Ya gotta love the Irish.

What other folk takes their stereotypes, flips them slightly askew and then shakes them out for all the world to laugh at?

Would *you* try to fill the dead air between your karaoke sets with:

"Two Norwegians are sitting on a bench in Oslo and one says to the other, 'Har du hørt om den nye svenske musefellen?' "

Or --

"A Luxembourger, a Fleming and an Andorran are strolling in Monte Carlo..."

Naaaah.

Now try--

Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he'd just been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut and bruised and he's walking with a limp.

"What happened to you?" asks Sean, the bartender.

"Jamie O'Connor an' me had a fight," says Paddy.

"That little runt, O'Connor?" says Sean. "He couldn't do all that to you, man, he must have had something in his hand."

"That he did," says Paddy, "A shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it."

"Well, now," says Sean. "You should have defended yourself. Didn't you have something in *your* hand?"

"That I did," says Paddy. "Mrs. O'Connor's breast, and a thing of beauty it was, but useless in a fight."

Heh.

Anybody seen Neffi or Bill lately?

Photo taken at Meadowlake Airport , Falcon, Colorado (suburb of COS ). Reportedly the pilot walked away after climbing down a tree.

H/t, Dick T.

Too much serious stuff.

Let's take a break.

Caption this:

I'll get you started.

Little known fact about Chef Emeril Lagasse... where "BAM BAM BAM!" came from. Sergeant Emeril kicks it up a notch!

What a difference...

...63 years makes in how a headline reads.

And, if General Shalikashvili, my first DIVARTY commander and the originator of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" has his way..., that headline may read differently *again* in a few years, making Uncle Jimbo and Gay Patriot happy (and *not* making me unhappy, btw).

Buddies, source, differences by.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Get upset if you're too busy to talk to them for a week.
MILITARY FRIENDS: Are glad to see you after years, and will happily carry on the same conversation you were having last time you met.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Never ask for food.
MILITARY FRIENDS: Are the reason you have no food.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Call your parents Mr. And Mrs.
MILITARY FRIENDS: Call your parents mom and dad.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Bail you out of jail and tell you what you did was wrong.
MILITARY FRIENDS: Would be sitting next to you saying, "Damn...we screwed up...but man that was fun!"

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Have never seen you cry.
MILITARY FRIENDS: Cry with you.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Borrow your stuff for a few days then give it back.
MILITARY FRIENDS: Keep your stuff so long they forget it's yours.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Know a few things about you.
MILITARY FRIENDS: Could write a book with direct quotes from you.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Will leave you behind if that's what the crowd is doing.
MILITARY FRIENDS: Will kick the whole crowds ass that left you behind.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Would knock on your door.
MILITARY FRIENDS: Walk right in and say, "I'm home!"

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Are for a while.
MILITARY FRIENDS: Are for life.

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Have shared a few experiences...
MILITARY FRIENDS: Have shared a lifetime of experiences no Civilian could ever dream of...

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Will take your drink away when they think you've had enough.
MILITARY FRIENDS: Will look at you stumbling all over the place and say, "You better drink the rest of that, you know we don't waste...that's alcohol abuse!!" Then carry you home safely and put you to bed...

CIVILIAN FRIENDS: Will talk crap to the person who talks crap about you.
MILITARY FRIENDS: Will knock them the hell out for using your name in vain.

H/t, Dom J.

Every Once In A While...

...I stumble across this old chestnut.

Suitably updated, naturally, from Being All that It Could Be in the Army of One to being Army Strong.

"Sir! Why, Sir, did the chicken cross the road, Sir?!?"

USAAVNC: The purpose is to familiarize the chicken with the tasks, conditions and standards inherent in road-crossing. Road-crossing should be performed only between the hours of sunrise and sunset. Solo chickens must have at least three miles visibility and a safety observer. Special considerations: MOPP Level IV Not Authorized.

HQ, DA: Due to the needs of the Army, the chicken was involuntarily reassigned to the other side of the road. This will be 1-year unaccompanied tour and the chicken will have a stabilized 3-year tour upon its return. The chicken will not be eligible for re-deployment until at least three months after its return. Every chicken will be required to accomplish one road-crossing during its career, which will not affect its opportunities for future promotion.

TRADOC: This event will need confirmation by repeated iterations of road-crossing using various chicken breeds, road types and weather conditions in order to confirm whether it will consistently occur within the parameters specified for chickens and the remote possibility that they might be tasked with crossing Thruways/Interstate Highways. Commanders will insure that a Risk Assessment Worksheet is completed for each set of specified conditions.

USAREUR: The purpose is not important. What is important is that the chicken remained OPCON to SFOR and was not sliced to KFOR on the other side of the road. Without slicing, the chicken was able to achieve a seamless road-crossing with near-perfect, real-time, in-transit visibility.

USASC: The chicken was instructed to "Hold Short" of the road. This Road Incursion incident was reported in a Hazardous Chicken Road-Crossing Report (HCRCR). Commanders will re-emphasize that chickens are required to read back all Hold Short instructions.

CECOM: The legacy "stovepipe" chickens of today will be replaced with multi-functional, supportable, affordable, integrated and interoperable world-class Warrior and Supporting-Element Chickens (WSEC), enabling them to dominate the digital roads of today and tomorrow. However, previously-committed funding for legacy Comanche software development will require the Service to further slip initial fielding of the WSEC to the right by two-to-four years unless Congressional plus-ups are approved.

CENTCOM J-6 Chicken Systems Program Office (C2J6-CSPO): In a partnering relationship with the client, CSPO assisted the chicken in rethinking its physical distribution strategy and core-paradigm processes, thereby enabling the chicken to implement change in order to continue meeting its mission. However, the actual crossing of the road has not yet occurred due to the number of action items still open from the meeting.

SOCOM: Chicken? What chicken? You did *not* see a chicken, understand?

Acronymed out? See Flash Traffic...

Motivators...

Joe is back. With more.

I think the thing I like the most about this picture is... the cooler. And what it represents about US soldiery.

The thing that has kept enemies for over a century thinking we're weak and unable to fight.

We like our comforts. And we'll still rip your guts out, ascetic-boy.

Motivators...

...continuing from Sanger's trove...

This could be a Denizen Panty Raid.

Motivators...

Sanger found some more...

Motivators...

Motivators...

This one seems apt for today - given Bill's story of being mortared, failure to honor a truce, and Oldloadrs observation yesterday about M113s wearing fencing.

Motivators...

Motivators...

*Typo fixed

A joke!

We need a joke. Well, it's a joke if you like Gutfield. If you're like the HuffPo Denizens who *don't* like Gutfield... well, let's face it, you aren't reading this stuff anyway, so what's it matter?

A man walked into a very high-tech bar. As he sat down on a stool he noticed that the bartender was a robot. The robot clicked to attention and asked, "Sir, what will you have?"

The man thought a moment then replied? "A martini, please". The robot clicked a couple of times and mixed the best martini the man had ever had.

The robot then asked, "Sir, what is your IQ?"

The man answered "oh, about 164."

The robot then proceeded to discuss the 'theory of relativity' 'inter-stellar space travel', 'the latest medical breakthroughs', etc...

The man was most impressed. He left the bar but thought he would try a different tack. He returned and took a seat. Again the robot clicked and asked what he would have. "A Martini please?" Again it was superb . The robot again asked "What is your IQ sir?"

This time the man answered, "Oh, about 100". So the robot started discussing Nascar racing, the latest basketball scores, and what to expect the Dodgers to do this week end.

The guy had to try it one more time. So he left, returned and took a stool.... Again a martini, and the question, "What is your IQ?" This time the man drawled out " Uh..... bout 50"..??

The robot clicked then leaned close and very slowly asked ,

"A-r-e y-o-u-r p-e-o-p-l-e g-o-i-n-g t-o n-o-m-i-n-a-t-e H-i-l-l-a-r-y-?

H/t Cotillionites SWWBO (who got it from) CalTechGirl.

Speaking of Cotillionites - I just realized we were a Cotillion Sandwich in our category of the Weblog Awards.... I'd link, except their linkage stuff isn't working either... it's a disease, I tell ya.

Maggie, maggie....

...Maggie.

You can dress the gurl up, but take her out at your own risk!

Motivators...

Hey! Whattaya want for Christmas?

This is a Denizen Post, so Denizens can put their answers in here, not just the comments. I think I'm going to leave it up top for a few days. Maybe even *through* to Christmas, just to give people who only check in once a week or so a chance.

Boquisucio sent this email to plant the seed:

Hello Boss,

With 12 days 'til X-Mass, I wonder what the denizens out there would like for Christmas.

I for one would say: Oh Santa - for Christmas, I wanna' Sig Sauer .40 S&W
Two-Tone SP-2022 with SIGLITE® Night Sights, please-please-pleeeease!

BOQ

This seems like an *excellent* idea! Come one, come all, and play! Readers and lurkers are encouraged to submit *their* wishes in the comments. You can be funny, you can serious. Just be nice. Naughty is okay, just be nice. If all ya got is Grinchy Scrooginess in you this holiday season, go take it out on someone else! To avoid the thing degenerating into argument - leave the politics at the door.

Okay. Me? I want one of these! A Vickers belt-filling machine. That would about complete the Vickers collection (not to mention just about double it's value...) Hey - I'll be happy to pay shipping!

If that's too pricey for you, this would be kewl, too.

What's on *your* list?
**************************************
What does gollum want for Xmas? He wants a lot.

10) A library of either the hard copy or saved to cd books necessary to make THE career change---you know, you have to cite stuff and can't just make chit up on a whim like Paul Krugman and the AP photo service.
9) The nice piece of sheepskin that would make people believe I know what I'm doing in new discipline (or the money to pursue it).
8) My Internet BB to spend 99% of the coming year happier and less grumpy than the last, 'ya grump.
7) Bill and Sanger to write more often. We miss you chuckleheads, and the wisdom you impart on us younglings that you don't even realize you are bestowing.
6) My committee to make up its mind whether to toss me or approve me so I can get on with my life---you heartless, soul-less wanks----or a lifetime supply of Coke so I can bash my head against a wall in perpetuity to make them happy.
5) The Wife to get passed her experimental road blocks so she can get finished on her PhD.
4) Un-insane in-laws. Not just the parents of The Wife, but the whole lot of them. They're almost all crazy.(You down with me on this one AFSis?)
3) A puppy. Happiness is a warm puppy. Schultz said so.
2) All the Boys and Girls wearing The Colors to come home in one piece, and of sound mind and spirit.
1) My buddy James to get home from Iraq in time for his daughter's second Christmas since he missed her first one. It'll take an act of Congress or someone in the Corps looking the other way for that to happen. But I'm still hoping.
ry
*********************************

Motivators - Attitude!

A positive outlook is important.

Suitable for framing, here.

So, a little attitude! Go Vote!. The lefties are winning this category in a walk... though MVRWC and Stop the ACLU are giving 'em a run for the money. The Castle isn't going to catch anyone. So, go vote for Stop the ACLU, and maybe the Right can score second place... I'm throwing my votes to Lex for Best Military Blog - if only to keep Matt's head under control.

There is always a penalty...

...exacted for maintaining contact with kinfolk on the other side of Hadrian's Wall.

The penalty is -- British humo(u)r...

Far away, in the tropical waters of the Caribbean, two prawns were swimming around in the warm, azure sea. One was named Justin and the other Christian. The prawns were constantly being harassed and threatened by the numerous sharks that patrolled the area.

One day, Justin said to Christian, "I'm bored and frustrated at being a prawn. I wish I was a shark, and then I wouldn't have any worries about being eaten."

As soon as Justin had fixated on becoming a predator, a mysterious cod appeared and said, "Your wish is granted!" – and, lo and behold, Justin turned into a shark.

Horrified, Christian immediately swam away, afraid of being eaten by his old mate.

Time went on and Justin found himself becoming bored and lonely as a shark. All his old mates simply swam away whenever he came close to them. Justin gradually realized that his new, menacing appearance was the cause of his sad plight.

While out swimming alone one day, he saw the mysterious cod again and couldn't believe his luck. Justin figured that if the fish could change him from a prawn to a shark, he could just as readily change him back into a prawn. He begged the cod to return him to his original form and, lo and behold (again), he turned back into a prawn. With tears of joy in his tiny little eyes, Justin swam back to his friends and bought them all a cocktail.

[note: the punch line does *not* involve a prawn cocktail -- that would be trite]

Looking around the boisterous gathering at the reef, Justin searched for his old pal. "Where's Christian?" he asked.

"He's at home, distraught that his best friend went over to the enemy and became a shark," came the reply.

Eager to put things right again and end the mutual pain and torture, he set off to Christian's house. As he opened the coral gate, the memories came flooding back. He banged on the door and shouted, "It's me, Justin, your old friend! Come out and see me!"

Christian replied, "No way, man, you'll eat me! You're a shark, the enemy, and I'll not be tricked!"

Justin cried back, "No, no, I'm not! That was the old me -- I've changed..."

[punchline stashed in Flash Traffic to spare the excessively sensitive viewers -- both of them]

More secrets released by the NYT...

...a Top Sekrit photo representative of the extensive testing the Army Combat Uniform went through has been released by the New York Times.

Hey - one thing's for sure... the ACU works in an urban environment!

H/t, Mike L.

I'm not fit to be in the Israeli Army!

Good thing I didn't join it, then.

From an email:

Oh puhleeze! And I thought most of this lunacy was confined to our own Perfumed Princes...

Good thing they never knew about you and your murderous ways of nuking otherwise innocent Assassins in the middle of an arena. So much for your security clearance...

The article opens thusly:

Army frowns on Dungeons and Dragons

IDF says players are detached from reality and automatically given a low security clearance

By Hanan Greenberg Published: 02.28.05, 14:17

Does the Israel Defense Forces believe incoming recruits and soldiers who play Dungeons and Dragons are unfit for elite units? Ynet has learned that 18-year-olds who tell recruiters they play the popular fantasy game are automatically given low security clearance.

“They're detached from reality and suscepitble to influence,” the army says.

Fans of the popular roleplaying game had spoken of rumors of this strange policy by the IDF, but now the army has confirmed that it has a negative image of teens who play the game and labels them as problematic in regard to their draft status.

You can read the whole thing here.

I was a powerful fighter back in my D&D days... and my Dungeon Mastering experience stood me in good stead when writing doctrine and designing sims. It's all fantasy anyway, right?

And *I* didn't nuke the Assassin - that happened when Bruce the Enchanter, with his farking Golf-Bag of Holding chock-full of rods, staves, wands and who-knows-what-else, teleported into the solid rock column of the cavern behind the gate of the castle of the frost giant Jarl... well, let's just say that it takes a *lot* of hit dice to account for the energies released. Not to mention the party survivors had to find another way in.

And puh-leeze, Kevin - you made your saving throw and got your diety deity [grumble] to resurrect you. Sheesh. Be glad he didn't resurrect you as a ferret! Yeah, naked and weaponless in arctic climes was a little rude, but hey, you sweet-talked everybody into giving you stuff. Of course, for a price. Which, as I recall, was a debt you welched on anyway...

The Garden Shed of Argghhh!!!

Raised, finally. I tell ya, sometimes, when I see that deposit from the VA hit the bank I feel a little guilty about the size of it.

Then, I try to build a shed. I'm underpaid. It took us a month of weekends to do what probably should have been a weekend job.

Okay, some of that was inefficient materials handling, I admit it. Moving stuff more times than it needed to be be moved. But some of it you just can't avoid. Picking up the 1.5 tons of gravel and 1.5 tons of topsoil at the store and loading it onto the big cart. Then loading it into the car. Then off-loading it into the garden tractor's trailer. Drive. Off load at work site. Then, one more time, spreading the stuff around when you needed it. Turns out fatboy was lifting a lot more than 1.5 tons, even if it was 50 lbs at a time.

Then you have to dig the hole, to get things roughly level. SWWBO did that. She's good at digging. I watched from the ramparts with a 'Rita.

Then some screwing needed doing, so I went down to the work-site and screwed away. Oh, puh-leeze. Get yer mind outta the gutter. Assembling the frame for the gravel pit foundation.

Then, load in the topsoil and gravel, and get that sucker level. Pound in some rebar through holes in the frames so the thing won't migrate.

That's three weekends worth of work for slugs like us. And that's work to exhaustion.

Comes the Big Weekend. We really can't risk the weather too much more.

There's the shed. It's in boxes too big and heavy to move, so we leave it on the driveway, at the mercy of the elements. Finally, Prodigal Son and His Sweetums arrives, and he and she and SWWBO get pressed into service schlepping the pieces back to the work-site.

All right! Ready to go! The instructions being in the box buried under the others, I sit down to go through the assembly process. This things a snap-together plastic job, shouldn't be too much of a problem, right?

Heh. Farking thing needs to be on either a concrete slab (preferred, but ain't happening) or a 2"x6" framed wood foundation with 3/4" plywood floor. Treated, natch. Sigh.

Off to the Big Orange Boxy Store. Get the lumber, take it to get cut, rent their truck, load their truck, schlep it to the house, unload the truck, return their truck. Then everyone gets pressed into service to schlep the lumber back to the work site. Thus endeth Wednesday. Thursday is Thanksgiving, off to visit family! Come back Friday, too late to get anything done.

Saturday. Lay down the cement tiles to support the frame, get 'em mostly level. Lay out the frame. Start nailing. Get the sides done, start first stringer. Discover that lumber is cut to "rough dimensions," meaning it's going to be roughly 2"x6"x10'. They're pretty good about the 2"x6" part. It's the 10' they're a little sloppy with. Knock apart the frame. Get sawhorses. Get circular saw. Get tape measure. Schlep the damn wood up to where I've got a safe place to put the sawhorses. Measure. Measure again. Cut. Schlep the farking wood back down the yard to the work-site.

Put together the frame. 72 nails later, the Armorer is in agony. But the frame is built and anchored.

SWWBO renews her offer to buy a gun for the Arsenal. Woot! A gun!

Off to the Big Orange Boxy Store to buy a framing nail gun. The Armory now has Airsoft! Hey - it worked that way in Lethal Weapon II, right?

Bangity-bangity-bangity-bang-bang! SWWBO likes the new gun, too.

100 or so nails later, the frame and floor are done. The Arthritis of Argghhh!!! manifests itself in a manner not to be ignored this day. Undaunted, I determine that at least the finagle-danged floor of the shed will get finished on this day. 48 pan-head screws and 8 lag screws later, the floor of the Shed of Argghhh! is complete, and anchored to the frame.

I ponder my next move.

Whatever it is, it's gonna be tomorrow.

Morning dawns. To helk with blogging. I read email, make sure no one is being too naughty in the comments, slug down some coffee, and head for the work-site.

So, of course, it's gusty. And me trying to assemble light plastic panels seemingly suitable for wind-surfing.

I was supervised.

Undaunted, the walls go up. Then, the roof. There's some challenges there. Assembling the roof required the Presence of SWWBO.

But she brought lunch, which was cool. There was some frolic (or disagreement) over who has successfully hunted the Wily French Fry of Argghhh! which made an appearance during lunch.

Finally, the roof of the Shed of Argghhh! is raised! Huzzah!

There were some last minute things that need attending to - like the door handles, shutters and window boxes. An itinerant furry blob was hired for that work.

Then comes the Loading of the Shed.

And finally, the doors close, and the Garden Tractor of Argghhh! sleeps under true cover (vice the deck) for the first time since it joined the motor fleet. The tractor and a buncha other stuff. Hey, that's what goes in sheds, right? Stuff?

It didn't take long - but the Woodland Gnomes of Argghhh! made themselves at home, too. Loo and all.

Do your Gnomes need homes? Get 'em right here, from Murray, Castle Worker-in-Metal. This particular home was one that went un-bid upon in the last Project Valour-IT fundraiser, so I ponied up the bucks for the donation and left it where the Gnomes would find it.

No Armorers were pierced or mashed in the making of this post.

Coda.

Yes, things are still hosed.

The person who hired the person to do the update has been sacked. The person hired to replace the person hired to do the update has also been sacked. The person who sacked the person who hired the original person to do the update has also been sacked.

A wholly new person has been hired to do the update.

The creator of this post wishes you to know that he, too, has been sacked.

And the comments still don't work.

Except that they do, for some people.

Which is really very odd.

Those of you for whom the comments work - you're sacked.

That is all. Do have a Happy Thanksgiving.

