anyway, earlier this month, I was fortunate enough to sit down and have a drink and a fascinating conversation with this very special, talented and outgoing woman.  And, I have to say, her smile is branded upon my brain, and I do hope you'll all swing by and give her blog a gander to watch her once again find her feet.  She's romantic, she's pragmatic, and she writes with such an ease that I am just plain jealous.


Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Hooray Toys!

    Well, yesterday I got my new laptop, and I have to say, I'm pretty impressed with it.  I didn't geek it out too crazy.  I just upgraded the memory and processor a smidge, and so far that whole Core Duo thing is pretty nifty.  At first, I didn't notice anything all that great about it, but once it sorted itself out, I tossed in a DVD, adjusted the window size, and then I started opening all sorts of programs and the thing didn't hang once.  Fun. 

    Other than that, I'm just trying to get used to the new keyboard.  It's kind of like driving a rental car right now, but hopefully I can retrain my brain to keep myself from banging an empty spot where the "end" key used to be. 

    Anyway, in other news, I put up the Vivi Nomination banners in my sidebar, and I linked them to the awards' page.  I like the nod for Most Humorous, but I'm not quite sure what to make of the Lord of the Blog thing.  I don't know if I get a fiefdom, or if I suddenly awake to a field of serfs digging in the mud demanding dental coverage.  Tee thinks I will have control over the weather should I be declared Lord, and I'm pretty sure Paul will probably demand that my existence is a complete illusion cooked up by a desperate population in search of some existential answers.  But, either way, it is quite flattering to actually find myself listed as a nominee in these categories.   I hope everyone can take a spin over to the Awards Page to check out all the nominated journals. 

    Let's see, I've got bunches of work and stuff to catch up on, but I haven't forgotten that I need to answer the "Man Law" questions, and I do need to list the blogs and journals you all pimped and plugged. 

    So, I'm off.  Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.  Have fun and try not to make a mess of the place.  The maid's out sick, and the serfs just don't do well with cleaning. 


Monday, October 23, 2006

Paul Totally Stole My Idea...

Hurricane Threatens Mexico's Baja Peninsula - AOL News

    I saw this on the news, and the irony of it all just cracked me up.  A while back, I wrote about my disappointment over the really unambitious path of Hurricane Daniel, and, wouldn't you know it, Hurricane Paul apparently picked up on it and swiped my idea.  I suppose I have to say it, huh? 

    Anything I can do, Paul can do better (man..  it hurts to say it.  It kills me).

    Just remember to be nice to Mexico, Paul.  They're a member of NAFTA too, ya know?  And, some people around here really like their tequilla. 


Saturday, October 21, 2006

Plug Away!

   Okay...  My new laptop still hasn't arrived...  And, of course, I'm going batty because it's just down the bloody road from my house! 

    So, I have a bit of advice should any of you find yourselves moving any time soon.  Do NOT, under any circumstance, live within spitting distance of UPS.  You will just drive yourself crazy.  (And yes.  In case you are curious, I really am a handful at Christmas time too.)       

   Anyway, since I am sitting here killing time until I sign for my stuff on Monday sometime between the hours of 8:00 AM and 7:00 PM (Yeah.  You'd think they'd narrow it down a little, eh?), I figured I'd start a thread with one thing in mind:  Blogs. 

    Here's what I was thinking:

    1.)   In the comment thread, I want you to plug a blog and leave a link to that blog. 

    2.)   You can plug only one blog or journal, and it can't be your own if you have one. 

    3.)   Also (and here's the tricky part), it can't be a blog or journal that someone has already previously put in the comment thread.  And, I'm talking about the actual blog or journal titles and not the screen names they're under.  For example, you can plug one journal from Paul, and, since he's got more than one journal, someone else can post a different journal from Paul if they wish. 

    In other words, there can be no repeats in the names of the blogs and journals, so you've got to read the comments to see what people have posted, and be "original." 

    Anyway, the blog I want to plug is Barry's UK Blog, Waffle and Whinge

     I really like reading Barry's writing, and just a handful of sentences into any entry, and it becomes pretty clear that this UK postman has got a great talent for delivering words.  He's a nice guy, and I think that whenever anyone sends a postcard or letter to England, they should write "Hi Barry!" on there somewhere. 

    So, there ya have it.  Follow the directions, dig in your favorites folder and bookmarks and leave a link to the blog or journal in the comments.   Just remember, no repeats!  And, have fun!



    Well, I ordered a Dell, and right now, it's sitting in a UPS warehouse just a few miles down the road and isn't scheduled to be delivered until Monday.  So, forgive me if I seem a little nuts.  I mean, I could walk over there and pick the damn thing up.  In fact, I'll be driving right past the place today on my way around town.  Gaaagh!  It's madness...  so close, yet so very far...

    Anyway, I didn't go too bonkers ordering the thing.  And, I'm actually kind of proud of myself for my restraint.  However, after I paid for my new notebook, I went back and did a little more shopping, and pretty quickly racked up a laptop with a price tag of around ten-grand.  And, for moment, I thought, You know?  If I wonder if I could live in the box they ship it in?  Do you think Dell would let me request a bigger box? 

    In the end, I wound up slapping that crazy puppy on my "wish list" just in case anyone out there has ten-grand burning a hole in their pocket, and a really weird urge to blow it all.

    Anyway, I've got five and a half years of junk to back-up and move.  It'll probably take most of the weekend to sort through everything and figure out what stays and what goes. 

    So, it's time to burn those CDs...  Yeehaa! 


Friday, October 20, 2006

Ask a Dan.

    I was over at Metafilter a short bit ago, and I found a typically short little blurb in which they mentioned Askaman.net.

