Dirty Red Commie

I groaned when I saw the headline for this video.  I didn't know how bad it was going to get though.

First off, I don't know if you heard but Michael Jackson died last week. Apparently that is the only important thing going on in the world right now. Forget that the House passed a Cap and Trade bill on Friday because that doesn't really matter.

CNN does some really stupid things with their videos. So, instead of a nice embedded video, you get a link. Oh, and turn off flashblock before following the link as CNNs site doesn't play well with it.

Get ready to feel like breaking stuff:
Freaky clouds show dead singer's face?

It's reports like this that cause people to lose faith in humanity and go on killing sprees

Jesus does not keep appearing in shit. Mr. Jackson won't either. They're fucking clouds. The world isn't going to end tomorrow. Get over it.

Update:

Round 2: Image in a tree Michael Jackson? Jesus?

Oh god it's too painful.  Full disclosure, I didn't watch that one. Using quantum mechanics as a guidline, there's a chance that the video is good. But there's also a chance that my computer falls right through my desk completely unchanged too. More than likely, the video would make me want to kill myself (the title almost does that), and my computer is staying right where it is.

When the world's gone crazy, let Mad Magazine be your guide.

The secret reason for War, Pestulance, and the other riders is a million monkeys, which is something we all knew anyway, but monkeys rule, right?  Cracked.com explains the Monkeysphere, which is all around us, even now in this very room.  

(Oh, warning: some swearing, but well worth the read.)

I found a new game. Please Please Please play it. I am addicted and I need you to give me the answers I don't have yet.

http://www.shygypsy.com/farm/p.cgi

It has some bandwith issues, but just reload if any messages come up. It's pretty easy to figure out, but if you need help, click on "hints" in the top right corner.

Thank you.

According to the BBC, UK airports will no longer allow you to have carry-on baggage.  This is apparently in response to the foiling of a plan to blow up a plane. 

 The only things you'll be able to carry onto a plane are wallets, small quantities of non-liquid medication, glasses (but no cases), contact lens holders (but no solution), baby food (you have to taste it for them), diapers and such, tampons and tissues (unboxed), and keys (no electric keyfobs).

 Notably, you can't have a laptop, a music player, a book, or even a magazine.  Not even a couple crayons.  You also can't bring any liquids onto the plane. 

Can you imagine a trans-atlantic flight with no reading material, no music, no laptop, no video games?  I would go completely batshit insane.  I would hijack the plane and crash it into the sea just to end the interminable boredom.  (Note to NSA et-al: This is meant humorously.  I would never do such a thing.  Unless it was a plane full of politicians.  (just kidding))

 I'm interested to know how exactly I could hijack or blow up a plane with a paperback novel.  My first thought was the possibility of malicious paper cuts, but they do allow you to bring necessary travel documents--presumably printed on standard paper.  Maybe it's the content of the books they fear.  Incendiary language, perhaps.  Magazines, I understand.  I heard someone once robbed a bank with a rolled-up magazine.  And glasses cases are understandable.  They could be hiding anything in there.  If only there was some device they could use to see if anything dense or metallic was inside--some kind of ray machine.  But that's just science fiction, right?

(From BoingBoing) 

[img_assist|nid=80|title=|desc=|link=|align=left|width=200|height=160]The keen mind(s) at thepartyparty.com have put together an excellent version of Sunday, Bloody Sunday sung entirely by Dubyah.

Wanna make a cake, but you're out of chicken eggs? Try the next best thing...

i fall too often.

tumbling: down head over heels, ass over teakettle (as some would say)
bruising face and limbs, a network of tiny cuts from many impacts covering my skin

old scars remembering the fun.

i grin to myself as i succumb (oh so uncoordnated) to gravity  or what prefers to call itself as such.
it's a costume.  a disguise to hide the tears and the pain.

from my protector
from my self

and when it's over i'll pull my body with its ancient hurts up off the floor
grab the railing so enticing, so convenient