The whatzis, revealed.

Couldn't fool you guys, nope. Not that I really expected to, frankly. I didn't want to spend the time airbrushing out the antennae and other obvious clues, just to have you whine about my chicanery.

It's a trike. An entrant in the Leavenworth Veteran's Day Parade.

Another view here.

*I* think it's pretty kewl!

Time for a change-of-pace Whatzis.

You airplane geeks will get this one quick, I'm sure.

Air Force Gun Pr0n

I've waited a long time to find something that aviators can relate to on what is, you have to admit, a pretty "green" web site. Of course, I don't want to take anything away from John's superb conceptualization, creation, management and continued improvement of what is a perennial favorite in the annual milblog competition. Far be it from me to complain. And yet...

Some of the trivia stuff, complete with pictures...well, I suppose I should appreciate it more. The "guess-what-THIS-is" trivia games like the close up photo of a thingie that turns out to be the Japanese variation of the fuse/arming mechanism of a 1917 Tarkington-Crapspray Experimental Foot Grenade (or whatever...most guess wrong anyway) sort of goes over my head, er, cranium.

So...

Something caught my eye on YouTube that aviators can relate to. I'm sure BillT and Lex will bear me out. Especially Lex. I think Bill's air-to-air gunnery was usually the .45-rounds-out-the-right-door-window variety...which is perfectly OK since we did it too from O-1s and O-2s in the 'Nam (you know, where John Kerry served, remember?). But Lex and I both have learned that shooting an object that's moving in three dimensions from a platform that's also moving in three dimensions takes some getting used to.

Back in the Old Days, before radars and computers and HUDs, the best air-to-air guys had at least two advantages--good eyes and an unusual ability in what was called, at that time, "deflection shooting." In short, their brains could figure out where the enemy was going to be at bullet flyout and put the bullets there while the bad guy, for lack of a better description, "ran into" the rounds.

So how did they practice this skill without burning precious avgas and putting unnecessary hours on the limited airframes? Trap and skeet. Many Ready Rooms/alert shacks had a makeshift range behind them and guys would go out and practice putting the shot where the clay pigeon was going to be. Hint: Don't shoot AT the target, shot in front of it. While we don't have skeet ranges behind squadron buildings anymore, we do have gun clubs, simulators...and the occasional dart shoot in a real airplane.

You want gun pr0n? Here's some that warms the heart of fighter jocks everywhere. Yes, it may have been done on the ground, but it is the essence of air-to-air gunnery, believe it or not. Enjoy. -Instapilot

Update. [Snerk - Dusty, um, does *this* look familiar? Geez, thinks he can snark me *that* easily... Dusty gives you videos... I give you... artifacts.]

Oh.my.gosh.golly.gee.

Ry set me up. He couldn't help it. It's in his nature.

Go read his post below this one, if you haven't already. Then come back here.

Back? Kewl. Okay... sometimes I wonder if Ry is self-aware... lookit what he gave us to work with:

I’m a pariah in academe because...

*gnaws on knuckle*

Okay Denizens! How about a "Finish that sentence" comment party?

Ladies in Leather

Heh. Now watch Sitemeter start spinning like the Hobbes meter on Herbie Wells' Time Machine.

But I digress.

Heh. A tip of the cammie-covered steel pot to the Aging Aviators' Association for reminding me that I have biker buds (and have slightly less time on a Harley than I do in the Blue Canoe) and I've noticed something interesting about their Back Seaters -- when a woman wears leather clothing, a man’s heart beats quicker, his throat gets dry, he goes weak in the knees and he begins to think irrationally.

And I know what triggers those reactions...

(The answer's in Flash Traffic so ry won't throw Mizz Thang into cardiac arrest.)

Mebbe this can be my retirement job...

They're used to war around here. In 1485, Henry VII snatched the Crown just 20 miles away at the Battle of Bosworth. A century and a half later, Oliver Cromwell's troops destroyed the royalists four miles from here at Naseby. During World War II, this very field was an RAF bombing range.

But even the hedgerows and all-seeing steeples of this ancient Northamptonshire hunting country cannot have witnessed anything quite as bizarre as this.

Two tanks are charging through thick mud, blasting away at each other. There is blood everywhere and I'm in the thick of it.

Wobbling around in the gunner's seat of my tank, I have my eyes glued to the periscope and I can see that the enemy is swivelling round to take a shot at me. I am determined to zero in on him first while I have a clear line of vision.

I'll hire on Bill to manage the Attack Helicopainters, and Dusty can manage the Painterbomber fleet... Monteith, CAPT H, and Maj Mike can handle the motor pool and training. Heartless Lib and Sergeant B can handle the infantry. Jim B and Frank can handle arty and mortars. Barb handles the money. BCR instruments the range and makes scary things. Maggie and Werekitten have the bar. Fuzzy runs the first aid station. JTG wanders around playing shell-shocked non-combatant... who will shoot you in the back. Might as well replicate the COE...

Read the rest here. H/t, Mike D.

I'll take suggestions on other duty laydowns, I'm just swagging this one quickly.

Aviators are rats...

...hmmm, confirming suspicions most of us who live *under* aviators, Monteith sends us this link, which he intro'd thusly:

Look out Dusty, yer gonna get replaced by the ooze scooped out of the head of a rat....

Read the story here.

Break for a Joke

The following is shamelessly stolen from comments over at Lex's.

Four United States Presidents get caught up in a tornado…and off they whirl to the Land of Oz.

They finally make it to the Emerald City and find the Great Wizard. “What brings the four of you before the great Wizard of Oz?”

Jimmy Carter steps forward timidly and says, “I’ve come for some courage.”

“No problem!” says the Wizard. “Who’s next?”

Richard Nixon steps forward, “Well, I think I need a heart.”

“Done!” says the Wizard. “Who comes next before the great and powerful Wizard of Oz?”

Up steps George W. Bush and says, “I’m told by the American people that I need a brain.”

“No problem!” says the Wizard. “Consider it done.”

Then there is a great silence in the hall. Bill Clinton is just standing there, looking around. But he doesn’t say a word. Irritated, the Wizard finally asks, “Well, what do you want?”

Bill replies, “Is Dorothy here?”

AFJ Meets PJM

AFJ is, of course, the Armed Forces Journal, which has been transforming / morphing / re-inventing itself as a bridge between the dead tree media and the recycled 'lectron ones.

PJM is, aside from a type of mini rhododendron, the PeeJay Media, the modest alternative to Those Who Blog Nekkid.

AFJ's newest feature is "The Blogs of War," which allows Contributing Editor Chris Griffin to collect a modest financial remuneration for doing what the rest of us do for free.

*sigh*

Nice work, if you can get it. Such milblog luminaries as Blackfive, Greyhawk, the Bubbleheads, Armorgeddon and Cliopatra have suddenly become familiar to readers who don't normally do their surfing in such gritty neighborhoods.

Guess what? We made this month's cut...

Excerpted from "Revenge of the Staff Weenie":

One of the most widely read pieces of Iraq war humor so far is the "OIF Alphabet," a 26-slide PowerPoint file. The original was followed by "OIF Alphabet Part 2." Both can be downloaded from many milblogs. The original, for example, can be found at the Mudville Gazette's milblog archives [my note: yeah, the article spells out the url, but so far, spammers haven't figured a way to download from wood pulp] and Part 2 is available at Castle Argghh!

Okay, so he left off an aitch. Considering that some of the Usual Suspects aren't all that consistent (and on a regular basis, too -- tsk!), I vote we let him slide on this one. Those of you with paper copies, hang on to 'em -- John will be doing autographs at the next MilBlogCon. Those of you hopelessly online will have to wait a few weeks -- AFJ's current 'lectronic offering is always the previous month's paper one (gotta bring in the money to pay the utilities, right?)...

Caption Contest...

...okay, not really a contest, just havin' some fun on a Saturday, since it's the lowest traffic day of the week.

If this pic doesn't inspire you, try this one over at The Right Place.

Let us have a Caption Contest!

Courtesy of Boquisucio...

Have at it!

Saturday's Sundries

One of the nice breaks from all the auto-replies (okay -- make that the *only* nice thing) I get in my resume-spamming onslaught is the rare response from a live human.

Usually, it's because he or she is either bored to tears or curious as all get-out:

"Geez, I've *never* seen anybody as over-qualified as you; can I have your autograph?"

"Actually, we're looking for somebody who'll boost our bowling league's average..."

"I don't think you'll fit our corporate image. I keep visualizing you in combat boots and a flak vest."

However, on rare occasions, I get tips on upcoming jobs and, on even rarer occasions, I get stuff like this...

I hope these give you a laugh -- some quotes taken from real resumes & cover letters; printed in the 07/21/97 issue of Fortune Magazine...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Received a plague for Salesperson of the Year."

"Wholly responsible for two (2) failed financial institutions."

"Failed bar exam with relatively high grades."

"It's best for employer that I not work with people."

"Let's meet, so you can 'ooh' and 'aah' over my experience."

"You will want me to be Head Honcho in no time."

"Am a perfectionist and rarely if if ever forget details."

"I was working for my mom until she decided to move."

"Marital status: Single. Unmarried. Unengaged. Uninvolved. No commitments."

"I have an excellent track record, although I am not a horse."

"I am loyal to my employer at all costs. Please feel free to respond to my resume on my office voicemail."

"I have become completely paranoid, trusting completely no one and absolutely nothing."

"Personal interest: donating blood. Fourteen gallons so far."

"Instrumental in ruining entire operation for a Midwest chain store."

"Note: Please don’t misconstrue my 14 jobs as 'job-hopping'. I have never quit a job."

"Reason for leaving last job: They insisted that all employees get to work by 8:45 am every morning. I couldn’t work under those conditions."

"The company made me a scapegoat, just like my three previous employers."

"References: none. I've left a path of destruction behind me."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Heh. Maybe if I take up bowling...

A tip of the ol' dented SPH-4 to Dawn B.

All around the mulberry bush...

Scene: the back yard / garden / jungle of stately Tuttle Manor, post-thunderstorm. Yours Truly is sierra-sawing a 20-foot hemlock limb into kindling.

Enter KtLW.

KtLW: "What are you doing?"

Me: "Turning the branches the storm knocked down into firewood."

KtLW: "That's not important. Do something useful, like rolling up this hose and putting it away."

Me: "Can't. I'll need it when I scrub the mud off the patio."

KtLW: "Well, then, get to work scrubbing the patio!"

Me: "Can't. First I have to use the blower to get all the leaves and stuff off the patio."

KtLW: "Well, then, get to work with the leafblower!"

Me: "Can't. If I blow the leaves off, the patio will still be covered with grass clippings when I mow the lawn."

KtLW: "Well, get to work mowing the lawn!"

Me: "Can't. The grass is still sopping wet from the rain -- it'll take a couple of hours to dry."

KtLW: "Well, then, do something *simple* -- like rolling up this hose and putting it away."

*blink*

*grin -- takes the first step around the mulberry bush*

Me: "Can't. I'll need it when I scrub the mud off the patio."

KtLW: "Well, then, get to work scrubbing the patio!"

Me: "Can't. First I have to use the blower to get all the leaves and stuff off the patio."

KtLW: "Well, then, get to work with the leafblower!"

Me: "Can't. If I blow the leaves off..."

Heh. Halfway through the third trip up and down the City Road, she gave up.

KtLW: "Hmmmmmpf! I'll never understand how somebody who's supposedly so smart can be so stupid!"

Me: "Gee, my thoughts, exactly..."

KtLW: "Good! It's *about time* you took ownership of the dumb things you do!"

Heh.

*pop!* goes the weasel...

Oh what the heck, let's lighten things up a bit.

What My Mother Taught Me:

1. My mother taught me TO APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE:
"If you're going to kill each other, do it outside -- I just finished
cleaning!"

2. My mother taught me RELIGION:
"You better pray that will come out of the carpet."

3. My mother taught me about TIME TRAVEL:
"If you don't straighten up, I'm going to knock you into the middle of next week!"

4. My mother taught me LOGIC:
"Because I said so, that's why!"

5. My mother taught me FORESIGHT:
"Be sure you wear clean underwear in case you're in an accident."

6. My mother taught me IRONY:
"Keep laughing and I'll give you something to cry about."

7. My mother taught me about OSMOSIS:
"Shut your mouth and eat your supper!"

8. My mother taught me about CONTORTIONISM:
"Will you look at the dirt on the back of your neck!"

9. My mother taught me about STAMINA:
"You'll sit there 'til all that spinach is finished."

10. My mother taught me about WEATHER:
"It looks as if a tornado swept through your room."

11. My mother taught me how to solve PHYSICS PROBLEMS:
"If I yelled because I saw a meteor coming toward you, would you listen then?"

12. My mother taught me about HYPOCRISY:
"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times -- don't exaggerate!!!"

13. My mother taught me THE CIRCLE OF LIFE:
"I brought you into this world, and I can take you out."

14. My mother taught me about BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION:
"Stop acting like your father!"

15. My mother taught me about ENVY:
"There are millions of less fortunate children in this world who don't have wonderful parents like you do!"

Slaying memes, with malice.

So, I find this in my inbox...

Thank you ry :)

I will have to look those up. The Armorer IS a worthless putz, is he not???

From this comment thread.

Ah, the luvverly Cassandra.

Which generated this response, from He Who Should Know Better:

Not so sure about the worthless part, but I'm leaning toward agreement on the putz part. Split the difference? Putz of some worth?;)(flees in terror)

Which generated a response of my own, but that's not important right now.

So. Ya really wanna know what's in the "frequently played" list in the Armorer's Windows Media Player (at work, when trying to not be interrupted, is when I do most of my listening to music)?

Fine.

Johnny Cash's cover of Nine-Inch-Nail's "Hurt".

And this:

1. The Irish Volunteer
2. Boys That Wore Green
3. Opinions Of Paddy Magee
4. The Boys Of The Irish Brigade
5. Paddy's Lament
6. The Irish Volunteer (Nr. 2)
7. My Fathers Gun
8. Meagher Is Leading The Irish Brigade
9. Free And Green
10. The Harp Of Old Erin & Banner Of Star
11. The List Of Generals
12. Pat Murphy Of Meaghers's Brigade

From this CD.

My favorites are, in no particular order, 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 9. Okay, there *is* an order, but only of convenience, not preference.

If you'd like to see the lyrics, click here.

I'm not that much into music designed for dancing, or, more accurately, spastic gyration. I like songs that tell stories. I disagree with Don McLean - July 16, 1981 is the Day The Music Died.

And Al Stewart needs to produce some new stuff, rather than just live on his stuff from the 80's... what, me selfish?

That is all.

Okay, Blame this one on BCR.

Bad Cat Robot briefed on September 14, 2006 08:03 AM
Yeah, yeah, SugarButtons. You think you're all done. See that backlog that extends beyond the horizon? GET TO WORK! More funny stories! The Denizennes will tell you when you are finished. ;-)

I just may hear that in a coupla minutes...

My buddy Ferd isn't the sharpest brick in the hod, but he makes a pretty good living as a furniture dealer. Business is so good, in fact, that he figured he'd expand his line of furniture and trundled off to Paris (France, not Texas) to see what he could find. As luck would have it, Ferd met a furniture manufacturer who had decided to go international and was looking for an American partner.

Later that afternoon, Ferd stopped at a small bistro for a glass of wine to celebrate his good fortune. After a couple of sips, he looked around and realized that the place was fairly crowded and the other chair at his table was the only vacant seat in the house.

Before long, a beautiful young Parisienne walked up to his table, asked him something in French and motioned toward the chair. Now, Ferd doesn't speak a lick of French

*ooop -- sorry about your keyboard, wk*

but he's always had a firm grip on the obvious and invited her to sit down. Ferd tried to speak to her in English, but she only smiled and shrugged.

I'll let him take it from here --

"Well, after a coupla minutes of starin' at each other and smilin', I got an idea. I'm a pretty decent ar-teest -- that's a French word -- so I took a napkin and drew a picture of a wine glass on it and showed it to her. Sure enough, she smiled and nodded, so I ordered her a glass of wine.

"After another coupla minutes, I figured it was gettin' close to suppertime and I took another napkin and drew a picture of a plate with a steak and stuff on it, and she smiled and nodded. So we got up and strolled around the corner to a little restaurant with a jazz trio that was playin' some really smooth tunes.

"I ordered a nice dinner for both of us and, after we finished, I took another napkin and drew a picture of a couple dancin'. Sure enough, she smiled and nodded and we danced until the place turned the lights up and the band was packin' it in. Well, we got back to our table and this time *she* picked up a napkin and she drew a picture of a four-poster bed.

"Ya know, Bill, if I live to be a hunnert, I'll never figger out how she knew I was in the furniture business..."

Heh.

Heh.

Dude - you're welcome, but there's a flaw in your plan.

I simply won't deposit it.

A gift is a gift, eh?

Contrary to your expectations...

...this is *not* the back 40 at the Castle. Nor does it represent an unloading of the basement. Really. Honest.

Marines from B Company's 3rd Platoon stand next to one of the many weapons' caches they dug from the ground during Operation Rubicon in Mushin, Iraq, west of Habbaniyah. The Recon Marines unearthed hundreds of mortars, artillery shells, rifles, machines guns, ammunition and improvised explosive device-making materials. Marines found so many caches, they said they could barely make it 100 meters before discovering another buried weapons' site.

Just sayin'. Really, Lee, it ain't. (That last is for my local Police Chief and fellow-Rotarian)

Posted without comment.

A wife was making a breakfast of fried eggs for her husband. Suddenly, her husband burst into the kitchen.

"Careful," he said, "CAREFUL! Put in some more butter! Oh my GOD! You're cooking too many at once. TOO MANY! Turn them! TURN THEM NOW! We need more butter. Oh my GOD! WHERE are we going to get MORE
BUTTER? They're going to STICK!
Careful...CAREFUL! I said be CAREFUL! You NEVER listen to me when you're cooking! Never! Turn them! Hurry up! Are you CRAZY? Have you LOST your mind?
Don't forget to salt them. You know you always forget to salt them. Use the salt. USE THE SALT! THE SALT!!! THE SALT!!!"

The wife stared at him. "What in the world is wrong with you? You think I don't know how to fry a couple of eggs?"

The husband calmly replied, "I wanted to show you what it feels like when I'm driving."

H/t, 1SG Keith.

Good Saturday Morning!

Amazing Home Remedies

1. If you are choking on an ice cube, don't panic. Simply pour a cup of boiling water down your throat and presto! The blockage will be almost instantly removed. [This will also clear a cosmolined bore - just make sure you don't do it in the kitchen. I've found SWWBO gets very put out when I do things like this in the kitchen...]

2. Clumsy? Avoid cutting yourself while slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold them while you chop away. [Or when unsheathing bayonets...]

3. Avoid arguments with the Mrs. About lifting the toilet seat by simply using the sink. [I'd vouch for this but SWWBO would *kill* me]

4. For high blood pressure sufferers: simply cut yourself and bleed for a few minutes, thus reducing the pressure in your veins. Remember to use a timer. [I can vouch for this one.]

5. A mouse trap, placed on top of your alarm clock, will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep after you hit the snooze button. [Or drinking that beer]

6. If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives, then you will be afraid to cough.

7. Have a bad toothache? Smash your thumb with a hammer and you will forget all about the toothache.

8. Sometimes, we just need to remember what the rules of life really are: You only need two tools - WD-40 and Duct Tape. If it doesn't move and should, use the WD-40. If it shouldn't move and does, use the duct tape.

9. Remember: Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.

10. SOME PEOPLE ARE LIKE SLINKIES...THEY ARE NOT REALLY GOOD FOR ANYTHING, BUT...THEY STILL BRING A SMILE TO YOUR FACE WHEN YOU PUSH THEM DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS

Gee, I miss the Uniform sometimes...