    Now, for those of you out there who, like me, do not know about askaman.net, apparently, you can sign up and purchase minutes in order to find all the neccessary information you need so as to help you decipher the eternally-ellusive "man code."  Yeah!  People actually PAY for this.  To quote their mission statement:

"You have come to the right place for love, relationship and dating advice. Ask a man will provide you with the love, relationship and dating answers you seek. Our staff of amazing men have agreed to break the "man code" and tell you the absolute truth about what your man is really saying to you." For example: "Men want respect. In a man's world, men are nothing without respect. In a relationship, a man needs to know his woman respects him. "

    Now, unfortunately, I'm not a respected member of the stable staff of "amazing men."  I've never sent them my resum√©, but I'd like to think I'm a reasonably decent gent who's quite adept at handling the many issues and answering the myriad of questions plaguing the man-woman dynamic of our world.  And, though this is kind of bad for me, it's probably pretty good for you.  In other words, save your hard-earned cash and Ask a Dan, and I will give you the "answers" you so desperately seek. 

    So, while I am off doing my man things, feel free to leave a question in the comments or send me an email should you wish to remain anonymous. 

    Hey!  I'm giving the "man code" away for free here, people! 


In Quest of the Cheddar Melt...

    Well, thanks to the compilers of useless information over at Answers.com, I managed to find just about everything you'd ever want to know about McDonald's, but were probably in too much of a Drive-Thru hurry to ask. 

    Seriously, I actually found this stuff kind of interesting in a very weird, yet funny, sort of way. 

    For example, the very existence of a mutton-based (now chicken) Maharaja Mac, answers the long-standing question as to just what the hell they serve to people in a India where the consumption of beef is considered a form of sacrilege. 

    On top of that, folks out East are lucky enough to have something called a McLobster (or, McHomard if you happen to be in France).  Essentially, it's just a garden-variety lobster roll, and much like the McBrats here in Wisconsin, I'm willing to bet that you can find better for much cheaper. 

    On the other hand, Canadians can get poutines at McDonald's.  There's just something so perfectly wonderful about being able to grab a bucket of heart-straining, gravy-covered fries and cheese.  And, yes.  Like the McBrats and the McLobster, I'm sure you could find much better poutines for much cheaper; however, considering this is Canada, why would you want to get out of your nice, warm, toasty car and brave the elements?  Trust me, picking up some drive-thru McPoutines is simply one step closer to grabbing your seat on that heart-attack train to Heaven in my book. 

     However, my personal favorite is the Russian McDonald's menu item of "County-Style Potatoes."  What McDonald's doesn't quite understand is that potatoes in the Russian countryside are used more for making the primary ingedient in a martini than any sort of burger side-dish.  I mean, you'd think with McDonald's being Irish and all, the last thing they'd screw up is a potato dish. 

     Unfortunately, the thing I miss most from McDonald's is the freakishly delicious, greasy, crack-based, salt-bomb that is the Cheddar Melt.  They have them in Brazil, though, and I may just have to start planning a trip to Carnival.  After all, what would sex-up Brazil more than a flabby, pasty, Speedo-clad American eating Cheddar Melts on the beaches of Rio and Sao Paulo? 


Cooking with G-Dub!

Mmm..  bork-bork-bork! 
    Hello everyone!  Today we are in the kitchen with a very special guest.  And, though his crazy-mad, culinary skils are limited to peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches, let's see if we can't teach him a thing or two, okay?
    So, ladies and gents, let's put it together for El President√©, Mr. G. Dubya Bush! 
DPoem:    Good afternoon, Mr. President.  Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to visit us.
G-Dub:    Thank you Dan.  We in Texas have a sayin'.  I don't know if you have sayings in Wess-conson, but in Texas, where I'm from, we have a sayin'.  And, you may not understand it, but our sayin' is: "It's good to be here."
DPoem:    That's pretty deep, cowboy.  The audience seems to like you.
G-Dub:    heh-heh...  It's got one of them "town hall" sorts of feels to it.  I like town halls.  They involve grass and roots and bricks, and sometimes, the halls are build out of wood.  heh-heh...  My good buddy Rover, I call him "Rover."  He really likes town halls too.  He finds the...  I don't know how you say it, but he finds the friendly ones.  He's good at that.  It's a matter of perspective.  Yes.  Pers...
DPoem:    That's nice, Dub.  But, we're here to do some cooking.  Do you cook?
G-Dub:    heh...  I did a lot of that in Yale.  It's a college.  It's where ya go when ya want to be a president.  I don't...  I don't do it anymore, though.  Apparently, coke and the job don't mix which kind of, umm, makes me wonder why they call it the White House.  heh-heh...
DPoem:    Umm..  Cooking, G-Dub.  Ya know?  It's that thing you do with pots and pans?
G-Dub:    Pots?  That's one of them Democrat things.  Billy Clinton did that, but, he didn't inhale, ya know.  And, we in Texas have a sayin' that says, "If you don't inhale, you're wastin' someone's money." 
DPoem:    Right...   Anyway, today we're going to be cooking a nice, delicious pot roast...
G-Dub:    I told ya.  I don't do pot.  I'm a R'publickin.  I feel like I'm in a room of Demicrats. 
DPoem:    Dude!  There's no damn pot in a pot roast.  It's a hunk of meat you cook in a Dutch oven at a low temperature for a long...
G-Dub:    It gets hotter 'n Texas than it does in Amsterdam. 
DPoem:    What the...?!? 
G-Dub:    I'm just sayin'.  I don't do pot in Amsterdam because there's those homo-seks-u-ells there, and where I come from there's a sayin' that if you want a steer, you..  umm...  you go to Massa-choosetts.  I can't remember it exactly, but it has to do with horns and Libruls.
DPoem:    Umm...  Let's get back on some sort of track here, okay? 
G-Dub:    Okay.  Or, as we say in Texas...
DPoem:    Do your friends coo...  err..  Prepare food?  You know, for fun?
G-Dub:    My friends shoot each other in the face for fun.  heh-heh...  Don't know 'bout the cooking.  That's something I leave to the womenfolk.  In Tex..
DPoem:    Have you ever been IN a kitchen? 
G-Dub:    No.  It gets hot in kitchens.  I'd rather go to town halls. 
DPoem:    I honestly don't know where to go from here.  You're saying you've never been in a kitchen?
G-Dub:    I've been in the kitchen to get beer and ice for drinks, but I don't spend much time there because it's not safe.  There's that thing in there.. 
DPoem:    The oven?
G-Dub:    No.  The mic...  my crow...  It's got waves.      
DPoem:    The microwave?
G-Dub:    Yeah.  The microwaves.  They're new-kew-ler.  They're dirty bombs, and they make you sterile.  Then, if everyone's...  if everyone is sterile, then I can't protect the stem-cells.  And, if I can't protect the stem-cells, the terrists will Muslimize our sperm.  And, if they do that...
DPoem:    This is a mistake I think.
G-Dub:    There are no mistakes, Dan.  We're going to stay the course.  I'm the decider!  We can't cut and run.  If we don't eat, then Saddam has won.  The Axis of Evil.  Think about the stem-cells.  In Texas, we... 
DPoem:    I have a nice, sharp knife, Dubya.  Would you like to play with it?
G-Dub:    You're either with us or against us!  Dead or alive!  HECK OF A JOB BROWNIE!!
DPoem:    Look, Dubya!  I've covered this nice sharp knife with oil!  And here's a handful of raisins that really need to be peeled.  Interested?
DPoem:    Well, folks.  I'm terribly sorry we didn't get around to cooking.  I have a delightful pot roast recipe that I really wanted to share with you.  Hopefully we can find a more suitable guest.  But, be sure to tune in next week when we'll be making a delicious honey-baked ham with Mr. Mel Gibson. 

