Friday, August 31, 2007

Signs Indicating That You Might Need to Get Advice on Where to Golf in Hilton Head

...When there's approximately one golf course for every 2 square miles of the island.

I'm going there in September. Anybody know which courses I should play? Are Oyster Bay, the Palmetto Hall courses or the Shipyard courses any good?

Forget about Harbour Town. Any course that has a $260 green fee must also have a handicap restriction (and that restricted handicap would be mine).

Anyone? Buhler...

Signs Indicating That You Might Need to Get a Clue


*rolls eyes*




*rolls eyes*

*pinches bridge of nose*


Yesterday, in the post rolling out our latest Meaningless Poll (unless you happen to be the person handing out credentials for the '08 RNC - then it is a Mandatory Expression of the Will of The People) I wrote the following non-controversial blurb:

...I think it would be a nice gesture on the part of whoever decides such things, to throw a few credentials in the direction of some of the host city's best center-right bloggers (and ThunderJournalists).

Mitch attempted to motivate his base by encouraging his substantial readership to vote for him, writing:

Learned Foot is taking a poll to decide which five Twin Cities center-right bloggers, “thunderjournalists” and cellar-dwelling misanthropes should go to the convention.

Which inspired noted Self-Proclaimed "Centrist" and de facto DFL shill Flash to comment:

This will be a challenge as there is only one actual center/Right blogger I know of in the MOB and that is Purple Stater. However, as long as far Right Wing Fringers like Blogger Berg claim center rightness, there is no way they can even remotely challenge my true centricalness.

Which, once again, inspired me to gag on Flash's occasionally irrepressible self-righteousness and hyper-provincial view of the world. So let me try to illustrate to those who believe that their own made up definitions of certain terms (like, say, "centrist"), carry the same weight as Funk and Wagnell's. Here is a simple depiction of the so-called political spectrum:


Flash's conception of that term is as follows:


The REAL definition of "center-right" as intended is this:


Is that a little clearer for ya' Flash?

And while we're at it, this isn't the only way Flash misapprehends the term "centrist". From as far as I can tell, his definition relies on how far out to the political right the target of his derision lies philosophically from himself. This is a good gimmick to make someone feel or purportedly appear "reasonable." As if "reason" can always be found in the center.

The centrist position on slavery was to allow it in the South, keep it illegal in the North, and always have the same number of slave and free states.

The centrist (and right wing, for that matter) position on fascism was let Europe fight it's own battles.

The centrist position on dealing with the Soviets, was detente and arms control pacts.

If you don't believe me, comb through Mitch archives or browse his topic tags. Get a feel for what he believes (or take me for that matter as Mitch and I are nearly identical philosophically, save for our views on Bruce Springsteen).

Flash thinks Mitch is (what was the term he used? - oh yeah) a "fringer."

I believe that it was noted far-left liberal Howard Dean quoting another far-left (though not nearly as insane) liberal Paul Wellstone who said "I represent the Democrat[ory] wing of the Democrat[osian] Party."

I wonder which wing of the Democratanian Party Flash represents?

No Flash, from my perspective you are the "fringer". That's how the game is played, right?

Politicizing Politics

It appears my little bloggers' row poll has inspired several folks to campaign for those few precious credentials. In fact, at last count TvM's Gary Miller has exhorted his readers to vote for him on at least 73 different blogs. His efforts have surged him to the head of the pack. IMHO, I don't think he needs any more support, so you can feel free to throw your votes to more needy candidates.

Because KAR's hosting this poll, I had planned on avoiding campaigning on Bobo's or my own behalf to avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest. But it seems clear that I just can't compete with Mitch Berg's traffic or Gary's 835 blogs. So...

Signs Indicating That You Might Need to Get a Life


Next time, maybe you should just try asking someone. I mean, you supposedly are a "journalist," right?

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Rituals of the Finely Tuned Athlete

Pitchers throw a few warmup tosses before every inning to loosen their muscles and joints.

Golfers routinely take practice swings before each stroke to gage distance and swing force.

Basketball players do shoot-arounds and layup drills before each half to work up a sweat and reinform muscle memory.

Narcissistic protest demonstrators, well...