Heh. As I sit here, in my cube farm (featureless and unlovely except for the McFarlane's Military action figures ((oh, all right, dolls)) atop my bookholderthingy) haphazardly ensconced in a (badly) converted barracks (these buildings were designed to actually be reasonably cool in the summer before artificial refrigeration became popular - but when you remove all those features so the sun pounds on the bricks, lock the windows, put in walls where none were intended and then wedge in an improperly designed central air afterthought that doesn't cool that well, but, I digress) on the oldest continuously active Fort west of the Mississippi (which is really ironic, as it was supposed to be on the *east* bank of the Missouri river... vice where the good Colonel actually put it ((which was a good decision, actually - the east bank was a foetid swamp back in the day - now it's just... Missouri, but I redundant myself)) surrounded by mostly contractors and a few GS civilians too cheap to take vacation today (aside: What do I miss most at this moment from hanging up the Uniform? Training Holidays!) I find that I have time to, oddly enough, answer Denizenne Cricket's Question:

A 'Flat Daddy?' Good helk. I knew someone in the Army would go around the twist and now it happened. We didn't have them when I was a young bride and I don't see why these women have to be wet nursed through a dedployment. No sir! We said "Flibbertyfloo!" and drove on. [This wasn't the question, I just like the word "Flibbertyfloo!" and wanted it on *my* blog - no reason Cassie should get all the fun, dammit! The question comes next]

In your peregrinations around the web, oh Princess, might I make a request of you?

About thirty or so years ago there was this film...had monks chanting about the shape of the earth, a chicky boo in a disco having a milkshake made in her head and it started with ping pong balls.

Could you hunt that puppy down?

Posted by: Cricket at September 1, 2006 10:46 AM

She asked it over in Cassie's Coffee Snorter, which, even if you read it earlier from my link above, you should go recheck because the comments are a hoot... Oh, yeah - Why Man Creates. And it was 38 years ago, geez, off by almost a quarter!

You're welcome. And of course, now I want to see it. Why? How could I not, after this?

Germ: I'm a germ, I'm a bug. I'm a germ, I'm a bug. [sees a foot] Germ: Louis Pasteur! I'm not a germ, I'm not a bug. I'm not a germ, I'm not a bug.

Now *that's* good humor!

Oh - and the above is why I'm *never* going to get published as more than a blog post buried in someone else's book... I cannot *resist* an aside...

Unusual Strike Packages.

From an email.

In October 1965, CDR Clarence J. Stoddard, Executive Officer of VA-25 "Fist of the Fleet", flying an A-1H Skyraider, NE/572 "Paper Tiger II" from Carrier Air Wing Two aboard USS Midway carried a special bomb to the North Vietnamese in commemoration of the 6 millionth pound of ordinance dropped. This bomb was unique because of the type... it was a toilet!

The following is an account of this event, courtesy of Clint Johnson, Captain, USNR Ret. Captain Johnson was one of the two VA-25 A-1 Skyraider pilots credited with shooting down a MiG-17 on June 20, 1965.

I was a pilot in VA-25 on the 1965 Vietnam cruise.

The 572 was flown by CDR C. W. "Bill" Stoddard. His wingman in 577 (which was my assigned airplane) was LCDR Robin Bacon, who had a wing station mounted movie camera (the only one remaining in the fleet from WWII).

The flight was a Dixie Station strike (South Vietnam) going to the Delta. When they arrived in the target area and CDR Stoddard was reading the ordnance list to the FAC, he ended with "and one code name Sani-flush".

The FAC couldn't believe it and joined up to see it. It was dropped in a dive with LCDR Bacon flying tight wing position to film the drop. When it came off, it turned hole to the wind and almost struck his airplane. It made a great ready room movie. The FAC said that it whistled all the way down. The toilet was a damaged toilet, which was going to be thrown overboard.

One of our plane captains rescued it and the ordinance crew made a rack, tailfins and nose fuse for it. Our checkers maintained a position to block the view of the air boss and the Captain while the aircraft was taxiing forward.

Just as it was being shot off, we got a 1MC message from the bridge, "What the hell was on 572's right wing?" There were a lot of jokes with air intelligence about germ warfare. I wish that we had saved the movie film.

CDR Stoddard was later killed while flying 572 in Oct 1966.
He was hit by three SAMs over Vinh.

Now, the humorless anti's would demand an investigation into the war crime.

Snerk!

Carrie makes it to the Notable Quotes section of the right sidebar...

Perhaps we should have another category of conservatives besides paleocons and neocons.

"Narcissocons" with the motto "We are always on our minds". If you happen to be one, you are not allowed to have or spend the older quarters because there's a MEXICAN EAGLE on the back. Oh the horror. . . .

Bad, bad terrorists! Sit! Stay!

During their recent deployment to Iraq, the soldiers of the 34th Infantry "Red Bull" Division of the National Guard ran into a particularly heinous form of booby trap - one that preys on the victims of General Order #1, which prohibits alcohol to deployed soldiers....

As long as the soldiers are doing this... morale is okay. You can click here for a larger version.

[And if you're the soldiers who put this together - I'd love to hear the story - whether or not ya wanna share it publicly, which is your call. In fact - I'd love to collect more stuff like this - an aspect of the war that is under-reported!]

I'm fine! I'm fine! Really!

A farmer named Cooter had a bad, car accident. In court, the trucking company's fancy lawyer was questioning Cooter.

Didn't you say, at the scene of the accident, 'I'm fine,' asked the lawyer?

Cooter responded, "Well, I'll tell you what happened. I had just loaded my favorite mule, Bessie, into the.........."

"I didn't ask for any details," the lawyer interrupted. "Just answer the question? Did you Not say, at the scene of the accident, 'I'm fine!"?

Cooter said, "Well, I had just got Bessie into the trailer and I was driving down the road...."

The lawyer interrupted again and said, "Judge, I am trying to establish the fact that, at the scene of the accident, this man told the Highway Patrolman on the scene that he was just fine. Now several weeks after the accident he is trying to sue my client. I believe he is a fraud. Please tell him to simply answer the question, yes or no."

By this time, the Judge was fairly interested in Cooter`s answer and said to the lawyer, "I'd like to hear what he has to say about his favorite mule, Bessie." Cooter thanked the Judge and proceeded,

"Well as I was saying, I had just loaded Bessie, my favorite mule, into the trailer and was driving her down the highway when this huge semi-truck and trailer ran the stop sign and smacked my truck right in the side. I was thrown into one ditch and Bessie was thrown Into the other."

"I was hurting, real bad and didn't want to move. However, I could hear ole Bessie Moaning and groaning. I knew she was in terrible shape just by her moans."

"Shortly after the accident, a Highway Patrolman came on the scene. He could hear Bessie moaning and groaning so he went over to her. After he looked at her, he took out his gun and shot her between the eyes. Then the Patrolman came across the road, gun in hand, looked at me, and said, "How are you feeling?"

"Now, what the hell would you say?"

H/t, Rich B.

Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Hee hee hee hee.

MU-WA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!

Oh.my.

Only SWWBO.

Dear, I am *so* proud.

An Oldie but Goodie.

How to be Politically Correct when talking about Men (Or Army Men)

--------------------------------------
1. He does not have a beer gut...

He has developed a Liquid Grain Storage Facility.(regular guys)

He has a personal war reserve stock.(army guys)

-------------------------------------
2. He is not quiet...

He is a Conversational Minimalist.

He is a SAMS grad.

-------------------------------------
3. He is not stupid...

He suffers from Minimal Cranial Development.

He is a field grade.

-------------------------------------
4. He does not get lost all the time...

He discovers Alternative Destinations.

He gets temporarily misoriented.

-------------------------------------
5. He is not balding...

He is in Follicle Regression.

He has a REALLY squared away high and tight.

-------------------------------------------
6. He is not a cradle robber...

He prefers Generationally Differential Relationships.

He is breaking the new fraternization policies.

-------------------------------
7. He does not get falling-down drunk...

He becomes Accidentally Horizontal.

He practices his IMTs in the club.

-----------------------------
8. He is not short...

He is Anatomically Compact.

He suffers from a Napoleon Complex.

--------------------------------
9. He does not have a rich daddy...

He is a Recipient of Parental Asset Infusion.

He has the Army as a hobby.

---------------------------------
10. He does not constantly talk about cars...

He has a Vehicular Addiction.

He must be a Transporter.

---------------------------------
11. He does not have a hot body...

He is Physically Combustible.

He is a PT stud.

----------------------------------
12. He is not unsophisticated...

He is Socially Challenged.

He is a Ranger.

---------------------------------
13. He does not eat like a pig...

He suffers from Reverse Bulimia.

He eats like a Ranger student at Pizza Hut.

-------------------------------
14. He is not a bad dancer...

He is Overly Caucasian.

He is from the Muddy Boots Army.

-----------------------------------
15. He does not hog the blankets...

He is Thermally Unappreciative.

He is a Blue Falcon.

-----------------------------
16. He is not a male chauvinist pig...

He has Swine Empathy.

He must be combat arms.

-------------------------------
17. He is not afraid of commitment...

He is Monogamously Challenged.

He loves TDY.

What are your additions?

"Kibble with Mustard"

Bill's post below this one, in the closing of which the title of this post appears, reminded me of a TINS.

Not because I know what kibble with mustard tastes like, but because... well, that would be getting ahead of myself.

January 1, 1970. Fryar Circle (named after Private Elmer Fryar, Medal of Honor recipient), just outside of Sheridan Kaserne, Augsburg, Germany. Home to a tank battalion and an artillery battalion of the 24th ID (FWD). The artillery battalion, the 2nd Battalion, 35th Field Artillery, has just installed a new commanding officer, fresh from commanding a battalion in Vietnam. Back in a time when the military was rather more insular than it is today (yes, we really were) there were many social traditions in place who's purpose was to civilize the Lieutenants and acclimatize their ladies to the Service. Traditions observed more in the breach than with any regularity today. While that represents an overall positive - the soldiery getting out amongst the normals more now than we did then - there has been a loss of the sense of community, too.

One of those traditions was the Commander's New Year's Reception. A stylish, formal affair, officers and their ladies dressed up (before 5PM, Dress Blues) and on a schedule worked out by the battalion exec, everybody trooped by at a designated time and stayed for about 30 minutes, then left. One of the reasons for that was to control the flow - so that the Commander and his Lady could actually meet 'n greet and talk with everybody rather than just flit about in a mass. The intent, while seemingly sterile, was actually to facilitate conversation, as well as letting the Boss and his wife get a sense of the social graces of the officers and what, if any, polishing needed to be done.

Children (i.e., my sister and I) were chattel servants, to be seen restocking the hors d'oeurves and such, and little heard from.

Well, not this reception. They all showed up and no one left. Vietnam was in full swing, half of them had just come from there, the rest would be going over soon. The place dripped with Purple Hearts, two Silver Stars, a Distinguished Flying Cross, and 4 Bronze Stars with V.

We ran out of food. Oddly, we didn't run out of liquor, but it was a different Army then.

A young Lieutenant discovered to his delight a Sweet Young Thing who would listen to his stories of intended martial glory and seemed swayed by his tipsy wit and charm. Tipsy enough his Career Preservation Sensor was intermittent.

His face, when apprised by the battalion XO that he was chatting up the battalion commander's 15 year old daughter was... priceless.

As I said, we ran out of food. The Colonel's Lady informed Number One and Only Son to go rummage up something from the kitchen. My initial foray was fruitful, there being a hitherto unobserved box of Triscuits hiding out in a corner of the pantry, behind the Cheerios. That lasted all of 20 minutes. And that only because the alcohol was flowing freely.

The Colonel's Lady was not one to be put off my the mere absence of comestibles. Number One and Only Son was directed to find more. The Colonel's Lady could hold her liquor... but, well, let's just say Mom wasn't firing on all cylinders anymore. Heh. No one there but my sister and I was...

I've got French Onion dip. And I've got... Milk Bones.

Heheheheheheheheheh. And a room full of drunken officers and their spouses, them what had 'em, anyway.

Y'know, if you break off the little rounded bits (a groove facilitating that process thoughtfully provided by the manufacturer) and put a dollop of French Onion Dip on 'em... they make a passable-looking hors d'oeuvre. At this point, Captain Stewart, commander of Alpha Battery, pokes his head in the kitchen to see if there's any food. Knowing the good Captain to be a Practical Joker, I wave him over and show him my creation. His face lights up with an evil co-conspiratorial grin. "I'll take it from here - you just keep making 'em!" Taking up the serving platter, he sweeps from the kitchen. First victim - his wife (last I heard, a few years ago - they were still married). She partakes, bites into it - gets a funny look on her face, and, oddly enough, dawning recognition flares.

With a dimpled grin, a muttered "You b@st@rd!" she deftly takes the platter (not as drunk as I thought, methinks) and starts making the rounds - while Captain Stewart comes back for more.

The party went on until I ran out of Milk Bones. It would appear that if we'd cut the hogs from the trough early, Mom and Dad would have gotten off a *lot* cheaper that night.

The Duty Driver and his jeep were kept busy ferrying the married sots to their quarters, while a deuce-and-a-half dropped sotted single Lieutenants back at the BOQ.

While I've not tasted "kibble with mustard" per se, I *am* familiar with dog food and condiments.

And to this day, I tell that story to all the officer's kids I meet, when they are forced by their parents to attend a soireé as chattel servants. Usually much to the dawning horror of their officer parents. Consequently, SWWBO and I don't get invited to those parties much any more.

Heard In Passing

My back yard abuts those of two others on the street parallel to mine and my neighbors are two elderly ladies who have been friends since they were schoolgirls. Through the years, they shared all kinds of activities and adventures, but these days, their activities are limited to meeting a few times a week to play cards in the shade of the big ol' maple tree which sits on their property line.

I was unclogging the pond pump yesterday morning and, sure enough, they were playing cards. I was going to give them the usual friendly wave "hello" when I saw one look at the other and say, "Now don't get mad at me. I know we've been friends for a long time, but your name has completely slipped my mind! I've thought and thought, but I just can't remember it! Please--tell me your name..."

Her friend just glared at her for at least three minutes.

Then she said, "How soon do you need to know?"

What the heck, a joke.

It's Sunday. The news is depressing.

It's an old joke, but it still makes me laugh.

The 3-kick rule.

A big city lawyer went duck hunting in rural Texas. He shot and dropped a bird, but it fell into a farmer's field on the other side of a fence.

As the lawyer climbed over the fence, an elderly farmer drove up on his tractor and asked him what he was doing.

The litigator responded, "I shot a duck and it fell in this field, and now I'm going to retrieve it."

The old farmer replied, "This is my property, and you are not coming over here."

The indignant lawyer said, "I am one of the best trial attorneys in the United States and, if you don't let me get that duck, I'll sue you and take everything you own.

The old farmer smiled and said, "Apparently, you don't know how we settle disputes in Texas. We settle small disagreements like this with the "Three Kick Rule."

The lawyer asked, "What is the Three Kick Rule?"

The Farmer replied, "Well, because the dispute occurs on my land, first I kick you three times and then you kick me three times and so on back and forth until someone gives up."

The attorney quickly thought about the proposed contest and decided that he could easily take the old codger. He agreed to abide by the local custom.

The old farmer slowly climbed down from the tractor and walked up to the attorney. His first kick planted the toe of his heavy steel toed work boot into the lawyer's groin and dropped him to his knees. His second kick to the midriff sent the lawyer's last meal gushing from his mouth. The lawyer was on all fours
when the farmer's third kick to his rear end sent him face-first into a fresh cow pie. The lawyer summoned every bit of his will and managed to get to his feet. Wiping his face with the arm of his jacket, he said, "Okay, Now it's my turn."

The old farmer smiled and said, "Naw, I give up. You can have the duck."

Yeah, it's mean. What's your point?

Chicken, Iraqi, road, crossing, 1 ea.

Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: NONE

WHY DID THE IRAQI CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD?

MNSTC-I (Multi-Nat'l Security Transition Cmd-Iraq)
The fact that the Iraqi chicken crossed the road affirmatively demonstrates that decision making authority has been transferred to the chicken well in advance of the scheduled October constitutional transition of power. From now on the chicken is responsible for its own decisions.

KBR
We were asked to help the chicken cross the road. Given the inherent risk of road crossing and the rarity of chickens, this operation will only cost the US government $326,004.99 (per chicken)

Muqtada al Sadr
The chicken is a tool of the evil coalition and will be killed

US Army Military Police
We were directed to prepare the chicken to cross the road. As part of these preparations, individual soldiers ran over the chicken repeatedly and then plucked the chicken. We deeply regret the occurrence of any chicken rights violations.

Peshmerga (indep Kurdish fighters)
The chicken crossed the road, and will continue to cross the road, to show its independence and to transport the weapons it needs to defend itself. However, in future, to avoid problems, the chicken will be called a duck, and will wear a lastic bill.

3rd ID
The chicken was not authorized to cross the road without two forms of picture identification. Thus the chicken was appropriately detained and searched in accordance with SOP's. We apologize for any embarrassment to the chicken. As a result of this unfortunate incident, the command has instituted a gender sensitivity training program and all future chicken searches will be carried out by female soldiers.

Al Jazeera
The chicken was forced to cross the road multiple times at gunpoint by a large group of coalition soldiers, according to eyewitnesses. The chicken was then fired upon intentionally, in yet another example of the abuse of innocent Iraqi chickens.

Blackwater (security contractors)
We cannot confirm any involvement in the chicken road crossing incident.

Iraqi Provincial Police Chief
Chicken she cross street because bad she fried the tangled regulation. Future chicken table against my request.

U.S Marine Corps
The chicken is dead.

Aussies-
We saw the whole bloody thing and threw the chick on the Barbie then went to getting on the piss

MNC-I (Multi-Nat'l Corps-Iraq)
The chicken crossing situation is reflected in the TRA as an amber rated capability within only those regions prioritized to receive road marking equipment and should not be confused with units non-operationally qualified to partner, yet, with chicken crossers. This will be briefed in the next conference.

MNF-I (Multi-Nat'l Force-Iraq)
There are no cross chicken operations in theater but by June 15, 2006 we will have 24,300 chickens fully prepared to cross.

Welsh (British Army)
Whale Ya' know what its like to be laying out dead chickens when your dressed like a brownie right? So, thar we were, surrounded by these crazy foggin chickens...

USAF
In the last seven days the USAF has cargo-lifted 732,361 chickens across 852 roads.

British
In Northern Ireland we used to conduct chicken crossing operations all the time. If you will *finally* listen to us, we'll show you...here, in fact, let me show you now...

British (Navy variant)
Fer cripe's sake, what am I doing here dealing with chickens? There isn't salt water for 400 miles from here! Have I shown you pictures of HMS Edinborough today?

FA 59s (Strategists)
In 1835, just two years before his untimely death from Cholera, Clauswitz wrote this about chickens, "blah, blah, blah..."

Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: NONE

3 Things meme, continued.

If the following makes no sense to you - look over in the left sidebar for the "Search This Site" box (right below the Raging RINO's logo) and type in "Carborundum". Start at the bottom, read up.

BCR, when responding to the 3 Things meme, tagged Carborundum, Bill's Guardian Angel.

He's slow to respond, but he did. His answers are in the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry.
.
Heh. Carborundum tagged Ghengis Khan, Prester John, and Effluvius. I'd like to hear *their* responses, too!

The 'Three Things" meme...

...infected this space while I was gone. I don't see why I shouldn't subject you to it just because I was off in sunny Mexico...

But I'll put it below the fold, so you'll only suffer if you want to.

It's in the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry.

Official Photographs, incorrect captions thereon, case #4,578,331

Heh. Seems we're still having caption problems with those people who caption official photos (or the photogs who provide the info, to be fair.) This time, however, it caught someone up known to deployed Castle Denizen Blake Kirk, who tells us in his comment to the news post below:

We're having problems with semi-competent captioners over here again.

Actually, MAJ Bailey works in the 101st Abn Div G4, where I am currently hanging my hat. Her desk is about 15 feet where I'm sitting as I type this, and the "misrepresentation" of her unit in the official caption on the picture has been a source of some amusement in our workspace for the past couple of days. She's a nice lady, and is pretty durned good at what she does, which being the division-level aviation maintenance staff officer.

And in defense of the caption writier, the civil action mission on which MAJ Bailey was photographed WAS organized and led by the 402nd CA.

Fixed. You can tell Major Bailey that on at least one site on the Internet, she gets proper credit.

And now, sinces she's a known entity to us, we'll add her to the Guardian Angel list.

I can hear Carborundum now..."Oh no! NOT ANOTHER AVIATOR!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!"

Screwed Tagged!?!

AFSis must’ve been nipped by a critter again—she tagged me--which proves she's not quite herself, whichever self it is she happens to be at the moment...