Oh Noes!

    Have you ever been "flamingoed?" 

    Now, I don't know if it's the fact that I live in a city filled with unemployed, drunken factory workers with too much time on their hands, or what.  But, there's a very odd little phenomenon that occurs in this town, and it's called "getting flamingoed." 

    I'm not entirely sure when it started.  Local lore places the creation of this bizarre event somewhere in that wacky, wild era of the late Seventies and early Eighties.  And, from what I've been able to gather, it started small. 

    At first, there were perhaps a small flock of five pink, plastic flamingoes dotting a random yard here in town.  The homeowner knew nothing of where these creatures came from, nor did they know why they were congregating upon his or her lawn.  However, rather than simply find themselves in the garbage, something magical happened.  The homeowner saved the flamingoes, added to their numbers by buying more, and, after an unspecified amount of time, under cover of darkness, he or she found a new lawn upon which to place this mass of pink, plastic yard art.

    For some unknown reason, this sort of weird, social event continued, and just last week, as I was running errands around town, I saw the most recent unfortunate citizen who'd been flamingoed, and though I couldn't stop to count their numbers, I would estimate that this flock had grown to perhaps close to a hundred of these gaudy, pink monsters. 

    I've never been flamingoed.  In a way, I'm kind of happy for that.  I have no idea what I'd do with 100 pink, plastic flamingoes.  From what I gather, the point of this menace is to pick a victim pretty much at random.  However, you can't simply take the flamingoes from your yard and stick them in your neighbor's yard.  That just makes you look weak.  But, they have to stay within city limits, and, fortunately, I don't really recall the police station ever being flamingoed; however, the mayor's lawn has been hit more times than I count.  I don't know if people are sending him a message, or if they just simply get a huge kick out of forcing the mayor to plant these things on someone's lawn in the middle of the night.  If nothing else, at least we know for a fact that the mayor is actually working on something.   

    Anyway, the sad news behind all of this is that the much-cherished pink flamingo may very well become extinct as a result of the business behind them shutting down.  And, this could have a devastating impact upon the roving band of gaudy, pink plastic here in my town as they go from kitschy yard art to collectors' items.  I'm hoping someone steps in to save this odd little creation.  This wandering collection of kitsch is one of the things that makes living here kind of fun --if not a little odd-- and though I don't know where the pink platoon is today, I know it's only a matter of time before they wind up on my lawn.  And I've got a hit list of people whose lawns could use a lot of pink. 


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Thursday, October 19, 2006

And I Want a Pony, and Jessica Simpson's Chest, and a Nobel Prize....

Smokin'    Entertainment News- Lohan Wants to Marry Before Age 30 - AOL News

    Well, the gal's got goals, I guess. 

    NEW YORK (Oct. 18) - Lindsay Lohan  has a 10-year plan. "I want to get married before I'm 30," the 20-year-old actress says in In Style magazine's November issue, on newsstands Oct. 20. "And have my house. And make the kind of record I want. And I'd like to win an Oscar before then."

   Well, I'm not an expert, but a no-talent, drunken clod tarting it up with Kiera Knightley in a film about Dylan Thomas is probably not going to win the Oscar.  In fact, with Lohan's acting skills, I wouldn't be surprised if Thomas' corpse crawled from his grave and smashed a bottle of whiskey on the windshield of Lindsay's Mercedes on the opening night of this film. 


Dan Vs. Comatose Woman.

Yum!    Pudding rules.

    I just got home from my latest infusion of chemical goodies at the hospital, and though the whole process is painfully, glacially slow, I passed the time downing Snack Packs while watching a TV over which I had no control. 

    The person in control of the TV had long since passed out, and she snored loudly and drooled on the remote that sat wedged into her neck with the pillow.  They were loading her up with a fat bag of saline solution; however, judging from her comatose state, you'd think they were giving her a steady, slow-pour of morphine. 

    Occasionally, this woman would twitch or shuffle her sleeping self around in search of a more comfortable position in an uncomfortable chair, and as a result, every time she moved, the channel would change. 

    We started on The Price is Right where I watched some girl from Boston named Brittney win a new car playing the game Lucky Seven.  Yay Brittney!  And, as I worked my way through yet another tiny cup of chocolate pudding, I desperately began to hope that I would see the mountain-climber game.  I delight in the mountain-climber game.  There is nothing more fun than watching that yodelling little piece of Euro-trash tumble to his death at hands of some "lucky " contestant who doesn't know the price of a tube of Pepsodent. 