Marie Braun, a local antiwar leader, said protesters will get a tuneup on Sept. 15 when they will stage an antiwar march from the Cathedral of St. Paul to the Xcel Center and then to the State Capitol, a route protesters hope to use again on the opening day of the convention.

Narcissistic protest demonstrators hold a practice march to reacquaint themselves with walking while holding signs.


Attempted Anonymous Lavatory Sex Results in Unrelated Poll

So that post I wrote yesterday (which launched KAR to record-low traffic levels) about the Republican Senator trying to get his pole shined at the airport, and the drooling lefty bloggers, and the conventions of signaling ones desire to have nasty hairy-butted man sex in the bathroom, and my new-found fear of pooping in the airport inspired quite the brainworm. The last 24 hours, several key concepts in that post kept swirling around in my head.












...Until I had an "Aha!" moment. It was a sign. I arranged those random words into a coherent idea:

Pole Poll about Bloggers at the Republican Convention. Pooping!

I believe the first-ever "bloggers row" was seen at the last national party nominating conventions. And I have a strong feeling that the bloggers - whose importance and influence has only increased since then (except for us) - will be invited back to cover the conventions in aught-eight. And I think it would be a nice gesture on the part of whoever decides such things, to throw a few credentials in the direction of some of the host city's best center-right bloggers (and ThunderJournalists).

Now I know there will be no shortage of us who would jump at the chance to meet the powerful, network with other prominent bloggers, pick up some sweet swag, and throw a Molotov Cocktail right back at the bratty attention-starved trust-fund babies that will be present near the Xcel Center. I know I would. So to that end, I have put a poll up on the sidebar listing some of the best and the brightest in the area. I couldn't include everyone I wanted to (pollhost only allows 20 answer choices), so I culled the list down to only those bloggers that I read regularly, have some blogging cred, get at least a smidgen of traffic and don't (usually) suck. I think the list hits all of the biggies, anyway.

You can vote for as many as you like at one time (I suggest 5) per computer, per day. I fully expect the powers that be to honor this poll, and credential the top 5 local bloggers / ThunderJournalists for bloggers' row.

But remember: should you find yourself one of the lucky ones blogging from the Convention next year, please, for the love of God, avoid the restrooms.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

It's Stories Like This That Make Me Glad That I Never Had to Scratch My Foot While Pooping at the Airport

By now, you all have heard about the frisky senator who was cruising for some man meat in a restroom at MSP International, only to find himself collared by an airport policeman who had drawn the worst assignment ever. Oh sure, the moonbats (whom I hold responsible for the 35W bridge collapse) have gone into full-on masturbation mode over this one because a) it presents a chance for their next rancid Idaho senate candidate to haul in more than 30% of the vote; and 3) it provides one of the few opportunities to feel superior by playing the hypocrisy card. Never mind that if you were to ever blindly accuse any of them for cruising for a little brown pole hairy butt action in a public john, you'd have a really good chance of either 1) being accurate; and d) being labeled a "homophobe" or worse.

Yes, hypocrisy can truly be a double-edged slur sometimes. But I'm not here to write about that today. There is a very important aspect that has been unaddressed in this whole media maelstrom:

How does one go about having sex between bathroom stalls? And how is it done in a way that's calculated (successfully or not) to be undetectable by innocent bypoopers?

According to what we can glean from police documents, there's a well-established regime of nonverbal signals employed to let your putative paramour in the neighboring stall know your intentions; things like touching your foot, tapping your toes, etc. And thus we have the title of our post today.

[NOTE: The following paragraphs employ contract law jargon to avoid attracting perverted googlers.]

But here's where the blind area comes in. What happens when the two parties involved have an "agreement" in "terms"? How do they go about "executing" the "contract?"

I mean, the bottoms of the stall walls only clear the floor by about a foot. How does the Party of the First Part access the equipment of the Party of the Second Part? Only a dwarf could get his mack on by kneeling. Can the toilet paper dispenser be moved, revealing some sort of improvised glory "loop" hole? Or does one merely shimmy under the wall into his partner's stall?

If the dead tree media wishes to stay relevant, these are the kinds of questions its reporters need to answer. I'll be flying again in September, and I'd like to not have to take a can of mace into the loo with me if I find myself having to plop a stinky. You never know when your foot might itch.

Reason # 3,561 Why You Should Play in the MilF Next Year

Where else would you see a Wall Street Journal bureau chief humping a flagstick while getting spanked by an attorney?

