Yes, yes, you want news. And you want it from me. And I only give you news when I'm avoiding other things I should be doing. And my avoidance mechanism hasn't kicked in for the last six weeks or so, because my self-preservation mechanism has been overspeeding.
Okay, the rundown: Ilse and I got married on Friday the 13th, which was also Lee-Jackson Day. The best man was our friend the Wheezus, and the matron of honor was our friend Purple. BlackdogRed could not be troubled to attend, the first of my many weddings which he has missed. Something about open-heart surgery, or his sister's funeral, or feeding hungry tribespeople in the Amazon, or something. Selfish fuck. Same for my brother, 32-Ounce, who was busy raping the government in the ass, or vice-versa. Thanks to Wheezus and Purple for making sure that our witnesses weren't county employees.
I am more or less fully employed, which means I actually leave my cavern about three days a week. So far, those days have been whirlwindy, and I haven't had time to steal time from my employers by blogging. That may sort of start to ease on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. When I am working at home, my avoidance mechanism leads me to other things besides blogging, Civ4 and NHL Hockey 2006 being the other things of the moment.
Yesterday, I went to the cardiologist. He told me things my heart surgeon hadn't told me. Things like "You're going to die," and "We're going to crack your chest," and "Your coronary arteries are more clogged up than we told you earlier." These things explain the general pastiness and the shortness of breath and the abject failure of December's cardiac procedure to enable me to respire when I run up the stairs. These things are not good. I am losing weight very gradually, and I will quit smoking soon. Smells like more overhaul work in the next couple-three years, though. And, of course, I'll just get all that fixed in time to die of cancer or a Malkin/Duke-inspired aneurysm anyway.
In world news, they're still pigs. Muslims hate us, so the best course is to hate them back. Anything short of return hatred is coddling, Communism, or cowardice. Administration officials lie without consequence, and shoot their friends with impunity (breaking Texas fish and wildlife law in the process, I hear). Then lie about it, without consequence. After attempting to cover it up, without consequence. Then use it as a rhetorical weapon against us when we bitch about it. The first person to suggest, in my physical presence, a correlation between Ted Kennedy's driving and Dick Cheney's weekend misadventure, will be the victim of a felonious assault. And the world will be a better place.
Actually, the correct response to a suggestion of any correlation there is that you'd rather hunt with Dick Cheney than ride with Laura Bush. Then, at least you're defending yourself when you commit the felonious assault.
In local news, it's cold. And it snowed. There are those who did not wish to believe me when I said there would, most affirmatively, be a mid-February snowstorm, because there always is. They're crying now. And sliding. And cold.
In television news, there is no television news. I am told that a new season of Survivor started recently; I haven't seen it, and I don't intend to. I'll watch the finale in a few months, because there is some tradition that must be respected, but my intent as of right now is to watch it cold, without having watched any of the rest of the season.
In sports news, the Terps suck, speedskaters, figure skaters, and freestyle skiers are pussies, and the U.S. womens' hockey team, which I sort of dig, will win the silver medal after taking an unholy whipping from 20 Quebecois chicas named Danielle Omelette and Pauline Dusalope. I have decided that the way women look in hockey equipment is a crime against nature, and a particularly unkind one, at that. I still watch, though, because beating the snot out of Commies in hockey is what made our country great, and I expect it to continue to do so.
More sometime. Apologies to those of you who keep clicking this space hoping to find something. Try Tuesdays or Wednesdays, for now.
5 comments:
Welcome back, Mein Field Marshall! Please do not forget, we are your minions! Good luck with the smoking/weight/aneurism thang-- your previous life-style change entry was eloquent & correct. Still changess must be made, for you & for me in the Hamster Den.
Congrarts on the nupts, though I thought your bro' was a "40oz" (or a "bumper" in my neck o' the woods). I'm sure BDR was off somewhere fighting the good fight.
Finally, the Terps DO blow but the U.S. women's curling team is pretty damn hot so watch them as well as the hockey team (& the female biathletes & their tight suits & big-ass guns). The latter (almost) make me forget my Quaker sensibilities....
Oh good. You're back. For a while I thought maybe you were dead because every time I clicked here it said The End Of The Road in big red letters, and something about fvcking Dweeze.
Then I thought maybe marriage had made you so happy that you had lost your inner rage and were spending all your time just hanging with Ilse in a state of connubial bliss.
I'm so glad you're back, and still annoyed at stuff.
I would point out that I scheduled my open-heart surgery at my sister's funeral in Bumfuckonoco for the Friday b/c I had been told your nuptials would be the Saturday after, giving me plenty of time to heal, mourn, and return. I wasn't the one avoiding Survival: Death Island of Nerak. Not that I don't understand why.
I always enjoy me some Landru blogging. And I want it to continue (everything is about me, you know), so take care of yourself, dood.
Um, "that hamster impersonator" has been a good friend of Landru and me for over twenty years. The allusions are inside. Hamster was Hamster when Landru was Rommel. And then there were the goddamn Dove Bars.
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