    I waited for the mountain-climber game when my neighbor twitched, and we wound up on the local Spanish speaking network. 

    There were two women yelling at each other in a blaze of latin, and I could feel my adrenalin kicking in as I watched.  I kept waiting for a word or phrase I understood.  Perhaps if one of them could break from the argument and ask where the bathroom was, I could catch my breath and know what was going on.  As it stood, I needed this channel changed before my head exploded. 

    So, as the two women chattered wildly, I began to scheme, and I took a quick inventory of the nearby ersatz alarm clocks I had.  I had four Snack Packs left, but there was noway I was going to part with any of those by chucking one at my sleeping neighbor.  On the table to my right was an unused medication pump, but tossing that would probably land me in jail since it's powered by a very heavy lead battery.  And, on my left was a handful of hypodermic needles left by the nurse. 

    Now, before I could begin practicing my dart game, the woman across from me twitched and we wound up watching Judging Amy.  It was the usual placid episode, and aside from the occasional outburst by Tyne Daly, it was not entirely unlike watching the color beige.  It was definitely a welcome relief from the frenetic, Spanish screaming match I'd just witnessed. 

    Anyway, this went on for quite some time as my little pump clicked and hummed.  And, as time went on, and the channels changed, I found myself trying new things to wake my neighbor.  Sometimes I would cough loudly, and though my neighbor wouldn't wake, the nurse would come running in and ask if I'd like more pudding.  Sometimes I'd just stare at the woman.  After all, if you stare at a sleeping person, they tend to wake up all sorts of freaked out, and this woman sure looked like she could use the jolt. 

     In the end, nothing worked, and when my little bag of medicine was emptied, and I had run through the last of my Snack Packs, the nurse came in, ripped the needle out of my arm and the tape holding it down (eeeeyeeouch!), and I got up and left thinking that this woman just spent the last four hours with me without ever even knowing I was there.  For some odd reason, it reminded me of my grandparent's marriage. 


Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Just Make Sure They Don't Vote For Matlock!


Sheriff candidate in Wisconsin changes his name to Andy Griffith

    It's amazing what people in Wisconsin will do during an election year.  Of course, this means that I can now change my name to God and run for President. 



Run! Don't Walk...

Man.  I am getting the mileage out of this pic.    Yes.  You should run.  Run like starving zombies.  Run fast, and do not stop until you get to the latest edition of CarnivAOL

    Once there, put your feet up, grab something to drink, perhaps a few snacks, and devour the tasty goodness of Paul's latest offering as though you were a zombie chewing on your neighbor's head (yes.  It's that good.  Get a fork). 

     Now, for once, I can honestly say that I am not just telling you all about this because I have an entry in there.  Nope.  I honestly think this is one of the best editions of CarnivAOL to come out in quite some time.  They just keep getting progressively better and better, and I hope you spend the time perusing all the great entries, and when the next call goes forth, join in and make the Great White Northerner work.  After all, winter's coming, and I'm pretty sure that if you step outside (ootside) in a Canadian winter, your head explodes, and as everyone knows, that's not safe for zombies.  So, send in those submissions and let's do what we can to keep Paul inside. 



Tuesday, October 17, 2006

My Name Is...

   This is just a little snip of an entry, but I figure I'd toss myself out there for a brutal public flogging by allowing you all to complete the following sentence:

    My name is Dan, and I.......

    Have fun with that one (just, you know, keep it kind of clean).  I used to do this in my writing classes, and it was always a blast to see what folks could come up with. 


Sunday, October 15, 2006

Free Candy!

    I've been kind of under the weather the last few days with a smidgen of a fever and the garden-variety nasty-cold nonsense.  It may actually be a slight touch of the Ebola virus, but since Virology isn't my specialty, I'm calling it a cold (what do you think this is: the CDC or something?). 

    Anyway, I've been grumpy.  Very grumpy.  And, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm also completely, hopelessly lazy, I'd probably walk over to the Catholic Church on the next block and sucker punch a priest as a way of sending a little hate mail to God for the disease he's decided to plug into my system. 

    However, a miracle happened.  Yes.  As death's icy-cold, boney fingers were gripping my shoulder, and darkness began to swallow the world around me, I saw the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, and it was good, and it was beautiful, and, had I not already been sitting down surfing the intertubes, I'd have fallen to my knees and thanked the skies above. 

    You see, my friends, I found this:  Visual Recipes - Bacon Caramel Recipe, and my world began to brighten.  I mean, Caramel + Bacon?!?  This is proof that mankind is capable of miraculous works.  There is good in the world, and as I read the recipe, I began to grow giddy with glee at the fact that not only was this delightful dish reasonably easy to make, I now had something to hand out to the wandering throngs of costumed urchins who will soon be scratching on my door looking for a handout when Trick or Treat time rolls around in the coming weeks. 

    There are only two reasons why I will make this for the little children:  First, it's got caramel.  Caramel is sugar, and kids go bonkers over sugar.  And, the next reason is that it's got bacon, and dogs (i.e. Rottweilers and Pit Bulls) go bonkers over bacon. 

    The plan is pretty simple, really.  I give the kids the bacon-laden sugar bombs, the dogs go crazy, and when the carnage has passed, I grab an empty tub and walk around the neighborhood cleaning up all the candy that has fallenout of the shredded bags. 

     It's free candy for me!  And it'll probably be the scariest Halloween those kids will ever see.  In other words, it's a win-win



Thursday, October 12, 2006

Get Your Fingers Out Of Your Ears!