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

PostMilF Fun Quiz


This photo was taken at the PostMilF and subsequently posted by our old pal Uncle Ben. Can you find the massive blunder documented in it (and no, it's not Strom allowing Moonchild to use him as a human jungle gym)?

Answer later...

Commenter rob in MD phones in with the correct answer:

The goober in the upper left-hand corner of the pic is wearing socks with sandals. Even I, a man whose anti-metrosexual cred is firmly established, would never dare make such an obvious and embarrassing fashion gaffe. You can wear socks, or you can wear sandals, but you can't wear both, Snowflake.

Rob's other guess - that the electrical outlet was uncovered with children present, is a good one, but incorrect in this context. That outlet needed to be cooled down for several hours after pulling heavy duty powering a boom box that was cranking Iron Maiden's "Hallowed Be Thy Name" during the awards ceremony (an especially appropriate background song to the crowning of a champion, if you ignore the first 9/10ths of the lyrics).

But the question still remains...

Who was the rube in the sandals and the socks?

Fortunately, KAR's crack Forensic Fashion Faux Pas Team was able to uncover damning evidence in another picture, also posted by Ben, that conclusively implicates a specific MilFer in this heinous sartorial crime:

Can't Get Enough of Those Zany Anarchists Ovine Anal Rapists!

A marginal group of attention craving midgets holds a "press conference". The Strib dutifully attends:

A group of activists who describe themselves as "anarchists and anti-authoritarians" will hold a private strategy session over the Labor Day weekend to discuss plans to protest at the Republican National Convention to be held in St. Paul Sept. 1-4, 2008.

The group, called the RNC Welcoming Committee, held a news conference Monday at the Jack Pine Community Center on Lake Street in Minneapolis, where Bea Bridges, speaking for the committee, showed a video that hinted at confrontational tactics, read a statement and walked out, taking no questions.

The Jack Pine Community Center is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit whose "non-lobbying" lobbying activities will henceforth be much more closely scrutinized by frequent surly commenter "Master of None," I'm sure.

And why the hell didn't the Strib send a reporter to the PreMilF press conference? Hell, why didn't anybody? Captain Ed didn't even sign on to the conference call. I mean, sure it was just a golf outing. But we had fireworks! And beer. And - unlike these bozos - a life. Certainly that was just as newsworthy as a handful of socially maladjusted teenagers who, despite their extremely slight stature, are talking awfully big.

Well, you all missed an exquisitely decorated pie buffet catered by the Notorious B.I.L. Your loss.

The group had sent out an announcement last week, saying questions had to be submitted by e-mail a week in advance.

Only Minnesota Monitor submitted one.

(That joke is pretty funny if you get it.)

Bridges said the group favors "ending capitalism, imperialism, patriarchy and all other forms of hierarchy" to be replaced with "direct, participatory democracy."

What about anal rape of sheep? Did you catch that? They didn't mention anal rape of sheep!

These people support ovine anal rape!

She said the group would not seek permits to demonstrate, and said efforts to restrict protesters in that way constituted repression and a "violent threat."

In discussing future tactics, she said, "Some may choose to resist state violence using pacifist tactics, while others use whatever methods they deem necessary and appropriate."

I do believe she's insinuating that these buck-oh-five children are planning on using violence. And given what we know about their proclivities, from the previous paragraph, that can only mean one thing:

They're planning on a mass anal raping of sheep! In protest of Republican policies!

This is diabolical to the core.

She said they are expecting "a few hundred people" to attend this weekend's gathering, of which about half are expected to come from out of town.

So they're meeting this weekend.

In the Twin Cities.

You know what else is going on this weekend in the Twin Cities?

The State Fair.

You know what's at the State Fair?


Shitloads and shitloads of sheep.

All, with anuses.

Connect the dots, people (and be ready for some ribald waif anarchists in the sheep barn)!

According to an earlier statement on its website, [We Anally Rape Sheep], the group plans workshops and a bus tour of the Twin Cities on Saturday and a private strategy session at Jack Pine on Sunday that is closed to the media. It plans to hold a news conference next Monday.

Which will be attended by, I am certain, a Strib reporter. Because if there's one thing these malnourished, unemployed, basement-dwelling anal rapers of sheep need is attention.