Durnburned *chick* questions. Anyway, here are Three--

1. --things that scare me:
a. Having only one round left. Ummm—waitaminnit—I don’t have to worry about that anymore.
b. Flashbacks. Ummm—waitanotherminnit—now they’ve gone to just being Annoying.
c. Those sudden, gaping holes in the fabric of space on the bridge to Arkham...

2. --people who make me laugh:
a. AFSis in Were-Kitty mode.
b. Cricket in Cricket mode.
c. Cassandra in Flounce mode.
d. Neffi in Normal mode. Yeah, that’s four. Sue me.

3. --things I hate the most:
a. Walking three excited dogs along the towpath at night and startling a skunk.
b. Walking three excited dogs along the towpath during the day and startling a copperhead.
c. People whose idea of a meaningful dialogue consists of a lecture interspersed with, “You. Just. Don’t. Get. It.” Heh—there’s a *lot* of things I don’t get, Buttercup; you’re lucky that “pugnacious” isn’t one of them…

4. --things I don't understand:
a. Psychopaths.
b. Sociopaths.
c. People who think that a. and b. are “victims of a dysfunctional childhood” rather than “imbued with the souls of weasels.”

5. --things I'm doing right now:
a. Writing this answer.
b. Racking my brain for another answer.
c. Telling Jake to knock off barking at the wild turkey on the porch.

6. --things I want to do before I die:
a. Get *reeeal tight* with Sky Boss.
b. Figure out how to keep that %$#@! turkey off the porch.
c. Finish writing the book I started fifteen years ago (when the flashbacks went from Holy %$#@! to being merely Scary).

7. --things I can do:
a. Landscaping and waterscaping. Luckily, I heal fast--usually.
b. Build a house to code. Solo. Takes a while, though...
c. Write SOPs that look like they came straight from the Schoolhouse.

8. --ways to describe my personality:
a. Odd.
b. Really odd.
c. See a. and b.

9. --things I can't do:
a. Keep my 12-string guitar in tune for more than 12 minutes.
b. Get KtLW to stop giving me directions five seconds late; e.g., “According to the map that I’ve consistently refused to let you so much as glance at, you should have turned left at that road we're passing now.”
c. Wear a T-shirt outdoors.

10. --things I think you should listen to (because they’re what I hear the twenty-odd hours that I’m awake and, besides, I’m feeling ornery):
a. Love-struck cicadas.
b. Love-struck crickets.
c. A 15-decibel trench whistle backed up by an atonal 35Hz warble. And that probably provides some explaination for number 8.

11. --things you should never listen to:
a. Michael Bolton songs.
b. Barry Manilow songs.
c. The Voices underneath the basement stairs.

12. --absolute favorite foods (soooooo chickish!):
a. Coffee. *Good* coffee. Not that megachain-overpriced-dishwater.
b. Turkey, stuffed with a sausage, mushroom and pepperoni pizza—with extra cheese.
b. Mint chocolate chip ice cream.

13. --things I'd like to learn:
a. Why fluency in Spanish is suddenly a sine qua non for getting a job in the state of New Jersey.
b. How the Dems in North Jersey manage to get over five thousand dead people to the polls every election day without leaving crud trails all over.
c. Why DoD even bothers to go through the motions of BRAC.

14. --beverages I drink regularly:
a. Coffee. Black, no sugar. It’s the only thing I drink with any semblance of regularity.
b. Coffee. Black, with sugar. When I need the jolt.
c. River Horse Tripel Ale. When my normal stress management techniques go off visiting.

15. --shows I watched as a kid:
a. Death Valley Days.
b. Crusader Rabbit.
c. The Ernie Kovacs Show.

16. --people chicks I'm tagging (hey, it's a chick quiz, I got tagged by a chick and I don't get out much, okay?):
a. Brab (who needs the practice--yup, uh-huh, sure thing).
b. FbL (who needs the break).
c. BadCatRobot (who needs to finally admit she can't tolerate lima beans).

If One Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words--

--then these two oughta generate War and Peace in the comment blocks.

Okay, between job-hunting, dialup timeouts, KtLW's honeydew list (written on two rolls of TP--in 2-point Arial Narrow, shorthand, single spaced), the hourly electrical storms for the past week and training a puppy for someone who's clueless about dogs, I don't get out much anymore.

And now I get snarked because the comment parties are getting too blah-zay. Ohhhh-kayy, let's see if I can get something rolling, here...

While poking around Maryland after we got chased out by the flood a couple weeks back, KtLW spotted one of those roadside "Kitsch ‘Я’ Us" establishments and insisted on taking a shopping break. About thirty seconds after bailout from the car, she spotted a four-foot bronze of a frog using a lilypad (or a toad using a toadstool) as an umbrella. Yeah--a batrachian doesn't do *wet*, right?

KtLW: "It'll be *perfect* for the pond!"

Me: "It'll scare the daylights out of the fish and attract egrets the size of condors."

KtLW: "Besides, it's on sale. Look at the price--that's *cheap* for a bronze!"

Me: "Yeah, it's cheap for a one-half scale model of the USS Missouri, too, and *that* won't work in the pond, either."

I was adamant. I expounded on the fifty irrefutable reasons why buying the thing was a Bad Idea. Halfway through number fifty-one, she said, "I need a bathroom. Wait here."

Twenty minutes later, she was back.

"It'll be delivered in two weeks. We can go, now."

*sigh* They dropped it off last Friday. I spent an hour wading in the shallow end of the pond (27 inches deep, naturally) building a sunken pedestal and hooking the blamed thing up.

I plugged in the pump, and after a couple of minutes of No Fountain, I figured the road trip disconnected the tubing somewhere inside and Frogzilla's interior was filling with water.

Right on cue, came the leak.

KtLW looked at it for about a minute and said, "That is *NOT* the effect I was looking for."

Heh. Have at it, commenters!

Cotillion Humor.

SWWBO is a member of The Cotillion, as is Cassandra.

Since she has joined, the group email list has sucked her in. Which is okay, because it makes her laugh.

This is one of the things those oh-so-prim-and-proper Cotillionites send to each other.

This married couple was on holiday in Jamaica. They were touring around the marketplace looking at the goods and such, when they passed this small sandal shop. From inside they heard the shopkeeper with a Jamaican accent say, "You foreigners! Come in. Come into my humble shop." So the married couple walked in.

The Jamaican said to them, "I have some special sandals I think you would be interested in. Dey make you wild at sex."

Well, the wife was really interested in buying the sandals after what the man claimed, but her husband felt he really didn't need them, being the sex god he was.

The husband asked the man, "How could sandals make you into a sex freak?"

The Jamaican replied, "Just try dem on, Man. "

Well, the husband, after some badgering from his wife, finally gave in, and tried them on. As soon as he slipped them onto his feet, he got this wild look in his eyes, something his wife hadn't seen in many years!

In the blink of an eye, the husband grabbed the Jamaican, bent him violently over a table, yanked down his pants, ripped down his own pants, and grabbed a firm hold of the Jamaican's hips.

The Jamaican then began screaming, YOU GOT DEM ON DE WRONG FEET!!!

Oh, the homophobic humanity!

H/t, Cotillionite LindaSOG.

While this one *isn't* a Cotillion submission, I'm betting they'd like it.

A lady from California purchased a piece of timber land in Oregon. There was a large tree on one of the highest points in the tract. She wanted to get a good view of her land so she started to climb the big tree. As she neared the top, she encountered a spotted owl that attacked her.

In her haste to escape, the lady slid down the tree to the ground and got many splinters in her private parts. In considerable pain, she hurried to the nearest doctor.

He listened to her story then told her to go into the examining room and he would see if he could help her. She sat and waited for three hours before the doctor reappeared.

The angry lady demanded, "What took you so long?"

The unperturbed doctor replied, "Well, I had to get permits from the Environmental Protection Agency, the Forest Service, and the Bureau of Land Management before I could remove old-growth timber from a recreational area."

Oops.

"Hey, Viper! Is the bomb release the *white* knob or the *red* knob?"

"Red, why?"

"Oh, nothing. Just curious."

B-52 mistakenly drops bombs on nearby lake

Associated Press
KANOPOLIS, Kan. - Corey Armstrong and his friends got some company while swimming at Kanopolis Lake on Wednesday - nine practice bombs dropped by accident from a passing B-52 bomber.

"I just saw them, when they hit, it was four splashes pretty much at the same time," said Armstrong, 16, of Salina. "The bomber started flying in circles after that."

Lt. Col. Jeff Jordan, commander of the nearby Smoky Hill National Guard Range, said the bomber dropped the bombs by mistake while on a training mission. He said the plane is based at Barksdale Air Force Base in Louisiana.

Jordan said the bombs, all of which apparently hit the water, were filled with concrete, not explosives, and didn't pose a threat to the public.

He said the base in investigating why the bombs were released.

H/t, Larry K, who lives in the shadow of the Guns of Fort Riley.

A Test!

Three Italian nuns die and go to heaven. At the Pearly Gates, they are met by St. Peter. He says, "Sisters, you all led such exemplary lives that the Lord is granting you six months to go back to earth and be anyone you wish to be."

The first nun says, "I want to be Sophia Loren;" and *poof* she's gone.

The second says, "I want to be Madonna;" and *poof* she's gone.

The third says, "I want to be Sara Pipalini."

St. Peter looks perplexed. "Who?" he asks.

"Sara Pipalini;" replies the nun.

St. Peter shakes his head and says, "I'm sorry, but that name just doesn't ring a bell."

The nun then takes a newspaper out of her habit and hands it to St Peter.

He reads the paper and starts laughing. He hands it back to her and says......"No sister, the paper says it was the 'Sahara Pipeline' that was laid by 1,400 men in 6 months."

If you laughed, you are going straight to hell.

See you in hell!

A riddle.

You are on a horse, galloping at a constant speed. On your right side is a sharp drop off, and on your left side is an elephant traveling at the same speed as you. Directly in front of you is a galloping kangaroo and your horse is unable to overtake it. Behind you is a lion running at the same speed as you and the Kangaroo. What must you do to safely get out of this highly dangerous situation?

Stumped? The answer is in the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry

Hey! I'm not fat, I'm embonpoint!

Yeah - that's it!

I often disagree with John Derbyshire of National Review - but I'm with him on this one!

[Enter Husband from left. He has just taken a shower, and is wearing only a towel fixed round his waist.]

Wife [pointing at husband's fairly ample midriff]: What's that?

Husband: That? That's my embonpoint.

W: Your what?

H: Embonpoint. That's my embonpoint.

W: That's not a word.

H: Is so.

W: Well, it's not an English word.

H: If it's in the dictionary, it is. I bet it's in the dictionary.*

W: It's flab, that's what it is.

H: Embonpoint.

W: Flab. Gut. Beer belly. You should get rid of it.

H [feigning outrage]: Get rid of my embonpoint? Never!

W: Om bom pom, phooey. You give it fancy name, doesn't make it beautiful. It's flab. You need to exercise more.

H: No time. Too busy working to support my family.

W [scornfully]: Hah! You worked much harder when we first got married, but didn't have om bom pom. What happened to your six-pack?

H: It's there.

W: Where?

H: Under my embonpoint.

*Oh yeah it *is*... embonpoint.

Heh.

I'm pretty sure this is how it would work out around here, too...

Well, it's not a mid life crisis, but here's how things worked out for me.

Married 45 years, I took a look at my wife one day and said, "Honey, 45 years ago, we had a cheap apartment, a cheap car, slept on a sofa bed and watched a 10 inch black and white TV, but I got to sleep every night with a hot 22 year old sexpot. Now, we have a nice house, nice car, big bed and plasma screen TV, but I'm sleeping with a 67 year old woman. It seems to me that you are not holding up your side of things."

My wife is a very reasonable woman. She told me to go out and find a hot 22 year old sexpot, and she would make sure that I would once again be living in a cheap apartment, driving a cheap car, and sleeping on a sofa bed.... !!!!!!

Hey, who knew? Ain't America great?

I *don't* like sofa beds.

One day out on the golf course...

God is teeing up on 13 when a scientist says to Him, "Lord, we don't need you anymore. Science has finally figured out a way to create life out of nothing. In other words, we can now do what you did in the 'beginning'."

"Oh, is that so? Tell me..." replies God.

"Well, " says the scientist, "we can take dirt and form it into the likeness of You and breathe life into it, thus creating man."

"Well, that's interesting. Show Me."

So the scientist bends down to the earth and starts to mold the soil.

"Oh no, no, no..." interrupts God,

( I love this )

"Get your own dirt."

H/t, Rich B. Betcha didn't know God was a Missourian, either!

Boquisucio sponsors a Caption Contest.

Okay, they aren't really contests. No judging or anything. Cassie's roped up all the good captioners anyway.

Regardless - have fun with this. I expect some serious service-snarking.

Like I leave the keys laying around...

In the comments to the H&I Post below, Jim B, former Marine, Erudite Edumacator, and Bogey-man of Argghhh opines thusly:

Well as usual I have a keen eye for detail (yea right ususlly I classify things like this; If you can't eat it drink it or take it to bed with you what good is it?)

I noticed the Militaria Bar of Argghh, and the Booze Vessels of Argghh, and noted there was no Scoresby present. Therefore on future trips to the land of Argghh (yes Dorothy there is an Argghh) I will be compelled to brink [sic] the official Scoresby hip flask with me. Which is, of course and empied [sic] out plastic bottle that formerly contained Sprite.

Snerk. Looks like it's well-used, too.

1. I don't leave the keys laying around for Denizens to find. If I did, it would be the Empty Liquor Cabinet of Argghhh!

2. We've not yet felt compelled to light the Jim B. Grail Beacon. Close, but you've not *quite* dropped out of sight.

3. Just to make you feel more comfortable, I will send Ry up the High Tower to light the Beacon.

There. Go behind the Curtain into the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry and see what awaits.

Things that make me go, "Hunh."

I use a spam blocker. Frustrated with a recent onslaught of spam for ci@lis, I took a brute force approach and just added ci@lis to the block list.

Which caused Ry no end of frustration this weekend, trying to post a comment in his chat with Trias in the comments to this post (a fun discussion if you've not been following it).

"Yeah, so?" I can hear your fingertips drumming in the desk.

It blocked the comment because of the word "socialism" in Ry's comment.

There's a joke in there, somewhere...

Caption this!

Tough neighborhood.

The Story of Creation - Militant

….And In The Beginning there was Infantry, the Queen of Battle, and there was chaos in the universe, for the Infantry was alone. And there were huge monsters and creatures and other evil things, all of which could devour the Infantry.

And Fear was with the Infantry, and they wept unto the Lord, saying, “Lord, save us, for we are afraid!”

And the Lord harkened unto their pleas, and set certain of them upon beasts of burden, donkeys and jackasses and mules, and these the Lord called Cavalry.

The Infantry and the Cavalry looked about themselves at the very scary world the Lord had created and together they wept unto the Lord saying, “Lord, save us, for we are afraid.”

And the Lord pondered, and saw that Infantry and Cavalry are as babes, and the Lord made to allay their weeping and lamentation, for it was annoying.

The Lord spake unto them, saying, “Lo, and behold, for I bring unto you a noble race of men, keen of eye and wit, with great strength of head and heart and hand, and with courage and spirit undaunted,” and the Lord created Field Artillery and named it The King of Battle.

And the Lord said, “The King shall light the darkness of your goblin-filled night and you shall tremble before him, and when you need smoke, there shall be smoke, and when you need it to rain down death and destruction upon the enemy, then too you shall have it. Just remember to duck."

And the Lord gave unto the Artillery, to be their own, great guns and huge shells, wondrously wrought, and Rockets to Shoot Deep.

The Infantry and Cavalry beheld these things, and as sheep in the fold are wont, knelt before the Artillery and their Pieces, and the Lord was pleased. So were the Redlegs.

And the Infantry and Cavalry said "The Lord must truly love the Artillery to have given them such Kewl Stuff!"

And the Lord said from above, “Check.”

And now abideth in harmony, Infantry, Cavalry and Artillery, but the greatest of these is the Artillery.

H/t Gwedd, for reminding me about this and giving it to me in digits, saving me having to scan the copy from my OBC files.

And now for something completely different.

Continuing the indirect fire theme with a twist, let's listen to a recent call for fire.

"Armorer, this is SWWBO, Adjust Fire, over."

"SWWBO, this is Armorer, Adjust Fire, out."

"Grid FJ 66216 51448, over."

"Grid FJ 66216 51448, over."

"Special Munition in effect, over."

"Special Munition in effect, out."

"Shot, over."

"Shot, out."

"Splash, over."

"Splash, out."

"Right One-Zero, Record as Target, Fire For Effect, over."

"Right One-Zero, Record as Target, Fire for Effect, out."

"Shot, over."

"Shot, out."

"Splash, over."

"Splash, out."

"SWWBO, this is Armorer, Target Number 1369, over."

"Armorer, this is SWWBO, Target Number 1369, out."

"Armorer, this is SWWBO, End of Mission, Target Annoyed, over."

"SWWBO, this is Armorer, End of Mission, Target Annoyed, out."

*Not* a Whatziss. For a change...

An attorney got home late one evening after a very taxing day trying to get a stay of execution for a client, James Wright, who was due to be hanged for murder at midnight. His last-minute plea to the governor for clemency had failed and he was feeling worn out and depressed.

As soon as he walked through his front door, his wife started in on him: "What time of night do you call this? Where have you been?" And on and on and on and on...

Too shattered to play his usual role in this familiar ritual, he went to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a stiff shot of scotch, and headed off for a long, hot soak in the bathtub.

He was pursued by the predictable sarcastic remarks.

While he was in the bath, the phone rang. His wife answered and was told that the governor had relented and granted her husband's client his stay of execution. She finally realized what a day he must have had and proceeded upstairs to give him the good news.

She opened the bathroom door and was greeted by the sight of her husband's rear end as he was bent over, naked, drying his legs and feet.

"They're not hanging Wright tonight," she announced.

He whirled around and screamed, "OH, FOR CRYIN' OUT LOUD, WOMAN, DON'T YOU EVER STOP?!?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Been there, done that, got the T-shirt, the mug, the plaque and the scars to prove it. Heh--a tip o' the dinged flight helmet to Two-Niner.

Caption this!

Okay - go for it.

Catholic Humour.*

The issue of Catholic doctrine having come up at work, with words like "consubstantial" and "consubstantiation" being tossed about with reckless abandon, I turn to the machine and find that Castle Adjutant Barb has spammed me with this - that I must share:

There was an old priest who got sick of all the people in his parish who kept confessing to adultery.

One Sunday, in the pulpit, he said, "If I hear one more person confess to adultery, I'll quit!"

Well, everyone liked him, so they came up with a code word. Someone who had committed adultery would say they had "fallen".

This seemed to satisfy the old priest and things went well, until the priest died at a ripe old age.

About a week after the new priest arrived, he visited the mayor of the town and seemed very concerned.

The priest said, "You have to do something about the sidewalks in town. When people come into the confessional, they keep talking about having fallen."

The mayor started to laugh, realizing that no one had told the new priest about the code word.

Before the mayor could explain, the priest shook an accusing finger at the mayor and said, "I don't know what you're laughing about, your wife fell three times this week."

SWWBO - I assure you the Sidewalks of Argghhh! are just fine!

Update: And, of course, this post generates *this* response - which indicates *why* Brab's [sic] joke was desperately needed:

Apropos of nothing in the consubstantial debate, consubstantiation is the Lutheran and Episcopal explanation of consecration of the sacred species. Catholics reject this and believe in transubstantiation which is a word created to describe bread and wine looking, feeling and tasting like bread and wine except they no longer are bread and wine. The appearance is the accident which hides, from our senses, the Body and Blood of Christ.

From the fury of the doctrinaire, deliver us, O Lord!

*Spelt in SWWBO-fashion.

Amusing stuff for Friday...

[Embedded video links removed because they really hork it up for people who don't have the plug-ins]

The Armorer of Argghhh goes hunting...

And who-the-helk sent Break.com the Castle Party Videos? Werekitten? JTG? Bad Cat Robot? Hmmmm? Security people! Security!

Lastly - if you're old enough to have been playing first-person-shooters since the beginning - you'll appreciate this one!

Castle Argghhh! Medical Advice.

I need a beer, dear. Doctor's orders!

Not to mention a coupla pots of hot joe,

And on the days I'm too busy, I'll just have some Irish Coffee.

Ahhhh. I love it when a pundit speaks their mind...

...knowing it's going to annoy fans and non-fans.