    Egads!  It's been freakishly busy on this end, and between having the house fumigated and having the deaf cat shaved after a (most likely) bad batch of Frontline anti-flea juice, I've just not had the time to really sit myself down and write in this journal.   But, hopefully, the tiny insect menace is now under control, and as soon as I can stop laughing at Deaf Cat and how she went from being a huge bundle of fluffy fur to looking like a cross between a Chihuahua and a French Poodle, I'll try to snap a picture or two and show you the poor beast.  As for Dog Cat, well, I'm not allowed to take him to the groomers no matter how doped up he is.  They fear him.  But, when he visited me this morning, I gave him a quick inspection, and didn't find any bugs on him.  So, hopefully the war has been won. 

     Anyway, that's not why I'm writing today.  The reason I'm writing is because I saw a really funny bumper sticker earlier today, and I just had to post about it.  The bumper sticker read:  "Fish don't walk.  And Jesus still lives." 

     Now, obviously, the whole thing just reminds me of a small child with his or her hands over their ears mumbling "nanana..  I'm not listening!  nanana..."  It would be funny if it just wasn't so counter-productive to advancing ourselves as a species and society.  I have no real problem with a person's individual beliefs, and if you're perfectly happy accepting the Bible as the ultimate truth to Life, the Universe and Everything, that's all well and good for you.  Just don't really expect me to believe as you. 

    Here's the thing:  I've seen fish walk.  In fact, you can find them right here.  Granted, it's not much of a "walk," but it's a manner of transport which is decidedly unfish-like.  It's definitely creepy, but it certainly does a lot to disprove the typical bumper-sticker logic employed by a great many Creationists.  Sure, fish don't have legs, but until a newborn infant with legs springs from the womb to slap on a pair of Nikes and trot off in pursuit of a pick-up game of basketball, creationism just isn't going  to hold water in my book. 

     Now, as for the whole "Jesus still lives" thing, well, how is it possible for someone who apparently died for our sins to live?  Is that the same logic that it's actually somehow possible to "cut and run" from a mission that has been accomplished? 


Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Even Naked, Cheeseheads Are Polite.

    This story was yanked off the Obscurestore site.  As reported in the Wausau Daily HeraldBarry E. Hadden was running around town naked and the following exchange ensued:

When the officer yelled, "Police, stop!," Hadden shouted back, "No, thanks!," and started running, according to the police report.

A police officer continued to chase Hadden, telling him he was about to be tackled. Hadden then replied, "That's OK, I'm fine!"

    Hey, officer?  Didn't you hear him?  He said that he's fine.  It's the summer month in Wausau, and I think if people want to exploit the warm weather before the booger-freezing, testicle-shattering cold sets in next week, you should let them.  This guy was probably naked because it was warm, and people up there really aren't used to warm.  It doesn't happen often, so he was most likely way over-dressed and forgot to layer. 

Monday, October 9, 2006


    I promise!  This will be the last cat-based entry for a while.  After all, I don't want to become one of those people (not that there's anything wrong with that).  But, I just had to pass along a little bit of post-Catmas silliness. 

    This morning, Deaf Cat is stoned.  Her little kitty brain is whacked out on the half-of-a-tranquilizer I have to give her so she doesn't pop a gasket during her trip to the vet's.  An unmedicated Deaf Cat has an odd way of just going freaking bonkers after a trip to the vet. 

     Now, I know it's wrong of me as a pet owner to take any sort of enjoyment out of this sort of alteration to my cat's consciousness, but, as horrible as it is, it's damn funny.  So far this morning, she's fallen face first into her little plate of Fancy Feast, and, fortunately, Dog Cat was nearby to wash it off her forehead.  Then, as a show of her gratitude, while Dog Cat was waiting by the door for me to let him out, she plowed into him like a linebacker, driving him into the wall with her furry little head before wobbling away to contemplate a curious spot on the floor.   

     Other than that, today is Columbus Day, and you should all celebrate by going out and having something Colombian.  Just, you know, keep it legal and try to stick to things like bananas and coffee. 


Saturday, October 7, 2006

Connecting the Avacado.

    I love the Daily Show.  Yes.  It's tremendously critical of our President, and I am happy that they are.  I think we should be critical of our leaders, and I think their actions should ALWAYS be questioned.  It's what makes this country work, and putting our elected representatives in a position where they are expected to explain themselves and their actions is what keeps us from living in a dictatorship where the voices of dissent are silenced. 

    One of my favorite quotes in this ten-minute piece is our President saying: "One of the hardest parts of my job is to connect the war in Iraq to the war on terror." 

    It's absolutely hillarious to watch; however, beneath the satire is a very chilling reality about the effectiveness of our President.  And, if you're among the approximately one-third of Americans who somehow believe this President is doing a good "job," then I don't think you really want to see this.  Everyone else?  Enjoy!

Friday, October 6, 2006

It's Catmas!

Acacia: AKA Deaf Cat

As Paul points out, today is Catmas, and apparently it's a day for the grand ol' sphere o' blogs to showcase their furry, feline fuzz-buddies. 

Harding: AKA Dog Cat

    The picture above is an altered photo of Deaf Cat.  She's also mostly blind, and from what I've been able to gather, looking at her in that photo is probably not entirely unlike how she sees me and the world around her.  She's prone to immense fits of outrageous excitement, and will go from complete catatonia to bolting full speed in any absolutely random direction.  Oh yeah!  She also sleeps with her eyes wide open, and it gets a little weird. 

     On the right, that's the almighty lummox: Dog Cat.  He drinks out of the toilet, barks like a dog when he wants something, and he will eat pretty much anything you put in front of him from cantaloupe to Roquefort cheese.  About the only dog-like thing he doesn't do is cram his nose into the crotches of any visitors I may have.  His claw-loaded paws are roughly the same diameter as the bottom of a beer bottle, and he once used them to slash through an aluminum window screen in a desperate attempt to get outside. 