Darrin Blackford, a spokesman for the Secret Service in Washington, D.C., and Tom Walsh, a spokesman for the St. Paul police department, each said they had no comment.

Why do the police and the Secret Service hate sheep?

A separate coalition of antiwar groups, which includes Women Against Military Madness, the Anti-War Committee and the Iraq Peace Action Coalition, has already announced plans for a mass march to protest the war in Iraq on Sept. 1, 2008 near Xcel Center in St. Paul where the convention will take place. They say their march will be a peaceful, legal demonstration.

Where's the "Coalition Against Sheep Anal Rape?" (CASAR).

Maybe we should form it and hold a press conference.

Previous fun with anarchists Sheep Anal Rapists here.

Monday, August 27, 2007

The Pitcher Comes Home

Yes the Royal and Ancient Lord Jones' Pitcher is now back where it belongs: atop my refrigerator. After one of the guttiest performances ever seen at any level of the game, Bill Team KARNation walloped the field, and turned back a repeat bid by the 2nd place Comment Trolls, with a MilF-record 87.

The home team weathered a back-nine swoon that included a snowman on 12, a meltdown on 17 and a complete lack of the bikini chick on 14 to win the plastic and the $100 purse. The 15th was especially comical for the Dream Foursome (pictured at right), which saw 8 - count 'em, 8 - pristine little white balls fresh out of the box go to their final resting place in the Davy Jones' Locker of the pond. Suffice it to say that this will be the last you hear of TPC Valleywood 15 from me and King Bananaaiananainan. What happens on 15, stays on 15.

The highlight of the afternoon was the final group's approach to the 18th green, when Resident Brooklynite Mark Yost, dressed in full Ginney regalia, bumped and grinded the flagstick while Andy "Teh Hak" Aplicowski took 5 strokes to hit the green from about 50 yards out. (Close 2nd: Rick/Rich "Coulda Woulda" Shutta hitting the gazebo next to the clubhouse, resulting in a sound that rivaled The Noise From the Bowels of Hell.)

Other special accolades:

The Jeff Fecke Lost Balls Award went to LearnedFoot for blowing through 3 sleeves of balls on the back nine.

The Spotty - Awarded to the player who exhibited the most grotesquely hubris-soaked overestimation of his own game - was won by Andy Aplikowski, for claiming that field low handicapper Mike Gehrity didn't actually shoot an 85, as if that made a difference to Andy's second to last place team which shot a 104.

The Jeff Fecke Look-Alike Contest was won by dark-horse Northern Alliance Wannabe Dan Stover.

And finally, The Eva Young Memorial Rediculous Looser Award - given to the last place finisher - was won by Team Policy Guy Wannabe who shot a mind-bendingly bad 110.

An additional, non-dubious shout out goes to our Master of Sausages, Surly Dave. The M.O.S. title is his for as long as he wants it.
Also big ups to the Head of Alfredo Garcia for his, er, "live" "blog" of the event. Perhaps he should take a cue from Mitch Berg and actually try to take up the game, rather than criticizing it from afar...
The Post-MilF was an unqualified success, raising $200 for Soldier's Angels, and earning the ire of at least one neighbor. And Bill and I once again revisited that age-old question: "What happens when you jam 30 or 40 sparklers into a metal tube and then stick a bunch of bottle rockets on top of the sparklers and then light the sparklers?"

The answer was, as always, impressive. (Andy may or may not have video of this.)

Ben Whiteboy has the comprehensive posts about the Post MilF (One, Two). As far as I can tell, it's fairly accurate, save for some of the photographs. I'm pretty sure I don't have that many chins.

Keep your eyes peeled for the starting of the hype for MilF 4: Banaian vs. the Swamp, beginning in a few weeks. Thanks to everyone whose presence / participation / tolerance of Moonchild's repeated punches to the groin, made this year's MilF a success.

(Pics courtesy of the aforementioned Ben and Resident Dago, Yostie.)

UPDATE: Dan Stoverfecke has more pics.

Friday, August 24, 2007

The MilF Liveblog - Tee Up!

5:12: Still no takers.

I'll have to continue this at the Post-MilF.

See you all next year!

(Except for the whole "see you" bit).