John Podhoretz on NRO today: "So you can all go soak your heads."

Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssss. Sometimes, a little civil incivility is called for.

When he asked so nicely...

...how could I refuse Lex's request?

Lazy Sunday Caption Contest.

I'll start you off.

"Ennis and Jack at Sniper School"

H/t, Larry K for the pic!

Y'know. We need a bandwidth waster.

I think this will do.

Lawyers should never ask a Southern grandma a question if they aren't prepared for the answer.

In a trial, a Southern small-town prosecuting attorney called his first witness, a grandmotherly, elderly woman to the stand. He approached her and asked, "Mrs. Jones, do you know me?"

She responded, "Why, yes, I do know you, Mr. Williams. I've known you since you were a young boy, and frankly, you've been a big disappointment to me. You lie, you cheat on your wife, and you manipulate people and talk about them behind their backs. You think you're a big shot when you haven't the brains to realize you never will amount to anything more than a two-bit paper pusher. Yes, I know you."

The lawyer was stunned! Not knowing what else to do, he pointed across the room and asked, "Mrs. Jones, do you know the defense attorney?"

She again replied, "Why, yes, I do. I've known Mr. Bradley since he was a youngster, too. He's lazy, bigoted, and he has a drinking problem. He can't build a normal relationship with anyone and his law practice is one of the worst in the entire state. Not to mention he cheated on his wife with three different women. One of them was your wife. Yes, I know him."

The defense attorney almost died.

The judge asked both counselors to approach the bench and, in a very quiet voice, said, "If either of you idiots asks her if she knows ME, I will send you to the electric chair."

I'll take two, please.

Via Coast Guard Dad Larry comes this! The Armorer can buy what passes for a Castle here in the States!!!

And while it *is* in New York, the Armorer could indulge himself by keeping an eye on those tricksy syrup-eating Canajuns, while at the *same time* trying to scarf up sufficient land on the Canadian side of this tract to build an Annex to hold Canadian early-spec deactivated weapons, which are *much* kewler and complete than their American counter-parts. Not to mention that you don't *have* to deactivate artillery and such up there, and stuff like that is a *lot* cheaper in Canada than in the US... so the holdings of the Arsenal could expand - *and* be displayed in... a Castle! Not too mention it's at the end of a 700 foot causeway, so the parties wouldn't disturb the neighbors. Too much. The shooting might... but we could build a range on the Castle grounds that would be safe enough, I think. Oh frabjous day!

Well, okay, the artillery would present a challenge, but the lake looks pretty empty in the pic, donnit?

There's just the problem of that dang lottery ticket, now.

Heh. I can play Bill's game.

Sure, I can take random or not-so-random gut parts from something and ask "Whazzis?" (see below)

Of course, what I can't do is the amusing copy...

So, in the manner of Bill: Whazzis?

Oh, yeah - it's about as big around as a nickel.

And it comes from something seen on these pages.

First person to get it, I'll give ya a Castle Mug.

Snerk. I shoulda just pulled a random gear outta an aiming circle...

I think my Mug Stock will remain untouched.

Satori, My Way.

KtLW is a Doctor Phil phan.

And Doctor Phil recently proclaimed, "The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you've started and never finished."

So, I looked around the house for all the things I had started and hadn't finished. Before leaving this morning, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of Jim Beam, a bottle of Bailey's, a bottle of Kahlua, a bottle of Bombay Sapphire, a package of Oreos, the rest of the cheesecake, some Doritos and a box of jelly donuts.

You have *nooooo* idea how inner peaceful I feel…

* * * * * *

Heh. H/t to Doc E.

In the midst of too much to do...

...while suffering the dammed curse 'o the Sassenach, I find this gem in my email box.

Dateline 1979, Germany. A Troop, 3/7 Cavalry is on maneuvers at the military training site at Hohenfels... a handsome and studly young tank commander removes the shoulder holster containing his Army .45 and hangs it from the turret roof near the loader's station. It'll be safe there whilst negotiating the cross-country target acquisition course!

Now imagine if you will, gentle reader, the pendulum effect of a heavy pistol suspended by a leather strap from the turret of a 52 ton M60A1 tank- when in the course of the aforementioned exercise the tank is traversing rough terrain and our hero is desperately manipulating the commander's override turret control to engage close range targets... all in a days work for the Cav! But somewhere along the line physics and gravity overcome the precarious hold of the leather holster strap on it's mounting and the pistol falls!... and becomes intimately engaged with the gear mechanism which rotates the turret... the 16 ton turret... which requires a powerful motor to drive said gear... which consumes and ejects a .45 pistol with all the disdain of yer cousin Bubba spitting a sunflower seed.

Sheesh... this cost me $54, the Gummint cost for the WWII Remington Rand-made .45. A chunk of money for me at the time; I was an E-5 and making 450 monthly- and then the bastids wouldn't let me keep it! I wanted it for a conversation piece, ya know- like, "Hey looky what some dumbshirt did to this here gun thingy!!!" but the bean-counting sumbirtches insisted it was still US Property even after they stripped the dinero from my miserable stipend.

The M16 I crushed two months later cost me $174 and they wouldn't let me keep that, either. Bastids.

Heh. Just in case you're interested in what they retail for now... admittedly in somewhat better condition.

You may amuse yourselves determining *who* might have provided this tale of woe...

Feh. Wimmin.

First - go read this. Plus the comments. Then come back. I'll put a totally unrelated picture up as a screensaver.

Heh. So, I wander in with the first-made coffee of the day, and nonchalantly ask, "Okay, what'd I do?"

"Huh?"

"The post, yesterday, what'd I do?"

"Um, er, uh, [time-buying sip of coffee] umm, good, thanks!"

"Uh-uh. You ain't getting off that easy. What amazing act of cluelessness led to that post?"

"Um, I dunno."

"Er?"

"Well, I just don't remember."

"Heh. Memorable enough to slap me in front of the entire freaking world, yesterday, but you.don't.remember."

"It was just something exasperating at the time. I don't remember what it was."

Sometimes, the actions of Henry VII(I) become more explicable... Now *cannon* - them I understand.

Levity! That's what we need today!

Two priests died at the same time and met Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates. St. Peter said, "I'd like to get you guys in now, but our computer's down. You'll have to go back to Earth for about a week, but you can't go back as priests. What'll it be?"

The first priest says, "I've always wanted to be an eagle, soaring above the Rocky Mountains."

"So be it," says St. Peter, and off flies the first priest.

The second priest mulls this over for a moment and asks, "Will any of this week 'count', St. Peter?"

"No, I told you the computer's down. There's no way we can keep track of what you're doing."

"In that case," says the second priest, "I've always wanted to be a stud."

"So be it" says St. Peter, and the second priest disappears.

A week goes by, the computer is fixed, and the Lord tells St. Peter to recall the two priests. "Will you have any trouble locating them?" He asks.

"The first one should be easy," says St. Peter. "He's somewhere over the Rockies, flying with the eagles. But the second one could prove to be more difficult."

"Why?" asked the Lord.

"He's on a snow tire, somewhere in North Dakota."

Intimations of Mortality

Despite all the sadness in the world at the moment, it is worth reflecting on last week's passing of someone who made an incalculable contribution to the profession of Wedding Singer.

Larry LaPrise, the man who wrote "The Hokey Pokey" died peacefully at the age of 93. His death was all but unnoticed by the MSM.

The most traumatic part for his family was getting him into the coffin.

They put his left leg in.

And then the trouble started...

Heh. H/t to Doc E.

What's the Kerfuffle?

Mebbe I missed it - but people are upset over a drawing of Union General Ambrose Burnside celebrating Mardi Gras?

I mean really.

Who is this?

The Profit?

Or Ambrose?

You decide.

I mean, really.

It's obvious to me. This is clearly a clueless Union General Ambrose Burnside at a post-war Mardi Gras in New Orleans with a flaming drink made from an office globe given him by a Confederate Veteran of Antietam.

Get with the program, people. Sheesh.

Home-wrecking, er, remodeling of Argghhh!

We're actually done with demolition work and are busy making *enhancements*.

With Supervision, of course.

Here is SWWBO being Admonished by Floor Installation Supervisor Gandalf.

The Painting Inspectors were by, too.

But, all in all, things are progressing nicely, I think. If slower than we'd like.

Destruction pic available here.

Some good one liners in the midst of the DoS attack.

We're collateral damage, not the target. Silly buggers. The message is *still* out there, via Google. All this has done is give me a reason to fire up Photoshop.

The one liners...

Some new, some old. The cyber-jihadis farking around with Castle Argghhh!'s infrastructure should take note of Number 1.

"Creating smoking holes (with bombs) gives our lives meaning and enhances our manliness." LTC (EUCOM) at a CT conference

"Eventually, we have to 'make nice' with the French, although, since I'm new in my job, I have every expectation that I'll be contradicted."
Dept of State rep at a Counter Terrorism Conference

"Everyone should have an equal chance, but not everyone is equal."

"You can get drunk enough to do most anything, but you have to realize going in that there are some things that, once you sober up and realize what you have done, will lead you to either grab a 12-gauge or stay drunk for the rest of your life."

"Once you accept that a dog is a dog, you can't get upset when it barks." Lt Col (USSOCOM)

"That guy just won't take 'yes' for an answer." MAJ (EUCOM)

"Let's just call Lessons Learned what they really are: institutionalized scab picking."

"I can describe what it feels like being a Staff Officer in two words: distilled pain." CDR (NAVEUR)

"When all else fails, simply revel in the absurdity of it all." LCDR
(CENTCOM)

"Never attribute to malice that which can be ascribed to sheer stupidity." LTC (CENTCOM)

The worst that has happened? I spent time with SWWBO I would otherwise have spent at the keyboard... beat me with that stick.

Oh, and Castle Argghhh! has probably been robbed of our chance to break 80K visits for the month by the Wahabist hosers.

Ha! I don't sell ads, dudes, Ya didn't cost me a dime, and Hosting Matters will probably rebate some of the month's charges even.

However here we sit, bloody but unbowed, bruised but unbroken, still balefully glaring out at you sitting on top of a heap of skulls and shouting out to the world:

Put that in your hookah and smoke it, hosers.

Caption Contest!

Provided by Boquisucio - go for it.

I'll start: "And you thought Douglas Adams was writing novels..."

SNERK!

Simply, excellent. H/t, JTG, who sez:

I was gonna post, but #80 did it for me.*

If you think this is as funny as I do - you spend waaaaaaay too much time reading blogs.

Once upon a time...

...there were three marmosets residing in the Philadelphia Zoo who decided they wanted to live in luxury for the rest of their lives.

They just didn’t know how they were going to do it.

So, they all sat down at the conference table at the top of the big fiberglass tree and brainstormed the problem.

After three hours of rejecting every idea they put out for discussion, the littlest marmoset said, “Y’know, the oceans are ruled by the heirs of Neptune -- the Four Eternal Porpoises. But their immortality depends on them dining once every fifty years on a meal of roast seagull.”

“Yeah, and…?” asked the biggest marmoset.

The littlest marmoset replied, “This is the year. They have to eat roast seagull this year or they’ll resume aging. They’re the rulers of the sea, knowing all its secrets and the location of all its treasures, so I’ll bet they’d be grateful enough to pay a fortune to anyone who could deliver a bunch of seagulls to their underwater grotto in the Florida Keys.”

“Dummy!” shouted the middle-sized marmoset. “The Keys are lousy with seagulls -- the porpoises can get ‘em any time they want to lift a flipper!”

The littlest marmoset grinned. “Not so!” he said, “Since seagulls are a protected species, the Feds placed a geas on the porpoises forty-nine years ago -- they can’t approach the surface whenever seagulls are present. And to keep entrepreneurs like us from delivering roast seagull to the porpoises, they chained a pair of fierce lions just inside the entrance to the grotto. All we’ve gotta do is grab some seagulls, toss the lions a couple of dozen burgers laced with tranquilizers and we’re set for life.”

The other two marmosets agreed it was a splendid idea. They hopped the zoo fence at closing time, scampered down to Penn's Landing, nabbed four seagulls in a trap baited with week-old squid and set out for the Florida Keys.

At the Last Burger Joint Before the Grotto, the three marmosets ordered fifty burgers to go -- extra ketchup, hold the onions -- and set out for the grotto of the Four Eternal Porpoises.

The lions roared a warning as the three marmosets approached with trepidation (and seagulls and burgers), but after scenting the flame-broiled goodies, the lions quieted. The marmosets unwrapped the burgers (extra ketchup, hold the onions), added a hefty dose of a leading brand name mood-equalizing chemical compound to each, and proceeded to toss them to the lions.

Between the tryptophan and the tranquilizers, the lions were soon prone, relaxed and, ummmmm, sedate.

The three marmosets lifted the cage containing the trapped seagulls, entered the grotto, hopped gingerly over the semi-comatose lions and proceeded down into the depths.

Where they were promptly arrested by Federal agents.

Because, as everybody knows --

*ohhhh, this is gonna leave a bruise…*

it’s illegal to transport gulls across staid lions for immortal porpoises.

Snerk!

I'm sure it's not true, but I'm also sure it's funny. And since I picked on Big Media today, this is proffered as "balance"...

CNN Photographer

A photographer for CNN was assigned to cover southern California's wildfires last year. He wanted pictures of the heroic work the firefighters were doing as they battled the blazes. When the photographer arrived on the scene, he realized that the smoke was so thick it would seriously impede, or even make impossible, his getting good photographs from the ground level. He requested permission from his boss to rent a plane and take photos from the air. His request was approved and he used his cell phone to call the local county airport to charter a flight. He was told a single engine plane would be waiting for him at the airport. Arriving at the airfield, he spotted a plane warming up outside a hanger. He jumped in with his bag, slammed the door shut, and shouted, "Let's go!" The pilot taxied out, swung the plane into the wind and roared down the runway. Once in the air, the photographer requested the pilot to, "Fly over the valley and make two or three low passes so I can take some pictures of the fires on the hillsides." "Why?" asked the pilot. "Because I'm a photographer for CNN," he responded. "And, I need to get some close-up shots." The pilot was strangely silent for a moment, but finally he stammered, "So, you're telling me you're not the flight instructor?

H/t, Rich B.

Contractor Lexicon

As an Outside-The-Beltway Bandit who reads the occasional government Request for Proposal (RFP) and then tries to craft a credible fantasy document for the government that will, A. Give them what they want, what they really really want, vice what they asked for (you gotta read some of these to believe 'em*), and; B. squeeze enough blood from the turnip to get filthy stinking rich yet not attract the attention of people like Owen Dyer or Mike Wallace, yet still win the bid, I can relate to this bit.

Government Contracting Dictionary

CONTRACTOR -- A gambler who never gets to shuffle, cut or deal.

BID OPENING -- A poker game in which the losing hand wins.

BID -- A wild guess carried out to two decimal places.

LOW BIDDER -- A contractor who is wondering what he left out of his bid.

ENGINEER'S ESTIMATE -- The cost of construction in heaven.

PROJECT MANAGER -- The conductor of an orchestra in which every musician is in a different union.

CRITICAL PATH METHOD - A management technique for losing your shirt under
perfect control.

OSHA -- A protective coating made by half-baking a mixture of fine print, red tape, split hairs and baloney -- usually applied at random with a shotgun.

STRIKE -- An effort to increase egg production by strangling the chicken.

DELAYED PAYMENT -- A tourniquet applied at the pockets.

COMPLETION DATE -- The point at which liquidated damages begin.

LIQUIDATED DAMAGES -- A penalty for failing to achieve the impossible.

AUDITOR -- People who go in after the war is lost and bayonet the wounded.

LAWYER -- People who go in after the auditors and strip the bodies.

Oh, btw, ain't gotten anywhere close to the initial clause of B, yet *still* managed to attract Owen's attention. Sigh.

If you didn't understand that last sentence, you don't read all the comments to all the posts. Shame on you.

Murphy's Law for Cops

Bullet Proof vests aren't.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall. They punch, kick and choke harder too.

The speed at which you respond to a fight call is inversely proportional to how long you've been a cop.

Tear gas works on cops too, and regardless of wind direction, will always blow back in your face.

High speed chases will always proceed from an area of light traffic to an area of extremely heavy traffic.

If you know someone who tortures animals and wets the bed, he is either a serial killer or he works for Internal Affairs.

Placing a gun back in a shoulder holster with your finger on the trigger will cause you to walk with a limp.

Flash suppressors don't really.

If you have `cleared' all the rooms and met no resistance, you and your entry team have probably kicked in the door of the wrong house.

If a cop swings a baton in a fight, he will hit other cops more often than he will hit the bad guys he swings at.

Domestic arguments will always migrate from an area of few available weapons (living room), to an area with many available weapons (kitchen).

If you have just punched out a handcuffed prisoner for spitting at you, you are about to become a star on `Eyewitness News'.

Bullets work on veteran cops too. They also work on weight lifters, martial arts experts, department marksmen, Narco Investigators, S.W.A.T. jocks, and others who consider themselves immortal.

When a civilian sees a red light approaching at a high rate of speed, he will always pull into the lane the cop needs to use.

If you drive your patrol car to the geometric center of the Gobi Desert, within five minutes some dumb civilian will pull along side you and ask for directions.

You can never drive slow enough to please the citizens who don't need a cop, and you can never drive fast enough to please the ones who do.

Any suspect with a rifle is a better shot than any cop with a pistol.

From behind you, the bad guys can see your night sights as well as you can.

On any call, there will always be more `bad guys' than there are good guys, and the farther away your back-up, the more there will be.

The longer you've been a cop, the shorter your flashlight and your temper gets.

Whatever you are about to do, if there is a good chance it will get you killed, you probably shouldn't do it.

You should never do a shotgun search of a dark warehouse with a cop whose nickname is "Boomer."

The better you do your job, the more likely you are to be shot, injured, complained on, sued, investigated, or subpoenaed on your day off.

If a large group of drunk bikers is "holed-up" in a house, the Department will send one officer in a beat car. If there is one biker "holed-up" in a house, they will send the entire S. W. A. T. Team.

The likelihood that you are speaking to an undercover law enforcement officer, is directly proportional to the number of personal questions being asked of you.

I love a good snark.

Well, unless it's aimed at me, of course. Try these on for size:

1. Obviously you're unable to assimilate my stimulating concepts into your blighted and simplistic world-view.

2. I don't know what your problem is, but I'll bet it's hard to pronounce.

3. Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental.

4. I can see your point, but I still think you're full of it.

5. I like you. You remind me of me when I was young and stupid.

6. What am I? Flypaper for freaks!?!?

7. I'm not being rude. You're just insignificant.

8. I'll give you a nice, shiny quarter if you'll go away.

9. I'm already visualizing the duct tape over your mouth.

10. I will always cherish the initial misconceptions I had about you.

11. It's a thankless job, but I've got a lot of Karma to burn off.

12. Yes, I am an agent of Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial.

13. How about never? Is never good for you?

14. I'm really easy to get along with once you people learn to worship me.

15. You sound reasonable. It must be time to up my medication.

16. You're just jealous because the little voices talk to ME.

17. I'll try being nicer if you'll try being smarter.

18. I'm out of my mind, but feel free to leave a message...

19. I don't work here. I'm a consultant.

20. Who me? I just wander from room to room.

I'm pretty sure that #12 came from BCR, in her Evil Overlord aspect.

#20 is JTG. Speaking of JTG... where is he?

Number 14? Two words. Princess.Crabby.

Number 1? Me, talking down to Ry.

Kat=#4.

There, I got you started - whattayouthink?

Heh. Numerological Trivia. Or izzit horological?

I've gotten two different emails on the subject of an upcoming numerical quirk that occurs early tomorrow morning:

01:02:03 04/05/06.

That won't ever happen again.

You may now return to your (normal ?) life.

The other note I received says it won't happen again for 1000 years. Smarting from recent snarkage around here, I observed:

I got this from a different source that said it won't happen again for 1000 years... Not to be too picky - but as long as we use the "two digit" shorthand for years, won't it happen every 100 years?

In fact, distilled to it's barest bones, wasn't that what the Y2K computer date frenzy we spent all that time, money, and worry on, was about?

A New York science teacher on my friend's email list chimed in with this:

My personal favorite is going to be 12:34 on May 6, 2007.

Not as neat in terms of notation...

That is all. Yeah, I'm bored and inflicting it on you. Too tired to do useful work, but trying to stay awake to get back in synch.