    During the summer months, when the weather is nice, Dog Cat is an outside cat, and I can pretty much only expect to see him on Tuesdays when the garbage trucks make their rounds.  He's unbelievably terrified of them, and as a result, he will be pounding on the door at the first audible grunt of the garbage hauler in the neighborhood every Tuesday morning so as to come running into the house and hide in a corner of the basement on his favorite chair to sleep until Wednesday (possibly Thursday).  And, if you happen to be IN his favorite chair, well...  you ARE the favorite chair, and you should probably not make any plans to get up for quite some time.

    Anyway, if you've got cats and would like to take part in Catmas, post a picture and tell me a little about furry pals in your Journals and leave a link in the comments.  After all, I'm hoping I'm not the only one with weird cats.  In fact, I kind of need to know I'm not the only one out there... 



Wednesday, October 4, 2006


    Nifty!  Neat!  Super-keen and wonky-wild!  The Twenty-Third edition of CarnivAOL is up, and I recommend heading over there to check out Paul's latest collection of bloggy goodness from the world of AOL and AIM. 

    In other news, I meant to mention all of this yesterday, but I was too busy dealing with whatever cold-flu bug it is that took up residence in my system in search of a nice winter home.  In other words: Ick!

    On top of that, I've been laughing my ass off AT the pathetic mess that is the Congressman Foley scandal.  Don't get me wrong, mind you.  I find Foley's actions not only disgusting, but utterly inexcusable.  What is making me giggle is watching this pathetic fool scramble over the ala-carte menu of threadbare excuses in a daily attempt to ameliorate his guilt and find something upon which to blame his actions and ephebophilia

     First, it was alcoholism (I love the spin on this article, by the way.  Pretty much why I will never write for the Chicago Tribune).  Then, it was the fact that he's gay (like that should make any difference, but I'm certain the homosexual community appreciates his attempt to pin this whole mess on sexual orientation), and now we've gotten to the point where he's blaming it on the fact that he was molested by a priest.  What's next for this pathetic, mewling, little coward?  I mean, he hasn't blamed Clinton yet, has he?

     Aside from that, I'm certain all Americans are overjoyed at the news that a man was arrested for criticizing this administration's actions in Iraq during Dick Cheney's trip to Colorado last summer.  

     Apparently, the man was walking by with his son and told The Dick, "I think your policies in Iraq are reprehensible."  And, as a result of those words, the man was placed in cuffs and hauled off. 

     Well, since we still sort of have a Constitutional right to voice our opinions in this crumbling nation, I'd just like to say that I think Dick Cheney is a worthless, gutless, war-mongering coward, and I also think that his policies in Iraq are not only reprehensible, but they're god damned inhuman and most-likely illegal.  I think that using the innocent citizens of Iraq as human shields makes us no better than or different from the evil dictator whom we were misled to view as a threat.  I think Dick Cheney and George Bush are as evil and greedy as Congressman Foley is pathetic.  I think history will innevitably fillet these pricks, and I think this administration will be viewed as perhaps one of the darkest moments in our nation's young existence. 


FoxNews: Fair, balanced, and mostly untrue!

    I snagged this picture off of BoingBoing.  Anyone care to guess as to whether or not the "Fair and Balanced" folks at Fox News have an agenda or not? 

    I can see Fox getting the facts as to whether or not Foley is a Republican or Democrat mixed up once (maybe twice.  It IS Fox after all), but at least three times?   I think Joe Stalin would have been quite proud of the folks at Fox.  However, here in America, this sort of blatant media bias is a freaking embarrassment. 

    Then again, since I'm here, I should probably point out that Fox News' ratings are tumbling at a ridiculously entertaining rate.       

P.S.    Don't worry.  I still have my sense of humor. 

Monday, October 2, 2006

Stupid Questions With J-Simp (Finale!).