4:38: LaPlante gave us his score - -12. Everyone else is waiting, erasers over their cards, to see who goes next. I'm hearing no takers.

4:19: And! Defending champ, Mike Whatshisname four-putted 18 to put a close to this years' Millard Fillmore!

4:17: Learned Foot, commenting on his play on 17: "F___ this f______ f______ m____________ f______ game!".

Complete agreement!

4:15: Oh, sweet jebus; I can see the clubhouse!

4:00: Hey! Ted Mondale just bought everyone a round!

3:46: John "The Night Writer" Stewart, Nihilist and I are singing "Kentucky Rain".

3:38: Was that the ten millionth shanked drive, or the ten million and first?

3:30: I'm lying by the 15th tee box. I've gotten most of the mace out of my eyes, although the cloud still hovers over the area by the fence where Trenchcoat ran toward me, drawing the streams of mace and taser darts. On the plus side, my heart rate has dropped below 200. On the minus side, I think the attack dog bit my giblets.

The guy in the "Press"hat and swim trunks took off, hacking and sniffling up Mace dust, on the golf cart.

Back to covering the MilF, I guess.

3:12: Huh-whah? Screams of terror? The guy in the trench coat and the "Press" hat has snuck up to the pool, doffed his coat (he's wearing swim trunks with a "Press" pass tucked in the waist band underneath) and started trying to chat up Sheena's friends!

3:11: She'd like to know if I'd like to adjourn to someplace more comfortable...

3:09: Oh, yeeaaaah! Sheena says she's a nympho with an insatiable jones for anonymous bloggers!

3:08: Yost yelled over "girls by the pools in Jersey are the best ever". She laughs and tells me her name is "Sheena".

3:07: Oh, maaan - the tall, hot brunette with the tattoo on her ankle winked at me! I am so in!

3:06: Just gonna meander over by the fence, here...

3:05: Coming up to 14 and...

...hel-lo, what have we here? Bikini-clad babes gathered around a swimming pool on the property adjoining the course?

Yowza! This is much better.

2:54: We're passing the very-appropriately-named 13th hole. Nihilist was singing "In The Ghetto". Someone - Banaian? - chipped a ball into his face, knocking out four teeth.

He actually got better.

2:47: Jeezus, shoot me now! Golf is like watching paint dry...on a golf course!

2:25: They're at the turn, after nine. Foot and Bill are down a buck in the "money game", which sounds like they tried to stuff a dollar in the beer cart girl's thong with predictable results. I have no idea.

Foot also is saying he shot the "Greatest punch shot of all time", firing through a "tunnel in the trees" to "get on the green". One thinks perhaps he watched that new Jet Li/Jason Stathan movie before the tourney, if you catch my drift.

2:04: Miraculously, even though clubs are whirring away like chopper blades in Platoon, everyone is coming in between 3 under and 6 under par after eight holes. Except for Tucci, who seems to be like -14. Nobody's saying anything, though. And Obnoxious Packer Guy, who seems to think golf scoring is like football, and is current 28 over.

1:55: We're coming up on seven. I've let the guy in the trenchcoat take the cart. He wouldn't stop putting "tacular" on the end of words. "Golftacular. Dufftacular. Beertacular. Pooptacular. Whiztacular."

This post-MilF party'd better be worth it.

Can you all join me in praying for rain?

1:20: I will not be silent.

I never get tired of saying that.

I will not be silent.
I will not be silent.
I will not be silent.
I will not be silent.
I will not be silent.

Hee hee.

1:18: I drove over to the beer cart girl to get a drink around the sixth hole. Before I could get there, the guy in the trenchcoat and hat asked her "are you selling light beer because you're fat?" She drove away, disgusted. I drove away thirsty; TrenchcoatGuy slammed his Grain Belt before he got back to the cart.

1:13: Nihilist is standing on the bench by the ball-cleaner holding a two-wood like a microphone and singing "Suspicious Minds".

12:59: The guy in the hat and trenchcoat is huffing and puffing. But we're in a cart.

12:55: Obnoxious Packer Guy was hitting behind LaPlante and Northern Alliance Wannabe. His ball narrowly missed NAW. The Wannabe asked OPG why he didn't yell "Fore".

The Packer Guy said "I lost count".

Highlight of the damn game so far.