Update - I was just reminded, unless you are using a 24 hour clock notation... it happens twice on the same day, too...

So *that's* what makes it go...

On the grounds of the Korean War Memorial they have an old B-52 (the version with a manned tail gunner position).

You know, one of these.

Now here I thought it was those eight, water-injected ozone destroyers on the wing that made this thing fly.

But I was set straight by a young Korean girl who was very proud of her English and her erudition. She told me how the B-52 *really* gets into the air.

I was solemnly informed - it was the Nimbus 2000 that made the B-52 fly.

Who am I to argue with incontrovertible proof like that?

Disorder in the Court

For your ponderification: some selected excerpts from Disorder in the Court: Great Fractured Moments in Courtroom History by Charles M. Sevilla.

Verbatim transcripts from court reporters who were professional enough to remain calm while these exchanges were actually taking place. Now I know why trial lawyers contribute so heavily to the Party of Entitlements...
______________________________

ATTORNEY: Are you sexually active?
WITNESS: No, I just lie there.
______________________________

ATTORNEY: What is your date of birth?
WITNESS: July 18th.
ATTORNEY: What year?
WITNESS: Every year.
________________________________

ATTORNEY: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
WITNESS: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.
________________________________

ATTORNEY: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
WITNESS: I forget.
ATTORNEY: You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot?
________________________________

ATTORNEY: How old is your son, the one living with you?
WITNESS: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can't remember which.
ATTORNEY: How long has he lived with you?
WITNESS: Forty-five years.
________________________________

ATTORNEY: What was the first thing your husband said to you that morning?
WITNESS: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?"
ATTORNEY: And why did that upset you?
WITNESS: My name is Susan.
________________________________

ATTORNEY: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo?
WITNESS: We both do.
ATTORNEY: Voodoo?
WITNESS: We do.
ATTORNEY: You do?
WITNESS: Yes, voodoo.
________________________________

ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?
WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?
________________________________

ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the twenty-year-old, how old is he?
WITNESS: Uh, he's twenty-one...
________________________________

ATTORNEY: Were you present when your picture was taken?
WITNESS: Would you repeat the question?
________________________________

ATTORNEY: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And what were you doing at that time?
WITNESS: Uh....
________________________________

ATTORNEY: She had three children, right?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: How many were boys?
WITNESS: None.
ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?
________________________________

ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?
WITNESS: By death.
ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?
________________________________

ATTORNEY: Can you describe the individual?
WITNESS: He was ! about medium height and had a beard.
ATTORNEY: Was this a male or a female?
________________________________

ATTORNEY: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?
WITNESS: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.
________________________________

ATTORNEY: Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?
WITNESS: All my autopsies are performed on dead people.
________________________________

ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?
WITNESS: Oral.
________________________________

ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?
WITNESS: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.
ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?
WITNESS: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy on him!
________________________________

ATTORNEY: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?
WITNESS: Huh?
________________________________

ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
ATTORNEY: But could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?
WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law.
_______________________________

Heh. Makes you wonder about the folks who *didn't* pass the Bar Exam, doesn't it?

H/t to Mo

Hmmm.

From an email:

Interesting Year 1981:

1. Prince Charles got married.

2 . Liverpool crowned soccer champions of Europe.

3. Australia lost the Ashes tournament.

4. Pope died. (Where's the before-you-post-it fact checker?)

Interesting year 2005:

1. Prince Charles got married.

2. Liverpool crowned soccer champions of Europe.

3. Australia lost the Ashes tournament.

4. Pope died.

Lesson learned? - The next time Charles gets married, someone warn the pope.

As Bill notes - bet the farm on Liverpool.

My Saturday is over...

...yours is just beginning. I'm gonna be lazy and do a few jokes and otherwise take the day off. All y'all have fun!

A married couple in their early 60s was out celebrating their 35th wedding anniversary in a quiet, romantic little restaurant. Suddenly, a tiny yet beautiful fairy appeared on their table and said, "For being such an exemplary married couple and for being faithful to each other for all this time, I will grant you each a wish."

"Oh, I want to travel around the world with my darling husband" said the wife. The fairy waved her magic wand and - poof! - Two tickets for the Queen Mary II luxury liner appeared in her hands.

Then it was the husband's turn. He thought for a moment and said: "Well, this is all very romantic, but an opportunity like this will never come again. I'm sorry my love, but my wish is to have a wife 30 years younger than me."

The wife, and the fairy, were deeply disappointed, but a wish is a wish...

So the fairy waved her magic wand and - poof!- The husband became 92 years old.

The moral of the story: Men who are ungrateful bassids should remember fairies are female.

[joe pesci voice] Okay, okay, okay - I gotta 'nother one [/joe pesci voice]

Grandpa and Grandma were visiting the kids overnight, when Grandpa found a bottle of Viagra in his son's medicine cabinet. He asked the son about using one of the pills. The son said, "I don't think you should take one; they're very strong and very expensive". "How much?" asked Grandpa. "$10.00 a pill," answered the son. "I don't care," said Grandpa, "I'd still like to try one, and I'll leave the money under your pillow as soon as I break this bill.

The next morning the son found $110.00 under
his pillow. The son said, "I told you each pill was
$10.00, not $110.00."

"I know," said Grandpa.
"The hundred is from Grandma."

I'll be in the house all week, thank you, thank you, thank you!

All right, all right, ya talked me into it.

Click here, take a look at the picture, and gimme a guess as to the cup size.

Made your guess? Good.

Now click here, and see how close you were.

Yowza!

Some of the best Chinese cuisine can be found in Seoul, John. This, however, may require a bit too much of your still-maturing chopstick skills. Bon appetit.

I need a joke before I head to bed.

A Ukrainian woman married an American gentleman and they lived happily ever after in North Carolina.

However, the poor lady was not very proficient in English, but did manage to communicate with her Husband.

The real problem arose whenever she had to shop for groceries.

One day, she went to the butcher and wanted to buy Chicken legs.

She didn't know how to put forward her request, and in desperation, clucked like a chicken, and lifted up her skirt to show her thighs. The butcher got the message, and gave her the Chicken legs.

The next day, she needed to get chicken breasts.

Again, she didn't know how to say it, and so she clucked like a chicken and unbuttoned her blouse to show the Butcher her breasts!

The butcher understood again, and gave her some chicken Breasts.

The 3rd day, the poor lady needed to buy sausages.

Unable to find a way to communicate this, she brought her husband to the store...

(The rest is in the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry)

Something Old, Something New

Granted, some of 'em are antedeluvian, but there are enough new entries to make it chucklesome. And maybe there's a young lady in Seoul who'll need further enlightenment on the subject of:

You Might Be A Redneck If...

1. ...you take your dog for a walk and you both use the same tree.

2. ...you can entertain yourself for more than 15 minutes with a fly swatter.

3. ...your boat hasn’t left the driveway in 15 years.

4. ...you burn your yard rather than mow it.

5. ...you think The Nutcracker is something you do off the high board.

6. The Salvation Army declines your furniture.

7. ...you offer someone the shirt off your back and they don't want it.

8. ...you have the local taxidermist on speed dial.

9. ...you come back from the dump with more than you brought there.

10. ...you keep a can of bug spray next to the ketchup on the kitchen table.

11. ...your wife can climb a tree faster than your cat.

12. ...your grandmother has "ammo" in the top five on her Christmas list.

13. ...you keep flea and tick soap in the shower.

14. ...you've been involved in a custody fight over a coon hound.

15. ...you go to the stock car races and don't need a program.

16. ...you know *exactly* how many bales of hay your car will hold.

17. ...you have a rag for a gas cap.

18. ...your house doesn't have curtains -- but your truck does.

19. ...you wonder how service stations keep their restrooms so clean.

20. ...you can spit without opening your mouth.

21. ...you consider your license plate personalized because your father made it.

22. ...your life goal is to own a fireworks stand.

23. ...you have a complete set of salad bowls and they all say "Cool Whip" on the side.

24. The biggest city you've ever been to is Wal-Mart.

25. ...your working TV sits on top of your non-working TV.

26. ...you've used your ironing board as a buffet table.

27. A tornado hits your neighborhood and does $500,000 worth of improvements.

28. ...you've used a toilet brush to scratch your back.

29. ...you missed your 5th grade graduation because you were on jury duty.

30. ...you think fast food means hitting a deer at 65.

Heh. H/t to 29charly.

Armorer@Seoul

This is the morning view from the window of my lofty perch.

This is the evening view.

Today was spent recovering from jet lag (heh, it's jet *push* going this way) and reconning the Yongson Garrison, where we'll be meeting and greeting people tomorrow. Making sure we kind of know our way around so if we run into an unscrupulous cab driver (not yet, 5 cab rides so far) we can argue with him, but more importantly, getting a sense for the time it takes to move around the area so we can be where we need to be *when* we need to be.

My traveling companion Pete was disappointed to find out that the suit-maker at the Yongson PX had upped his prices. In fact, Pete's spent enough time over time in Korea he was a little surprised at how much closer many prices were to stateside prices than he remembered.

We went to the Electronics Mart (a block of city space given over to electronics and myriad vendors, large and small) where Pete did score some memory for his laptop.

After doing our leader's recon, we headed back to the hotel to catch up on email, do some prep for tomorrow, and work on those tasks that haven't disappeared just because we're in Korea...

Dinner tonight was at a Korean restaurant in the attached shopping center. The place was part of the Shinsegai department store and called... Hoorwon I believe. We sat at a table with a gas burner in the middle and ordered Beef with mushrooms and noodles stew - which was prepared at the table. I allowed the locals to titter behind their hands at my total lack of chopstick skillz - which worked to get the very pretty waitress to offer lessons. Hah. You think there is no method to the madness... I still suck at it, but I'm not wearing too much of the food, and I got hovered over by a purty young thang. What's not to like?

I also tried Sooju, a local hard liquor. Potent, but deceptive. Didn't like it enough to try it again, however - unless it was just that particular brand.

In this part of Seoul you almost have to take a taxi to get to 'genuine' Korean cuisine.

But you can find this kind of place all around. Which is not surprising - since it's my favorite restaurant in Kansas City (an opinion SWWBO does not share) it was only natural I would find it here - without looking.

It's *also* a part of the attached shopping mall. Which had these odd fellows guarding the entrance - or perhaps they were there to secure the World's Largest Bronze Simulacrum of a Ball of Twine. It could also be a nekkid baseball... I dunno.

I *did* perform my first true consultative service (albeit gratis) in Korea. While Pete and I were wandering the supermarket in the basement of the shopping center (very much like Harrod's Food Stalls - full of the familiar and exotic) I was stopped by a young Korean woman who enquired if I was an english-speaker. She knew I was a hairy barbarian, but didn't need a german one. She had a question about a play script she was reading for a class - the scene was about parochial school, and has a character talking to another one about his grades. The phrase in biggest question was "Ah, I see by your marks you sat in the back of class." A comment which, based on her experience of assigned seats in class, confused her.

I explained the type of student in American educational institutions who *prefer* to sit in back. A light went on, she brightened up, and then said, "Ah! The rest of this now makes *much* more sense!"

We all went on our merry ways.

Pay yer bills!

Heh. Below the fold in the extended entry.

Snerk!

Continuing the St Paddy's Day theme... this is where I admit... I don't really *like* Guinness. I gave it a shot, I really did... but, blah. Not to say I don't like a good dark brew - just not Guinness. Sorry Lex.

Update: Hee! Looking up one post, I see that AFSis and I were busy here at the same time!

H/t to AFSis, who scored... Microbrew! And has... pretty feet, as far as that goes.

Just in Time for St Paddy's...

...a Beer Troubleshooting Guide. This is *my* present for Kastle Philosophotrix Kat, whose birthday it is...

Page 1.

Page 2.

What are the rest of the Denizens going to offer up?

Save 'em, print 'em out, and take 'em with you. H/t, Rich B - who ain't even Irish...

And the Moral of the story...

...is something you'll find in Flash Traffic.

*grinnnn*

John knows why.

Once upon a time on a Kansas farm, there lived a chicken and a horse, both of whom loved to play together. One morning while romping in the back forty, the horse tripped, slid into a bog and began to sink. Fearing for his life, the horse whinnied for the chicken to get the farmer to save him!

Off the chicken ran, back to the farmhouse. She searched and searched to no avail, for the farmer had taken the tractor off to the Grange. She ran to the rear of the house and spied the farmer's new Harley. Finding the keys in the ignition, the chicken fired it up and sped off with a length of rope, hoping she still had time to save her friend's life.

Back at the bog, the horse was surprised (but exceedingly happy) to see the chicken arrive on the shiny Harley and he grabbed the loop of rope the chicken tossed to him with his teeth. After tying the other end to the rear bumper of the farmer's bike, the chicken then drove slowly forward and, with the aid of the powerful bike, rescued the horse!

Happy and proud, the chicken rode the Harley back to the farmhouse and the farmer was none the wiser when he returned.

The friendship between the two animals was cemented: Best of buddies, best of pals.

A few weeks later, the chicken fell into a mud pit and began to sink -- she cried out to the horse for help! The horse thought a moment, walked over, straddled the large puddle and bent his knees. Looking underneath, he told the chicken to grab his hangy-down thingy and he would then lift her out of the pit. The chicken got a good grip and the horse pulled her up and out, saving her life.

The moral of the story? Yep, you betcha there's a moral!

And you know where to find it...

Tales in BBQ.

Barbecue Season Is Coming!

After the long months of cold and winter, we will soon be coming up to summer and BBQ season. Therefore it is important to refresh your memory on the etiquette of this sublime outdoor cooking as it's the only type of cooking a real man will do, probably because there is an element of danger involved.

When a man volunteers to do the BBQ the following chain of events are put into motion:

Routine...

1) The woman buys the food.
2) The woman makes the salad, prepares the vegetables, and makes dessert.
3) The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man who is lounging beside the grill - beer in hand.

Here comes the important part:

4) THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL.

More routine....

5) The woman goes inside to organize the plates and cutlery.
6) The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is burning. He thanks her and asks if she will bring another beer while he deals with the situation. [When this happened to the Armorer, much abuse was (and *still* is), heaped on his head. I ask you, what's more important, guiding the Armorer-Father around the Collection, or watching some utterly replaceable meat be sacrificed to the gods? Hmmmmm? The Exterior Guard was happy with it!]

Important again:

7) THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN. More routine.....

8) The woman prepares the plates, salad, bread, utensils, napkins, sauces and brings them to the table.
9) After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.

And most important of all:

10) Everyone PRAISES the MAN and THANKS HIM for his cooking efforts.

11) The man asks the woman how she enjoyed "her night off." And, upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there's just no pleasing some women....

H/t, Rich B.

Denizen News.

Castle Denizens Punctilious, Rammer, and The Spuds passed through the region on their way to visit relatives in St. Louis. The Mistress of Argghhh! and myself passed a pleasant evening closing down the Village Square restaurant here in the First City of Kansas.

Long time readers with spare brain cells to load data into will recall the Great BedoodleWhoopie Debate, as there was some question as to shape and color of those members of the Castle Beastiary.

That debate can still rage. Punctilious *did* provide an example of a Castle Scrup'l, in colors she absolutely *insists* represents the critters. While the Armorer isn't all that sure about that in toto - there is no doubt that there is at least *one* critter of that color, who occupies a space in the Castle Nerve Center and keeps two eyes on things.

The readership decline continues... I wonder if posting pictures of pinkish critters contributes?

Where's Bill?

We all know Bill is older than dirt. Thus far, extant photographs of his early days (aside from the Lascaux Cave Paintings and scattered petroglyphs) have been hard to find. Diligent surfing however, shows Bill in some refresher training some time ago...

Bill the Pre-Rotorhead has been positively ID'd in this photo of aviation cadets taken in 1941.

If you can't make him out - try this one.

If you're hopelessly unable to pick him out - try this one.

If your screen resolution is that bad, your eyesight really sucks, you're too lazy to clean your glasses... whatever reason, okay, go here.

If you can't find him there - you don't drive, right?

More to follow over time as I run through this shoebox of pics.

Just because...

...we need a joke. A sore arm is the *least* of this guy's worries.

In the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry, to try and defeat the Net Nannies!

A service of the Castle Argghhh! Tourism Board.

Now that Vancouver, Canada has won the chance to host the 2010 Winter Olympics, people from all over the world are asking questions about the country. Believe it or not these questions about Canada were posted on an International Tourism website. Obviously the answers are a joke, but the questions are real...

Q: I have never seen it warm on Canadian TV, so how do the plants grow?( UK)
A. We import all plants fully grown and then just sit around and watch them die.

Q: Will I be able to see Polar Bears in the street? (USA)
A: Depends on how much you've been drinking.

Q: I want to walk from Vancouver to Toronto-can I follow the Railroad tracks? (Sweden)
A: Sure, it's only Four thousand miles, take lots of water.

Q: Is it safe to run around in the bushes in Canada? (Sweden)
A: So it's true what they say about Swedes.

Q: It is imperative that I find the names and addresses of places to contact for a stuffed Beaver. (Italy)
A: Let's not touch this one.

Q: Are there any ATM's (cash machines) in Canada? Can you send me a list of them in Toronto,Vancouver, Edmonton and Halifax? (UK)
A: What did your last slave die of?

Q: Can you give me some information about hippo racing in Canada? (USA )
A: A-fri-ca is the big triangle shaped continent south of Europe. Ca-na-da is that big country to your North...oh forget it. Sure, the hippo racing is every Tuesday night in Calgary. Come naked.

Q: Which direction is North in Canada? (USA)
A: Face south and then turn 180 degrees Contact us when you get here and we'll send the rest of the directions.

Q: Can I bring cutlery into Canada? (UK)
A: Why? Just use your fingers like we do.

Q: Can you send me the Vienna Boys' Choir schedule? (USA)
A: Aus-tri-a is that quaint little country bordering Ger-man-y, which is...oh forget it. Sure, the Vienna Boys Choir plays every Tuesday night in Vancouver and in Calgary, straight after the hippo races. Come naked.

Q: Do you have perfume in Canada? (Germany)
A: No, WE don't stink.

Q: I have developed a new product that is the fountain of youth. Can you sell it in Canada? (USA)
A: Anywhere significant numbers of Americans gather.

Q: Can you tell me the regions in British Columbia where the female population is smaller than the male population? (Italy)
A: Yes, gay nightclubs.

Q: Do you celebrate Thanksgiving in Canada? (USA)
A: Only at Thanksgiving.

Q: Are there supermarkets in Toronto and is milk available all year round?( Germany)
A: No, we are a peaceful civilization of Vegan hunter/gatherers. Milk is illegal.

Q: I have a question about a famous animal in Canada, but I forget its name. It's a kind of big horse with horns. ( USA)
A: It's called a Moose. They are tall and very violent, eating the brains of anyone walking close to them. You can scare them off by spraying yourself with human urine before you go out walking.

Q: Will I be able to speak English most places I go? (USA)
A: Yes, but you will have to learn it first.

I'm in a test taking mood today.

Whee! I'm not as dumb as I thought (hold that thought, eh?) I passed 8th Grade Math!

You Passed 8th Grade Math

Congratulations, you got 9/10 correct!

Mind you... if it had been fill in the blank - I prolly woulda embarrassed myself. Heh. Well, you wouldn't have seen *this* anyway.

H/t, ALa, who didn't so quite as well.

#82

On Saturday afternoon, I was sitting in my lawn chair, drinking beer and watching my wife mow the lawn.

The neighbor lady from across the street was so outraged that she came over and shouted at me, "You should be hung."

I took a drink from my can of Budweiser, wiped the cold foam from my lips, lifted my darkened Ray-Ban sunglasses and stared directly at the neighbor.

And then calmly replied, "I am, that's why she cuts the grass."

Caption this!

Ash Wednesday.

We offer up this as a service, because here at Castle Argghhh!, we care. Besides, if *everyone* goes to Heaven, it'll be crowded.

H/t to Jim C, who got it from here - though it's been around for a while.

In the same vein and from the same source, Jim C, we offer up these Lenten sacrifices. None of which we'll be making, as you all are going to Heaven, so we're going to the empty real estate.

Now as for Lenten practices this year I have decided to give up giving up things for Lent. Well actually I have thought of some really good modern practices to give up that could be quite penitential.