    Oy!  Here we are Jess.  It's the end of the Stupid Questions.  And, I have to admit, it's been a real pleasure having you here.  I don't think I'd have been able to finish this without your help, and I'm sure your insightful answers will be a source of inspiration for generations to come.  Do you have anything to say before we dive into the final batch of questions?
J-Simp:    Yes, mister!  I'd just like to say that this hasn't been ANY fun.  And, for the record, sanding your hardwood floors does NOT cure a headache.
DP:    I don't know, Jess.  It sure cured mine.  In fact, you're a grass-cutting, gutter-cleaning, floor-sanding angel.  Your ex-husband doesn't know what he's missing. 
        However, that's not important right now. We've got to get to these questions.  We'll start off with an easy one for you, okay?
J-Simp:    Fine. 
DP:    This question comes from Dawn, and she would like to know:
How can gravity be a law if we don't know what it is???
DP:    Like I said: easy, Jess.  So, have at 'er.  And, please try not to confuse us with any big words or anything.
J-Simp:    Duh!  I know what gravity is, Dawn.  It's what  keeps water in swimming pools.  And, there's a law in California that says you have to have water in your swimming pool.  So, that's a law of gravity. 
DP:    Your dad's name is Homer, isn't it? 
J-Simp:    No dummy.  His name is Dad.  What's the next question? 
DP:    Forgive me.  Our next several questions come from SuperMom BM who asks some good stupid ones for ya, Jess:
Do infants enjoy infantcy as much as adults enjoy adultry?
DP:    This one's got your name ALL over it, Jess. 
J-Simp:    Hey!  Adultery is fun, but I didn't commit adultery when I was an infant because I was saving myself for marriage.  And, I want all my fans to know that I sure am glad I waited until I was married to commit adultery.  Remember, adultery is a special gift.
DP:    Quite the public service announcement.  The next question is:
Do crematoriums give discounts to burn victims?
DP:    What a coincidence.  I have a friend who works as a gravedigger at Forrest Home Cemetery here in Milwaukee, and I have actually asked him this very question.  However, he told me they only give discounts to the Mob. 
J-Simp:    I once got a burned pizza delivered from Pizza Hut, and I didn't have to pay for it. 
DP:    Ummm...  Yeah.  Next?
How can there be "self-help" groups?
DP:    Whoa...  That's deep.
J-Simp:    No it's not, silly.  It's like my sister's band.  They're a group, but they're also helping themselves.  That's not hard. What's the next question?
Who opened the first oyster and said "My, my, my! Now doesn't this look yummy?"
J-Simp:    Pearls are really yummy.  I don't know who invented the first oyster, but I'm glad they did. 
DP:    You do know oysters weren't....  oh forget it.   The next one is:
Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, "I think I'll squeeze these dangly things here and drink whatever comes out?"
DP:    Mmmm...  steak. 
J-Simp:    She's talking about cow-juice.  I don't drink cow-juice because it makes your bones strong and stiff, and I need to stay flexible.  Plus, everyone knows milk gives you celulite.
DP:    Mmmm... steak.
Who was the first person to see an egg come from a chicken's butt and think, "I'll bet that would be good to eat?
DP:    Mmmm...  steak and eggs.
J-Simp:    I don't eat eggs either.  Eggs make you pregnant.  Because, if you don't have eggs, then those little squigglies have nowhere to go.  And, those little squigglies want to make you pregnant really bad.   Britney probably eats a lot of eggs.
DP:    Zzzzz....
Can a fat person go skinny-dipping?
J-Simp:    Sure.  Just as long as they keep their clothes on. 
DP:    Ummm... Sorry, you totally lost me.   But, that's okay!  The next batch of stupid questions comes from Barb, who asks:
Of course, I'm a day late (and a dollar short).  May I still ask?
DP:    Umm... I guess so.  Is that okay with you, Jess?
J-Simp:    I've got sawdust in my nose.
DP:    Sounds like a yes to me.
Would a fly without wings be called a walk?
J-Simp:    If it's in a car, I'd call it a drive.
DP:    I'd call it pretty much screwed, Jess. 
When sign makers go on strike, is anything written on their signs?
J-Simp:    Yes.  There is nothing written on their signs.  And, nothing is something, right?  At least, that's what Angelina told me once about acting, I think. 
DP:    Now that just hurts me.  Barb also wants to know:
If someone with multiple personalities threatens to kill himself, is it considered a hostage situation?
DP:    I'll let you know once I'm finished with this, Barb. 
J-Simp:    I don't understand? 
DP:    Gee...  That's a surprise. 
A stitch in time saves nine what?
J-Simp:    I know that's about cats somehow.  Maybe if you sew you can take all their lives at once so you don't have to deal with all nine of them?
Feeling better?
DP:    I really am.  Thanks for asking.  Can you handle a not-so dumb question Jess?
J-Simp:    I feel dizzy.

DP:    Well, we're almost finished, so buck up little camper.  Our next question comes from Nancy, and it's REALLY stupid:
Hey...aren't ya gonna show the questions (and some answers) in another entry??
DP:    Duh, Nancy.
J-Simp:    I don't get it.
DP:    And you wouldn't.  And, I hate to say it, but our last question comes from Barry (not Bob), and I don't know if it's stupid or not.  But, he asks:
How's your belly off for spots?
DP:    I've got a lot of spots to put things, Barry.  When I sit down, I can set an ash-tray and a can of beer on my belly.  It's like a portable table. 
J-Simp:    A sit up wouldn't kill you, you know?
DP:    Why burn carbs?  I mean, I may need them sometime.  What if I'm camping and I need to outrun a bear?  That energy could save my life, Jess. 
J-Simp:    I don't see how it will help you if it's in your belly.  You should store your extracarbsin your butt like J-Lo. 
DP:    Enough about me, Jess.  Guess what?
J-Simp:    You're going to give me that script you said you had for me?  The Oscar one?  Please?
DP:    No. Sorry.  I gave it to Tarrentino.  But, thanks for all your hard work and help with these stupid questions.  Do you feel any smarter, Jess? 
J-Simp:    Hmph...  I think I do.
DP:    Awesome!  I'll be looking for you on Celebrity Jeopardy.  I'm sure you'll do well.  But, it sounds like I hear your cab out front.  So, have a nice flight, and keep working on that acting thing. 
J-Simp:    You're mean.  Good riddance!
DP:    Thanks again Jess.  I get that a lot, but Thank You everyone for all these questions.  I can't believe it took three days to answer, but I had a heck of a lot of fun.  I hope you did too.
        So, tune in next week for Cooking With Dan with my special guests Mr. Keith Richards, Ozzy Osbourne and Sigmund Freud:
DP:    Keith!  For chrissake we're supposed to be making scrambled eggs!  The oven's on fire and  the cat's drunk!
K-Rich:    fargle-mooble Mick says "gadle-figgin-ommy" *cough* Bicycles!
Ozzy Oz:    The bloody &%$#-ing water's murble-&%$#-ing boiling.  SHARON!    WHERE ARE THE &%$#-ing NOODLES?
DP:    In your hand Ozzy.
Sigmund:    I sink zat zees sauce vould be gut vith a little bit of coke in it. 
    Yes.  A fun and dangerous time, indeed...

Sunday, October 1, 2006

It's The Coolest Thing Ever!

    I thought I'd take a little time-out from dealing with the Stupid Questions, but I promise the Super-Amazing Finale is in the works, and it should be posted Monday sometime.  Still, though, it does bad things to this brain of mine.  I was making tuna-salad a little while ago, and I didn't really know if I was making tuna salad or chicken salad.  It's madness...

    Anyway, I wanted to take a little break and embark into a bit of geekery to see if I could post a video which I consider to be the Best Thing in the History of the World.  So, here it goes:

    So, if this works, I want to thank Journals' Editor Jeff for providing the clear and concise directions on how to embed YouTube Videos.  Also, this should give you all a sneak peek into what I might be wearing this Halloween (unfortunately, I got my hair cut, so I'm going to need to figure that out). 

     Aside from that, the video can be found here.  I recommend you drink a lot before viewing.  It's freaking hillarious!  But, then again, I've been thinking like Jessica Simpson for quite a while, and there's a pretty good chance I'm damaged.  Badly.  So, let me know what you think. 