12:50: The guy with the "Press" hat and the trenchcoat is yakking about golf's phallocentrism. It's almost more interesting than the game.

12:44: There's only nine holes in golf. Right? That's golf and not just baseball?


12:38: Oh, this oughtta be good. Yost and Joe Tucci are arguing about which is better, Brooklyn or New Jersey. Tucci's representing for the old neighborhood, and Yost is flexing for the Garden (of sewage) State.

How about you hit the damn ball so we can see if there's really a bikini chick on 14, huh?

12:34: Oh, look. Someone shanked a shot into the rough, and is swearing and making "I'm gonna break my club" motions. How very unexpected.

12:26: I'm already bored.

12:15: Mark Yost (who is, if I'm not mistaken, a native of New Brunswick, New Jersey, and damn proud of it) just got off a decent tee shot. His quote: "Golf courses in Jersey are much more difficult". I'll file that away for later.

12:02: The guy in the trenchcoat is apparently reading this liveblog on his blackberry. He's asking me if I want to write for the Minnesota Monitor.

We'll have to talk later.

12:01: Or not. It actually rolled 20 yards, and he's taking a mulligan.

12:00: And ka-Blammo!, we're off on the 2007 Millard Fillmore, with a positively rifle-like shot down the fairway by John LaPlante! That puppy must have flown 280 yards straight down the fairway! HO-LY COW, LaPlante has set the bar for this competition!

11:59: He's still teeing up. Jeez, he is very particular about how he places the ball. It's like watching Monk go to a Godfather's Pizza buffet.

11:57: John LaPlante is teeing up. We're about to get rolling!

11:40: I will not be silent. I love gofl!

11:35: Teh guy in the trenchcoat looks like this fuy here:

someon says it Northern Alliance Wannabe. I cant tell.

Atomizer is gone to get another bottel of sappphire.

11:30: Thisls morning is lgetting a ltos better arleady.


11:05: Whew. At long last, Atomizer shows up. He brought his martini kit - it looks like one of those barrels that Saint Bernards carry, and it's got a bottle of Sapphire, an eyedropper of vermouth, and a couple of glasses.

Yaay! Booze!

10:42: There's a guy standing in the trees to the left of the first tee. He's wearing a trench coat and sunglasses and a porkpie hat with a "Press" card stuck in the band. He's looking...furtive?

Nihilist prefers the word "weaselly". I don't wonder.

10:39: He's singing "Burning Love" again.

Someone kill me now.

10:32: Well, that was interesting. We went to Denny's, of course - we had to drive an extra five miles, because Nihilist thought he had a coupon.

And then...well, don't let anyone fool you. That lil' fella can pack away the plain white toast with margarine. It's like he has a hollow leg full of Wonderbread.

And then, when we're done, he tries to pay his tab with a backdated stock option. They wouldn't take it - so I got stuck with the bill. He said he'd pay me back with poker winnings.

I need a drink.

It's back to Valleywood.

9:30: Nihilist called John "Policy Guy" LaPlante. Apparently the tournament doesn't start until noon. Thanks a million, guys.

We're gonna go grab breakfast.

9:20: And over.

9:16: Criminy. Nihilist is just sitting in his '91 Tempo, singing "Burning Love" along with the cassette player. Over and over.

9:12: At last, SOMEONE shows up. It's Nihilist!

9:06: While I'm waiting, and waiting, and waiting, I'll run down the flights of "golfers" who'll be participating.

First up is Team Policy Wannabe. Which is the guy from Policy Guy, who I've never met, and the guy from Northern Alliance Wannabe. Never met him either.

After that is my so-called teammates from KARNation - Foot, Dementee, Bill and Tucci. Or OPG. Shinola, two years working on this site and I still mix the two of 'em up.

After that comes Team Yoaoaoaoaoaoast, which is I think Mark Yost, who's from New Jersey, I think.

Following them comes Team Rezidjewal Froces uv teh Nite, whom I've never met either.

After that comes Team Comment Trolls, which is probably like Eva Young and Tom Swift.

But I wouldn't know, because NONE OF THEM HAVE SHOWN UP.


There's not even a bar open.

9:02: Jeez, the 14th green bikini chick isn't even here yet. FOOOOOT?