Switching from broadband to dial-up
Turning off your popup-blocker
Turning off your spam filter
Not fast-forwarding through commercials on programs you have recorded on a DVR.
Watching CNN
Though I am not spiritually advanced enough for these severe penances.

All y'all knock yourselves out.

The World's Shortest Fairy Tale.

Since it's like, well, de rigeur that we have to be "fair and balanced" and use fancy foreign words and all... I offer this up as an antidote to the post below this one.

Update: Worth a try, Bill!

Heh. Sensing a conspiracy...

...someone, who didn't even submit an entry, whined about a female conspiracy regarding the caption contest. And in a deft bit of double-think sent this along as supporting evidence...

EVE'S SIDE OF THE STORY After three weeks in the Garden of Eden, God came to visit Eve. So, how is everything going?" inquired God. "It is all so beautiful, God," she replied. "The sunrises and sunsets are breathtaking, the smells, the sights, everything is wonderful, but I have just one problem. It's these breasts you have given me. The middle one pushes the other two out and I am constantly knocking them with my arms, catching them on branches and snagging them on bushes. They are a real pain," reported Eve.

Eve went on to tell God that since many other parts of her body came in pairs, such as her limbs, eyes, ears, etc..........she felt that having only two breasts might leave her body more "symmetrically balanced," as she put it.

That is a fair point," replied God, "But it was my first shot at this, you know. I gave the animals six breasts, so I figured that you needed only half of those, but I see that you are right. I will fix it up right away." And God reached down, removed the middle breast and tossed it into the bushes. [Armorer's note - which proves God, at least in *this* universe, isn't a man]

Three weeks passed and God once again visited Eve in the Garden of Eden.

"Well, Eve how is my favorite creation?"

"Just fantastic," she replied, "But for one oversight on your part. [Isn't it like a woman to argue with God? ed] You see, all the animals are paired off. The ewe has a ram and the cow has her bull. All the animals have a mate except me. I feel so alone."

God thought for a moment and said, "You know, Eve, you are right. How could I have overlooked this? You do need a mate and I will immediately create a man from a part of you. Now let's see.....where did I put the useless boob?" [Like a man wouldn't know the answer to *that* question. ed]

Now doesn't THAT make more sense than that crap about the rib?

Caption Contest Winners

And the WINNERS in this week's caption contest are... [drum roll] ... busting out all over:

Boquisucio takes home a bronzed mold of Dolly Parton's torso (or a smack on the hand, whichever comes first) for this entry, which made me laugh out loud:

Now... during the demonstration, let's call it "The Microphone".

You start by grabbing "The Microphone" by the base as such, and then...

wickedpinto snagged Second Place (aka the coveted Ruined Keyboard award) with this entry:

"Reverend Lowry was wrong, the Weapons of Mass Distraction are right here, right there, ooooooooh they are RIGHT FRIGGEN THERE!!!"

And leave it to a woman - Holly Aho - to Speak Truth to Slobber:

"Will you tell your boobs to quit staring at my eyes?"

One final item of business:

Penalty Box:

For flagrant and notorious trivet pandering, cw4(ret)billt is herewith ordered to stand the assembled villainry a round of 'ritas and sentenced to a thorough trouncing flouncing by however many of the Denizennes care to take on the onerous task :D

Congratulations to the winners! I was surprised at how many finalists there were - it was tough to pick just three winners. Thanks to John for letting me judge.

Caption Contest!

[This was started on Saturday, but since there is a prize this time, and a fair number of you guys only visit during the week, I thought I'd move this up to make sure you guys noticed it and had a chance at it. ed.]

Via the Admiral of the Moat Fleet, Boquisucio, comes this picture of a Canadian Soldier being interviewed by a Press Fembot.

Caption contest! Go for it. What the heck, this time there's a prize! (a cheap, tawdry trinket that is mostly shameless self-promotion of the Castle!)

This contest will be judged by Cassandra - so give it yer best shot. We'll cut it off at Noon 5PM Central Monday, and turn her loose.

Her word will be final, too. And, if you want to actually *get* the prize, such as it is, you'll need to leave legitimate contact data, like an email address. Read the comment page instructions for how to do that without having it appear in the comment for harvesting by the spambots.

And don't forget - The Right Place has a contest going on, too!

A public Service.

From SugarButtons!

Slow news day again...

I have weird friends in Real Life and they sometimes prove it. Now, I can't vouch for the authenticity of the adventure, but I *can* vouch for the fact that it will just confirm how the Ladies view us...

************************
Dear Bill,

Last weekend I saw something at Harry's Army / Navy Store that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 22nd anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife, Toni. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket / purse-sized Taser. The effects of the Taser were suppose to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety … WAY TOO COOL!

Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button.

Nothing!

I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs.

Awesome!!!

Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Toni what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave.

Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, right?

There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong?

So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Taser in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries.

All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference--pretty cute, really--loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries and thinking to myself, "No. Possible. Way!"

What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best...

I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side as if to say, "Don't do it!" reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad. I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and

HOLY MOTHER! WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION! @!@$$!%!@*!!!

I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position and tingling in my legs. The cat was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, "Do it again, do it again!"

Note: If you ever feel compelled to "mug" yourself with a Taser, one note of caution: there is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. A three second burst would be considered conservative.

SON-OF-A-…that hurt like hell!!! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they up get there???

My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I'm still looking for my testicles--I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return.

Still in shock,
[Name deleted to protect the unwitting]

************************

*grin* H/t to the Once-and-Future First.

Sorta ranks right up there with the lads who peer into the business end of their laser pointers to see if they're *on*...

Feh. Tagged.

SWWBO nailed me. And not in a *good* sense.

1: Black and White or Color; how do you prefer your movies?

I don't choose the movies I'm interested in based on this criteria. A better question is: Letter Box or Full-screen?

2: What is the one single subject that bores you to near-death?

What SWWBO said. Sports. I played football through college. I was a damn good wrestler. I don't give a fig anymore. I think it's because we're so saturated with whiny pro's who bitch about not making enough money, and the last great bastion of amateur sports... isn't. I used to love the Winter Olympics. I haven't watched a minute of this time around.

3: MP3s, CDs, Tapes or Records: what is your favorite medium for prerecorded music?

CDs.

4: You are handed one first class trip plane ticket to anywhere in the world and ten million dollars cash. All of this is yours provided that you leave and not tell anyone where you are going ... ever. This includes family, friends, everyone. Would you take the money and ticket and run?

SWWBO can read my mind. I can't win this one. Give her the money, her mind's a mystery to me...

5: Seriously, what do you consider the world's most pressing issue now?

Terrorism.

6: How would you rectify the world's most pressing issue?

Fight the terrorists where they are, and give Europe some more spine.

7: You are given the chance to go back and change one thing in your life; what would that be?

I'd stop atmospheric testing of nukes before we did. Hah! Weren't expecting that one, were you?

8: You are given the chance to go back and change one event in world history, what would that be?

That kind of meddling is dangerous. I'll live with what we've got, except for the answer to #7.

9: A night at the opera, or a night at the Grand Ole' Opry --Which do you choose?

I'm with SWWBO. Where's the movie theater or live play?

10: What is the one great unsolved crime of all time you'd like to solve?

Um, gee, I don't care.

11: One famous author can come to dinner with you. Who would that be, and what would you serve for the meal?

Winston Churchill, and whatever SWWBO fixes.

12: You discover that John Lennon was right, that there is no hell below us, and above us there is only sky -- what's the first immoral thing you might do to celebrate this fact?

What is there to celebrate? An eternity of nothingness? I'd go do something useful, since it would appear this is the only chance I get.

Tag someone? Heh. Someone has to be strong. This meme dies here.

Caption Contest!

Go for it.

I'll start you off - "The President of Bill's Fan Club shows off her new 'do, complete with spinning blades and blinkenlights!"

H/t to 1SG Keith for the pic.

Important Advice.

Basic Flying Rules: "Try to stay in the middle of the air. Do not go near the edges of it. The edges of the air can be recognized by the appearance of ground, buildings, sea, trees and interstellar space. It is much more difficult to fly there."

Just to reiterate, right click here and save as (2 meg file).

*Note to self: When flying in trees, wear jeans.*

Valentine Repercussions

KtLW has left me and I'm at a loss to explain why...

Taxes are up again this quarter and she told me we had to cut back on expenses--I had to give up drinking beer. Now, contrary to the *persona* I normally use here, I'm not a big drinker. At most, I'll do four or five beers on a Saturday afternoon.

So I gave up beer.

But I noticed the other day when she came home from an expedition to the mall with her girlfriends, one of the receipts included $85 for makeup.

I said, "Wait a minute--I've given up beer and you haven't given up anything!"

She replied, "I buy that makeup for you, so I can look pretty for you."

I said, "Well, geez--that's what the *beer* was for!"

I don't think she'll be back...

Heh. Tip of the flight helmet with the ding from the AK round to OB.

Candy Hearts...

...are short and sweet. Like the entries below.

Uhhhh--well, they're *short,* anyway...

*************************
A jumper cable walks into a bar. The bartender says, "I'll serve you, but don't start anything."

A dyslexic walks into a bra...

"Doc, I can't stop singing 'The Green, Green Grass of Home'."
"That sounds like Tom Jones Syndrome."
"Is it common?"
"Well, 'It's Not Unusual'."

Two cows are standing next to each other in a field.
Daisy says to Dolly, "I was artificially inseminated this morning."
"I don't believe you," says Dolly.
"It's true! No bull!" exclaims Daisy.

An invisible man marries an invisible woman. The kids were nothing to look at, either.

What do you call a fish with no eyes? A fsh.

Two fish swim into a concrete wall. The one turns to the other and says, "Dam!"

Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft. Unsurprisingly it sank.
Proving once again, you can't have your kayak and heat it too.

A woman has twins and gives them up for adoption. One of them goes to a family in Egypt and is named Ahmal. The other goes to a family in Spain; they name him Juan.
Years later, Juan sends a picture of himself to his birth mother. Upon receiving the picture, she tells her husband that she wishes she also had a picture of Ahmal.
Her husband responds, "They're twins! If you've seen Juan, you've seen Ahmal."

And finally--

Deja Moo: The feeling that you've heard this bull before.

************************

H/t to LL (no, neither of the bloggers).

Cheney @ The Range.

Obviously, someone was out of position when the Veep went hunting yesterday. Whether it was the Veep or the Victim, the Veep has ultimate responsibility as the trigger puller, unless the victim was behind some bushes taking a leak or something. I'll leave that for others to settle.

It certainly didn't take long for the jokes to appear, once it was clear Mr. Whittington would survive.

Owen Dyer, in an email to me, observed it was a good thing that Cheney was a Republican, and therefore hunting with fatcat corporate lawyers. If he'd been a Democrat, those would have been personal injury lawyers...

IMAO has a contest going.

Go forth, Denizens, find the good, the bad, the ugly jokes. Find the Moonbat Howls at the Moon from the anti-gun, anti-Cheney, anti-anything-not-me crowd.

If you have posting privileges, slap 'em in here. If you don't, put 'em in the comments. Lets be a Cheney@TheRange clearinghouse!

For the record - after the investigation is over, based on whatever evidence is gathered and what the laws of Texas provide for - Cheney should suffer whatever consequences fall out from that. No more, no less. And no, a hunting accident is no more justification for confiscating weapons from law abiding citizens than car accidents are justification for banning car ownership.

Speaking of investigations, The Keystone Cops go Hunting.

CHENEY STATEMENT -- ON THE LICENSE, NOT THE SHOOTING [Byron York]

Vice President Cheney has not yet made a public statement about the incident in which he accidentally shot a fellow hunter in Texas Saturday, but his office has just released a statement about the issue of whether he had the proper license to be hunting quail:

It has been brought to the Vice President’s attention by the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department this afternoon that, although he had acquired a 125 dollar Texas non-resident season hunting license, he lacked a 7 dollar stamp for hunting upland game birds. To address any questions about the licensing:
-- A member of the Vice President’s staff wrote a check for 140 dollars understanding that this would purchase a Texas non-resident season hunting license that would permit the Vice President to hunt quail in Texas. It appears now that the license itself cost 125 dollars, and an extra 15 dollars covered the cost of a Federal migratory bird stamp. The Vice President did not need the Federal stamp, as he already possessed one.

-- The staff asked for all permits needed, but was not informed of the 7 dollar upland game bird stamp requirement.

-- Because the requirement is new, the Department has informed us that it is issuing warnings, and the Vice President expects to receive one. He will take whatever steps are needed to comply with applicable rules.

-- In the meantime, the Vice President has sent a 7 dollar check to the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department, which is the cost of an upland game bird stamp.

Sigh. Amateurs. In my case, that would be a literal truth when it comes to hunting in Texas. In the Veep's case, he's been let down by his staff, *and* Ms. Armstrong, on whose ranch the hunt was conducted (if it's done as a business, anyway). No, I *don't* expect the Veep to take the time to personally check on all these details - that's what the staff is for. But he *should* take the time to clear his target area.

Lo-Tech Solutions

Kat went all Hi-Tech in the Battle of the Sexes the other day *continuing in a louder voice* and a doggone fine job she did, too! Uhhh--and *hairy eyeball* somebody else had entirely too much fun with the idea.

However, since the hypersonic, broken-chromosome-seeking WomanScorned Missile is a pricey piece of hardware, some frugal traditionalists will continue to tout the benefits of the *personal* touch...

************************

A lady walks into a drug store and tells the pharmacist she needs some cyanide.

The pharmacist said, "Why in the world do you need cyanide?" The lady then explained she needed it to poison her husband.

The pharmacist's eyes got big and he said, "Lord have mercy, I can't give you cyanide to kill your husband! That's against the law! I'll lose my license, they'll throw both of us in jail and all kinds of bad things will happen! No! Absolutely not--NO, you can NOT have any cyanide!"

The lady reached into her purse and pulled out a picture of her husband in bed with the pharmacist's wife.

The pharmacist looked at the picture and replied, "Well now, you didn't tell me you had a *prescription*..."

************************

Tip of the battered flight helmet to Bear--our crewchiefs and gunners didn't have callsigns, but they *did* have "handles"...

Armorer@Home

No, not really home yet, I'm getting ready to pack and head out the door for this morning's confabulating, but I couldn't let this calumny go undefended!

This *is* the Home of the Armorer. This *is* Castle Argghhh! And this, ladies and gents (and undecideds) is the Smorgasbord of Argghhh! What's not to like about this decorating schema? (Plus, it's another reason to Vote For Us!)

SWWBO has her own version of the what this is, a sofa-table-thingy or some such term of art. And she's kinda whining about the use I put it to prolly less than 24 hours after I schlepped it into the house.

But hey, she wanted to go shooting, and I was just laying out her options for what we had ammo on-hand for that she might find interesting.

I repeat - that stuff is there for *her* benefit. That fact that we were going shooting last weekend and the pistols are still there on the table is *not* relevant. Sheesh. The kitties like to play with 'em, too, y'know.

Oh - and KCSteve - The Interior Guard *is* present - there are two of them On Duty (or snuggling) just above the Polish VIS pistol. (To understand that, you'll have to visit SWWBO's place and read the comments.) So it's not like these things are just laying around unattended or something.

And for those of you muttering to yourselves, "He *is* going to id those things, right?" Here ya go.

Left to right: The Armorer's nickel-plated Remington-Rand vet-bringback M1911A1 (I could afford this one - collectors don't like plated guns, but hey - it has *history* which fits 'round here) - Polish TT-33, Austrian Steyr M1911, Polish Radom Vis, and, snuggled in it's holster-stock, an Inglis Chinese Contract Browning Hi-Power.

You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince

A frog goes into a bank and approaches the teller. Her nameplate identifies her as Patricia Whack.

"Miss Whack, I'd like to get a $30,000 loan to take a holiday."

Patty looks at the frog in disbelief and asks his name. The frog says his name is Kermit Jagger, his dad is Mick Jagger and that it's okay, he knows the bank manager.

Patty explains that Kermit will need to secure the loan with some form of collateral.

Kermit says, "Sure. I have this," and produces a tiny porcelain elephant, only an inch tall, bright pink and perfectly formed.

Very confused, Patty explains that she'll have to consult with the bank manager and disappears into a back office.

She finds the manager and blurts out, "There's a frog called Kermit Jagger out there who claims to know you and wants to borrow $30,000 and he wants to use *this* as collateral."

She holds up the tiny pink elephant.

"I mean, what in the world *is* this?"

The bank manager looks back at her and says...

"It's a knick-knack, Patty Whack. Give the frog a loan--his old man's a Rolling Stone."

(Heh. You're singing it, aren't you? Yeah, you are...)

*grin*

V29 is evidently enjoying his second childhood...

So, like, there's some kind of sporting event today, right?

Some bowl game or something? SWWBO and I will be out shooting, so I dunno. But these Marines seem to have an interest in the outcome.

Oh, yeah, I remember! The "Superbowl" or something like that. Heh. I thought that was one of those fancy Japanese toilets.

Yeah. I'll check in on halftime. Mebbe we'll get a boob this year... Well, that's pretty much a given, depending on how you define it!

Reminiscing

Back when I was a stoont, one of my electives was Creative Writing.

One day, we were given an assignment--write a short story using as few words as possible. The only other stipulation the prof made was that it had to address three elements: religion, sexuality and mystery.

The only A+ in the class was

"Good God, I'm pregnant! I wonder who did it?"

And another taggee checks in

So far, Christine's tags are at a 75% return rate--the Lady knows her taggees.

The newest addition is GunJam of JammedGun. Sanger and Jtg will feel right at home when they drop in. And, uh, GJ, hope you didn't mind the Aggie jokes--we were just funnin'...honest...

****************************

And since John is evidently logging Z-time tonight (unlike some others I could mention), today's H&Is are still being plotted in the FDC. Soooo, as long as GunJam doesn't mind a little Gun Pr0n with his link, I figure this is a good spot for this bit of chicanery. Work safe in one way and *not* work safe in another--even if it's you who's the gunner on some of these beasties.

Geez, doesn't anybody *work* at work anymore?

Tsk--where did my manners go? H/t to MSG Keith for the podpal annoyers.

In light of what Bill just posted...

I think I have to offer up this. Go read Bill's bit (that's two posts down from here).

Back? Okay.

Right click and save as - then play it.

Ry - definately *not* work safe in your area. The rest of ya, Check Six.

Somebody duct tape PG-17's head, quick

Although something posted in Flash traffic might not set 'im off...

Set *me* off, though. I'm still wiping coffee off the monitor. Thanks a lot, Christine...

I *like* Flash traffic...

...it allows the young 'uns to browse on the surface and the adults to enjoy an adult chuckle. Saves space, too.

*grinnn* You figure out which category this one belongs in...

A little old lady is walking down the street, dragging two plastic garbage bags with her, one in each hand. There's a hole in one of the bags and every once in a while, a $20 bill flops out of it onto the pavement. A policeman notices it and stops her...

A commentary on the times...

We interrupt this blog for a mildly naughty story. See the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry.

But first, this short subject:

Friendship Between Women:

A woman didn't come home one night. The next day she told her husband that she had slept over at a girlfriend's house.

The man called his wife's 10 best friends. None of them knew anything about it.

Friendship Between Men:

A man didn't come home one night. The next day he told his wife that he had slept over at a buddy's house. The woman called her husband's 10 best friends.

Eight of them confirmed that he had slept over, and two claimed that he was still there.

And now, our Feature Presentation.

Pickin' on Texas Again

Two Texans were driving through New Hampshire. As they were approaching Lake Winnipesaukee, they started arguing about the pronunciation of the lake's name.

They argued back and forth until they stopped for lunch. As they stood at the counter, one said to the young lady behind the counter, "Before we order, could y'all please pronounce where we are, very slowly?"

The blonde leaned over the counter and said, "Burrrrrr-gerrrrr Kinnnng."

Alright, Denizennes, Listen Up!

Yer outta control!

First - the Castle Staff use the Jungle Room as a Daycare center during the workdays. The kiddles just love the theme. But, ladies, after a long night of debauched behavior in there, clean up after yerselves, for pity's sake!

Next - A Caption Contest!

A loyal reader in College Station, Texas, sent me this picture after reading Bill's post on the subject.

It's soooooooo horrible, so vile, so demeaning to womyn (and Ry, VERYNOTWORKSAFE!) that I had to put it *Behind The Curtain* in the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry.