Tags: , ,

Stupid Answers With J-Simp (Part Deux)

That's totally me. 
     And we're back!  We had a wonderful afternoon watching people do yardwork.  Wasn't that fun, Jess?
J-Simp:    My hands hurt.  Why don't you get one of those riding mower thingies?
DP:    Indeed.  But, I'd be a special kind of crazy to let you drive one of those around the yard.  Besides, when you come out with a new workout tape, think of what you learned.  Up the hill.  Down the hill.  Up the hill.  Down the hill.  Quite the workout, huh?
J-Simp:    I thought you said you had a script for me.   
DP:    And I do.  But, let's get back to our questions, okay?
J-Simp:    Okay.  But it better be a good script.
DP:    You'd better get a good dress.  I'm smellin' an Oscar, Jess.   But, before that, Emily wants to know:
What happens if you get scared half to death TWICE?
DP:    You wind up only 25% alive. 
J-Simp:    That sounds a lot like math to me.  I'm not good at math. 
DP:    But you agree with my answer, right?
J-Simp:    No.  It's got math in it. 
DP:    Hey!  Tammy has a good stupid question for you Jess.  She wants to know:
Ok, so what's the speed of dark???
J-Simp:    I know this.  It's however fast my head is moving at the time once my roots start showing. 
DP:    Yes, Jess.  But, to me The Speed of Dark is a book by Elizabeth Moon
J-Simp:    Does it have lots of pictures in it?
DP:    I don't think so.  But, moving on, Paul (P-Litty) would like to know:
How does one go about getting a fart *into* a bag of nails?
DP:    It's pretty easy Paul.  Take a bag of nails, hold it to your backside, and let 'er rip.  Voila!  Now you've got a bag of fart-scented nails. 
J-Simp:    Why would anyone do that?
DP:    It's how carpenters mark their stuff, Jess.  It's a union thing.  You wouldn't understand.  But, Paul also asks:
Also, what does a sack full of Jello hammers look like anyway?
J-Simp:    I don't like Paul.  He's hurting my head. 
DP:    Gee...  I'm surprised you made it this far, Jess.  But, ironically, I think a sack full of Jello hammers probably looks a lot like Jessica Simpson when she is thinking about a sack full of Jello hammers. 
J-Simp:    How do they get those little oranges in Jello?
DP:    It's magic, Jess.  All magic.  Our next question comes from Terry who would like to know:
If i fax something to you will i get my original back?
J-Simp:    I know.  When I was married, my husband used to fax money to my sister for me.  I always gave him the money to put into the what-cha-ma-call-it, and he'd send it, and I'd never see it again.  So, I don't think you get the original back.  At least, you don't when you send money because then we'd all be rich, right?
DP:    Good work, Jess. 
J-Simp:    Thanks.  I'm really getting the hang of this. 
DP:    It's nice to see you're not just another pretty face.  And, moving right along, Stephanie has a question concerning Life, The Universe and Everything:
If 42 is the meaning of life, what's the meaning of 42?
DP:    Hmmm... Do you have anything on this Miss Deep Thought?
J-Simp:    What do you get when you multiply six and nine?
DP:    Seriously, you just don't write jokes in Base 13.  But, Miss Bam Bam, you might want to check here to find the answers you need.  And don't forget your towel. 
J-Simp:    Who's next? 
DP:    That would be Monae.  She asks:
What is a stupid question ?
J-Simp:    I already told you.  There are no stupid questions.  There are only stupid questions that people ask.  It's the answers that are stupid. 
and how do you spell DP ?
DP:    It's spelled like "IBM."

J-Simp:    REDRUM!
DP:    Ummm...  Hey!  Paul's got another question:
And does 'DP' stand for what we think it stands for?
DP:    It stands for...
J-Simp:    REDRUM!
DP:    It...
J-Simp:    REDRUM!
DP:    If I give you a ball of yarn, will you go play in the corner or something?
J-Simp:    Danger Poison!
DP:    It's stands for Dan P.
J-Simp:    What's your middle name Dopey Person?
DP:    It starts with an "A."  But, this isn't about me.
J-Simp:    So, it's D.A.P.?  Like the bathtub caulk?
DP:    Yes.  Anyway, our next question is from Jackie, and she asks:
If our knees were on the backs of our legs, what would chairs look like?
DP:    Beds.
J-Simp:    Are you sure they wouldn't look like bathtubs, Mr. DAP?
DP:    Jess?
J-Simp:    Yes?
DP:    Your father's a pimp who loves your sister more than you. 
J-Simp:    . . . .  
DP:    Anyway, BrianeHolland wants to know:
Why would a woodchuck even be called a woodchuck if it can't chuck wood?
J-Simp:    It's because they're made out of wood, silly.  They're not really animals, they're plants.  Once all the bark-fuel is eaten by the deer, what's left is woodchuck.   
DP:    That... makes... no... sense.  Can we get to the next question, please?
J-Simp:    Okay, Mr. Grumpy.  Someone named Tee has a stupid question about dogs:
What is a dogs nose made of?
DP:    I don't know, but if I was in charge, they'd be made out of jock itch powder. 

J-Simp:    Eeeew...  Everyone knows that dogs' noses are made out of extra tongue.  That's why dogs with tiny noses have big tongues. 
DP:    Ummm...  Yeah!  We're just crankin' them out now, Simp.  Let's hear from Fred again, okay?  He asks:
Why don't you go %$#& yourself?
DP:    Three words Fred:  Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. 
J-Simp:    I don't understand?
DP:    I'll explain later, Jess.   However, we're once again zeroing in on our 25,000 character limit; so, I think we should stop here and rest your straining noggin for a moment before you forget how to act and sing.
J-Simp:    You're so nice. 
DP:    Thanks.  Besides, it'll be next to impossible for you to clean the gutters once the sun goes down.