Hey, it's Saturday, our slowest day, we won't lose too many readers, since I don't thing[k] that many womyn spend time here anyway. So - apparently, some Denizennes went to College Station, and this is what happened.

War clouds gather to the North.

My plans for Canada proceed apace (see discussion here). Canada is setting the pretext for war with the US over our submarines transiting the North Pole, which will give us the excuse to strike North and seize all the good spots, and prevent them from, wait - they can *have* Detroit. CAPT H had a pretty good plan for that.

Of course - the analysts have it wrong...

Testing the notion that he would kowtow to the Bush administration, Harper, whose Conservative Party won general elections on Monday, said Thursday he would stand by a campaign pledge to increase Canada’s military presence in the Arctic and put three military icebreakers in the frigid waters of the Northwest Passage.

This is obviously double-plus good! Mr. Harper is setting the stage for a "Mouse that Roared" scenario - all part of Dubya's Plan for World Hegemony®!

Hee! Let's see if any of our Canuckistanian readers rise to the bait.

Best Little Beerhouse in Texas

A Texas Tech graduate, a University of Texas grad and a Texas Aggie were sitting in a bar in San Antonio. The view of the river was fantastic, the beer was ice cold and the food exceptional.

"But," said the guy from Tech, "I still prefer the beer joints back in Lubbock. There's one place where the owner goes out of his way for the locals. When you buy four beers, he'll buy the fifth."

The Longhorn said, "Well, at my favorite bar in Austin, the owner will buy your third drink after you've bought two."

"We-e-e-ell, that's nothin'," the Aggie responded. "Back in College Station, there's this bar where, from the very moment you set foot in the place, they'll buy you a drink and keep them coming all night. Then, when you've decided that you've had enough to drink, they take you upstairs and treat you to some o' what the Good Book calls 'pleasures of the flesh.' And it's all on the house."

The Longhorn and the Red Raider looked at each other, then at the Aggie.

"And this actually happened to you?" asked the Longhorn.

"We-e-e-ell, no, not me-myself personally," admitted the Aggie. "But my sister, now..."

******************************

H/t to V29, who keeps promising himself to visit College Station...

In light of the "What Children See" post below this one...

...this seems an appropriate time to run with this, thoughtfully provided by Randy K. some days ago...

So - what do *you* see? BTW - Cricket, Punctilious... you could actually *test* this one for us, eh?

Take a look at the picture. So, what do you see? Probably more than your caveman brain chooses to.

Of course, I hid the explanation in the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry. I'm that kinda guy.

The Way Children See Things!

NUDITY

I was driving with my three young children one warm summer evening when a Woman in the convertible ahead of us stood up and waved. She was stark naked! As I was reeling from the shock, I heard my 5-year-old shout from the back seat, "Mom! That lady isn't wearing a seat belt!

HONESTY
My son Zachary, 4, came screaming out of the bathroom to tell me he'd dropped his toothbrush in the toilet. So I fished it out and threw it in the garbage. Zachary stood there thinking for a moment, then ran to my bathroom and came out with my toothbrush. He held it up and said with a charming little smile, "We better throw this one out too then, 'cause it fell in the toilet a few days ago.

OPINIONS
On the first day of school, a first-grader handed his teacher a Note from his mother. The note read, "The opinions expressed by this child are not necessarily those of his parents."

MORE NUDITY
A little boy got lost at the YMCA and found himself in the women's locker room. When he was spotted, the room burst into shrieks, with ladies grabbing towels and running for cover. The little boy watched in amazement and then asked, "What's the matter haven't you ever seen a little boy before?"

ELDERLY
While working for an organization that delivers lunches to elderly shut-ins, I used to take my 4-year-old daughter on my afternoon rounds. The various appliances of old age, particularly the canes, walkers and wheelchairs, unfailingly intrigued her. One day I found her staring at a pair of false teeth soaking in a glass. As I braced myself for the inevitable barrage of questions, she merely turned and whispered, "The tooth fairy will never believe this!"

DRESS-UP
A little girl was watching her parents dress for a party. When she saw her dad donning his tuxedo, she warned, "Daddy, you shouldn't wear that suit." "And why not, darling?" "You know that it always gives you a headache the next morning."

SCHOOL
A little girl had just finished her first week of school. "I'm just wasting my time," she said to her mother. "I can't read, I can't write and they won't let me talk!"

BIBLE
A little boy opened the big family bible. He was fascinated as he fingered through the old pages. Suddenly, something fell out of the Bible. He picked up the object and looked at it. What he saw was an old leaf that had been pressed in between the pages. "Mama, look what I found", the boy called out." What have you got there, dear?" With astonishment in the young boy's voice, he answered, "I think it's Adam's underwear

There's more under the fold.

Reading Other People's Mail

People send me the most interesting things--like this reply from Lex to a kid who wrote him requesting his advice on a choice of service academies:

*************************************

22 December, 2005

Young Man,

Congratulations on your selection to both the Naval and Air Force Academies. Your goal of becoming a fighter pilot is impressive and a fine way to serve your country. As you requested, I'd be happy to share some insight into which service would be the best choice. Each service has a distinctly different culture. You need to ask yourself "Which one am I more likely to thrive in?"

USAF Snapshot: The USAF is exceptionally well organized and well run. Their training programs are terrific. All Air Force pilots are groomed to meet high standards for knowledge and professionalism. Their aircraft are top-notch and extremely well maintained. Their facilities are excellent. Their enlisted personnel are the brightest and the best trained. The USAF is homogeneous and macro. No matter where you go, you'll know what to expect, what is expected of you, and you'll be given the training & tools you need to meet those expectations. You will never be put in a situation over your head. Over a 20-year career, you will be home for most important family events. Your Mom would want you to be an Air Force pilot...so would your wife. Your Dad would want your sister to marry one.

Navy Snapshot: Aviators are part of the Navy, but so are Black Shoes (surface warfare) and Bubbleheads (submariners). Furthermore, the Navy is split into two distinctly different Fleets (West and East Coast). The Navy is heterogeneous and micro. Your squadron is your home; it may be great, average, or awful. A squadron can go from one extreme to the other before you know it. You will spend months preparing for cruise and months on cruise. The quality of the aircraft varies directly with the availability of parts. Senior Navy enlisted are all salt of the earth; you'll be proud if you earn their respect. Junior enlisted vary from terrific to the troubled kid the judge made join the service. You will be given the opportunity to lead these people during your career; you will be humbled and get your hands dirty. The quality of your training will vary and sometimes you will be over your head. You will miss many important family events. There will be long stretches of tedious duty aboard ship. You will fly in very bad weather and/or at night and you will be scared many times. You will fly with legends in the Navy and they will kick your a$$ until you become a lethal force. And some days - when the scheduling Gods have smiled upon you - your jet will catapult into a glorious morning over a far-away sea and you will be drop-jawed that someone would pay you to do it. The hottest girl in the bar wants to meet the Naval Aviator. That bar is in Singapore.

Bottom line, son--if you gotta ask, pack warm and good luck in Colorado.

Banzai,

Lex

P.S.: Air Force pilots wear scarves and iron their flight suits.

P.P.S.: And, while you didn't ask about the Army helicopter pilot program, don't even think about it unless you got a pair bigger than basketballs. Those guys are completely crazy.

**************************************

H/t to V29, who got a horrendous paper cut while salvaging this...

Caption Contest!

A friend of mine found this in his backyard recently. I leave it to your imagination to caption this. I've got one in mind, but I want to see if anyone gets to the same place I'm at.

Go for it.

New Rules for 2006.

No, all the Castle Rulez still apply. Backpats for everyone for a relatively robust exchange with our visiting British journalist in the This Just In post.

Moving on, however, are some suggested new rules for interactive behavior outside the Castle. I damaged the keyboard with White People's Looting. So - with tongue firmly in cheek...

New Rule: Stop saying that teenage boys who have sex with their hot, blonde teachers are permanently damaged. I have a better description for these kids: lucky bassids.

The rest is in the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry.

There Are Rules...

Although this place may appear to be an anarchist's toolshed at times, it's actually a fairly structured environment. As with pretty much anything involving human beings, there are rules--some written, some unwritten, but rules nonetheless.

The trick lies in discovering the unwritten rules without inadvertently running afoul of them. So, continuing with the Castle's series of Public Service Educational Events, I've decided to level the playing field for one particular sport in which all the rules have been unwritten--until now.

The Rules for Indoor Golf.

1. Each player shall furnish his own equipment for play.

2. Play on a course must be approved by the owner of the hole.

3. Unlike outdoor golf, the object is to get the club in the hole and keep the balls out.

Continued in Flash Traffic. Hey, there are rules, ya know...?

Snerk!

First - Cosmo needs to get well soon. Those who know, know.

We've gone from this - Teenage Mutant Ninja Squirrel 'Bots... to this:

Second - the Real Reason for the deer population explosion. I blame SchumerBradyStein.

Clueless in Eden

It seems appropriate, in light of the recent flurry of feminine snarkiness comments some of the Denizennes have made, to dedicate this cautionary tale to AFSis, Kat-missouri, FbL and Bostonmaggie...

And God created Man, and He called the Man *Adam*...

And God said unto Adam, "Adam, I have a task for thee."

And Adam replied, "Sure thing. What do You want me to do?"

And God said, "Goeth thou down into that valley..."

And Adam said, "What's a valley?"

And God explained it to him...

Then God said, "...then crosseth thee the river..."

And Adam said, "What's a river?"

And God explained it to him...

Then God said, "...then goeth thou over to the hill..."

And Adam said, "What's a hill?"

And God explained it to him...

Then God said, "...and on the other side of the hill wilt thou find a cave."

And Adam said, "What's a cave?"

And God explained it to him...

Then God said, "In the cave, thou wilt find a Woman."

And Adam said, "What's a Woman?"

And God explained it to him...

Then God said, "I want thee to reproduce."

And Adam said, "How do I do that?"

And God said (under his breath), "Aw, geez..."

And God explained it to him...

And Adam betook himself down into the valley, across the river, over the hill, into the cave and found the Woman.

And in about five minutes, he was back.

Then God, his patience wearing thin, sighed mightily and said, "*NOW* what?!?"

And Adam said, "What's a headache?"

--H/t to V29

UPDATE: This just in from a feminist sympathizer. In order to view it, you must either be of legal age and have a sense of humor unimpaired by any preconceived notions that the female of the species is genetically disposed toward nurturing or you can just click on Flash traffic.
Some assembly required, batteries not included.

Happy New Year!

In keeping with the Castle's policy of posting periodic Public Service Announcements, this will be the first (or the last, depending on how many rocks get thrown my way) in a series of

New Year's Resolutions for Those of You Too Hung Over to Think.

1. For the Kittens: "I resolve to...

a. Stop horking hairballs into the 'ritamatic's intake manifold;

b. Cease leaving comatose partners lying around the Jungle Room where they could become a tripping hazard; and

c. Refrain from using the trebuchet as a scratching post."

2. For the Aviating Denizens: "I resolve to...

a. Shower between taking a fuel sample and showing up at a Comment Party;

b. Insure no Ladies are within range when simulating the *pthbtbtbtbtbtbt* sound of a reciprocating engine at full throttle; and

c. Refrain from using members of the Interior Guard as demonstrators when describing the procedures for shooting a partial-panel ILS."

Succeeding posts will cover such topics as "Fishing hairballs from the 'ritamatic," "Probing for tripping hazards in a lightless room" and "Why aviation fuels are not considered a suitable substitute for after-shave lotion."

This has been a Public Serv

[*thwack!*] Ow!

UPDATE: It has been brought to my attention that 2b could impact 1b under certain circumstances and 1b would then be dependent on just *who* recovered first. Additional topics for future Public Service posts will include "Do's and don't's: Proper use of night viewing devices in the Jungle Room" and "Plastic tarps: they're not just for painting anymore."

*ducking incoming gravel truck*

As long as we're picking on Aggies...

An alumnus of Texas A&M is drinking in a New York bar and gets a call on his cell phone.

He talks quietly (okay, *that* part's unbelievable) for a few minutes, then rings off. Grinning from ear to ear, he orders a round of drinks for everybody in the bar, and announces his wife has just given birth to a typical Texas baby boy weighing twenty-five pounds.

Nobody can believe that any new baby can weigh in at twenty-five pounds, but the Texan just shrugs and says, "That's only about average down home, folks. Like Ah said, my boy’s a typical Texas baby boy."

Congratulations shower from all around with many exclamations of

"WOW!"

One woman actually faints from the sympathy pains.

Two weeks later, he returns to the bar. The bartender says, "Say, you're the father of that typical Texas baby that weighed in at twenty-five pounds. Everybody's been making bets about how big he'd be in two weeks. So, how much *does* he weigh now?"

The proud father answers, "Seventeen pounds."

The bartender is bemused and more than a little suspicious. "Wait-a-minute--what happened? He already weighed twenty-five pounds the day he was born!"

The Texan takes a slow swig from his beer, wipes his lips on his shirt sleeve, leans into the bartender and proudly says, "Had’m circumcised!"

Heh.

We're having a lot of traffic at the Castle today, for not having any posts people are linking to in any great numbers (interesting trend, though for the Castle in general, not just today - links are down, traffic is up).

Anyway - Googlers seem particularly interested in the archives from the last week of 2004, i.e., 1 year ago.

Gee, I wonder why?

Volcanoes... we hateses them we does!

70 years ago was born the kernel of the idea of the Blogfather, Jonah. The first semi-attempt at Airborne Volcano Lancing occurred on this day in 1935 as US Army B-10s bombed a lava flow in Hawaii in an attempt to stop or divert it. They weren't terribly successful...

And today - an announcement from the Joint Operations National Annihilation Headquarters, the Air Force, and Boeing...

And in keeping with what may (or may not) be considered tradition

Please accept (with no obligation, implied or implicit), our best wishes for an environmentally-conscious, socially-responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the Winter Solstice Holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of either the religious persuasion or the secular practice of your choice (with all due respect for the religious / secular persuasions and / or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all) and a fiscally-successful, personally-fulfilling, and medically-uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2006, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great (which is not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country or is indeed the only "America" in the western hemisphere) and without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith, choice of computer platform, or sexual preference of the wishee.

DISCLAIMER OF WARRANTABILITY
[By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her/himself or others, is void where prohibited by law and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher.
This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year, or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.]

Heh. Now that *that's* out of the way...

As a trucker stops for a red light, a blonde catches up. She jumps out of her car, runs up to his truck and knocks on the door. The trucker lowers the window and she says, "Hi! My name is Heather and you are losing some of your load!"

The trucker ignores her and proceeds down the street.

When the truck stops for another red light, the girl catches up again. She jumps out of her car, runs up and knocks on the door. Again, the trucker lowers the window. As if they've never spoken, the blonde chirps, "Hi! My name is Heather and you are losing some of your load!"

Shaking his head, the trucker ignores her again and continues down the street.

At the third red light, the same thing happens again. Breathlessly, the blonde gets out of her car, runs up and knocks on the truck door. The trucker rolls down the window. Again she says, "Hi! My name is Heather and you are losing some of your load!"

When the light turns green the trucker revs up and races to the next light.

When he stops this time, he hurriedly gets out of the truck and runs back to the blonde. He knocks on her window and, after she lowers it, he says...

"Hi! My name is Jack and it's winter in Minnesota and I'm driving the salt truck!!"

Politically Correct Twelve Days of Christmas Eurocentrically imposed midwinter festival.

Check behind the curtain. Don't want to attract any Kossacks... or the ACLU trying to make the case that since I receive a government pension and do contract work for the government, and therefore, as my income exceeds SWWBO's non-governmental derived income, that in fact, this site is more than %50 subsidized by public monies; therefore mentioning Eurocentrically imposed midwinter festivals with a religious derivation, thus ambushing Enligtened Rationalist Beings who might stumble in here accidentally, thereby violates the Establishment Claus. [sic]

This Just In

From one of my reactionary buddies who insists on calling Holiday carols *Christmas* carols...

I was passing through a small Southern town and saw a Nativity Scene in the town square. I was delighted to see that great skill and talent had gone into creating it.

One small feature bothered me.

The three wise men were wearing firemen's helmets.

I was completely at a loss to explain it, so I left. But I found a "Quick Stop" on the edge of town, so I asked the lady behind the counter about the helmets.

She exploded, "You damnYankees never do read the Bible!"

I assured her that I did, but it had been a while since I'd perused the Gospels and simply couldn't recall anything about firemen in Matthew, Mark, Luke or John.

She sniffed and jerked her Bible from behind the counter, ruffled through the pages and finally jabbed her finger at a passage.

She stuck the passage under my nose and said, "See? Plain as day, it says right here, 'The three wise man came from afar.' "

Thanks, Mo--I needed that!

Tis the Season...

To indulge Boquisucio, Admiral of the Moat Fleet. Click the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry.

Life at Argghhh! In Winter...

1st - The Lawn Tractor of Argghhh! in the assault.

Before. After.

I am my next-door neighbor's son's best friend. At least for the moment. I did both their walks, too. It took about 10 minutes to do the block and the driveway.

Ahhhhh.

Then, because Cosmo is recovering from his Squirrel Fighting injuries and the Armorer has been remiss and not put out the Required Tribute... the Castle was assaulted today. By the Teenage Mutant Ninja Squirrels acting under the orders of their masters, The Songbirds of Argghhh!

The Interior Guard was all over the attempted break-in. The photo is from the BCR Labs, LTD security system here at the Castle. It highlights unauthorized intruders so they can be tracked when the crowds of pitchfork-wielding moonbats show up. Or out-of-control Denizens who need tracking (Neffi, JTG are *always* tracked).

But look at the horror that Cosmo's injury has unleashed!

To see the horror - go to the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry... if you dare.

Let's start a meme!

It's Saturday, traffic is low... I can be lazy.

HOW TO RECRUIT THE RIGHT PERSON FOR THE RIGHT JOB
1. Put about 100 bricks in some particular order in a closed room with an open window.
2. Then send 2 or 3 candidates in the room and close the door.
3. Leave them alone and come back after 6 hours and then analyze the situation;
4. if they are counting the bricks put them in the accounts department.

If you're still interested, hit the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry.

Come Saturday Morning...

In a recent conversation with one of the Ladies of the Castle, I was informed of her newfound passion for bicycling.

I don’t remember a blasted thing about the rest of the talk, because I had an immediate flashback to my college days…

I was sorta-kinda dating a damsel named Judy, who attended an all-female school a few miles away. The campus was fairly expansive and her schedule arrangement required some fancy scrambling from building to building.

“This is bullshDarn,” she thought. “I sure could use some transportation.”

Judy wrote to her dear ol’ Dad, explained the situation and casually mentioned that she needed a few hundred dollars to buy a junker modestly-priced compact car.

“BullshAlas, honeybunch,” Dad wrote back, “your tuition is almost more than we can afford. But I’ve enclosed fifty dollars--go ahead and buy a decent bicycle. Besides, it'll save you the trouble of looking for a parking spot each time you go to a new class.”

Judy was less than thrilled with the idea, but she figured it was an improvement over her daily walk-a-thon. So, she took the fifty dollars and started downtown to the bicycle shop.

As fate would have it, there was a pet store right next to the bicycle shop.

And in the pet store window, gazing at the world with imploring eyes, was a cute little capuchin monkey, sitting next to a sign that read, “Sale! This cute little capuchin monkey and a year’s supply of monkey chow--only fifty dollars!”

Judy fell in love. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she thought.“ And only fifty dollars…hmmmmm…walking’s actually pretty good exercise…and finding a place to park the bike between classes will be a pain…and…and...”

And she went into the pet store and bought the monkey.

She was enthralled. The cute little capuchin monkey had impeccable table manners, it was playful and cuddly and adorable.

And it had a mild case of mange.

And inside of a week, it had a *bad* case of mange.

Judy was frantic. Fortunately, she was of a generation that still believed Father Knows Best.

She phoned her dear ol’ Dad.

“Daddy,” she sobbed. “All the hair is falling off my monkey--what’ll I *do*?”

Dad answered, “Sell the bicycle.”

UPDATE: I have *no* idea what attracted Don Surber to this, but follow his link, read the story and leave him a nice note. I've worked with the organization he's mentioned and they're great folks. Hey--Sarge B! You probably have, too...

International Rulez of manhood.

Just sayin'. In the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry. Mostly work-safe. Except for Ry, of course, because of Ms. Thang.