9:00AM: I'm here. Waiting at the first flipping tee at Valleywood. Nobody's here yet. Typical.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

MilF Liveblog

I hate golf.

I'd rather watch professional skateboarding. Hell, I'd rather watch Flip This House. Sober.

If I'd wanted to wander around whacking ineffectually at things with a piece of metal, I'd have become a labor goon.

But since the rest of the KAR crew will be busily duffing away tomorrow, I'll follow along in the golf cart, macking on the 14th-green bikini babe live-blogging the event.

Tune into KAR at noon tomorrow for all the golf-tacular goodness.

Pre-Tee show starts whenever I crack through the crushing, golf-driven ennui.

Fear Us

KAR has obtained exclusive footage of Team KARNation's Notorious B.I.L., training for the MilF:

Moron Mail

It's a long way to the ground when you sit atop a high horse...

I stood Tuesday with the group of people who weren't invited to the Norm Coleman $1,000 entry fundraiser, and who for sure didn't have $10,000 to drop for a photo op with the president.

Maybe if you worked for a living rather than stalking Republicans and making a spectacle of yourself -

Oh, never mind.

I greatly appreciated the large number of passing cars that honked or gave "thumbs up" in appreciation of the effort.

Those weren't thumbs!

My part, as a former Army medic and bugler, was to occasionally fill the air with "Taps," because I believe that every time large contributions go to continue the policies we're under, many more people will die or be injured through violence or some kind of neglect.

Thank you for your service. But you are still a bonehead.

I personally have trouble with the thought of paying $10,000 to be photographed with any president. If I had it, I'd help two or three families get adequate health insurance for a year and be photographed with them. These kind of photo ops abound, and I'm imagining a world where we as a culture seek them out.


You know, Bonerson has a good point. I've always had a problem with people who eschew charity and instead give their disposable income to political parties or candidates that would raise taxes on other people to address the latest "crisis". It's a very cost-effective means to smug self-satisfaction.

But you don't need to be rich to donate your time and money. You could volunteer at a hospital, do pro bono work (in whatever field your expertise lies in), and of course, you can still donate cash to charities that do real good in the world, as Mr. Bonerson suggests. I wonder what good turns Larry Bonerson would do with that extra $250 he may find laying around from time to time?


Oh, never mind.

Functional Idiocy

Oh look: another article that Jeffie the Wingnut Slayer and NonMonkey won't acknowledge.

(Probably because they can't read it.)

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Milf Tips: Some Final Thoughts

I hope you found our little tour around the TPC at Valleywood enlightening. Or, if you're not a golfer, annoying. In case you missed any, you can find all the hole summaries here.

Despite the sometimes uncreative hole layouts, the TPCaVW does force you to use every club in your bag. Prudent shot selection and good course management will get you through the often demanding target-golf stretches of the course. Valleywood rewards prudence and patience. But, if you insist on pulling out the lumber and shooting for the stick on every shot, your reward will be 98.

Incidentally, my average score for this course is 98.

But let's face it, the Millard Fillmore Memorial KARNation Open Championship Celebrity Charity Golf Outing Classic is about more than mere golf.

It's also about beer. And illegal fireworks.

So as we stand so close to writing another chapter into the annals of this ancient and storied game, it helps to remind ourselves of those who have come before us, and of those who will be waiting for us at the PostMilF, already shnockered out of their skulls. We will all smile together, comfortable in the realization that our lot could have been fated to carouse with a far, far sorrier bunch.

See you Friday.

Milf Tips: TPC at Valleywood #18

NOTE: Yay! It's over!

"The Tears of Pete Dye"

Given that this is the fourth - FOURTH! - 90-degree dogleg on the course, I have to believe that the course architect simply ran out of room. Anyway, having already played this hole when it was called "Number 3", you know the drill: 3-iron to the corner; 4 or 5-iron to the green. However, 18 does throw a curveball: the green is... elevated! With water on the right!

Get on the green, 3-putt to a heckling chorus of already-finished MilFers sitting at a nearby picnic table chanting "Noonan...NOONAN!", and head off to the PostMilF to get your drink on.

Congratulations, Snowflake! You have now written yourself into an indelible chapter of the legend that is the MilF.

FOOT'S SECRET TIP: Andy's in the last group this year. All MilFers finishing before him should do everything in their power to make him 7-putt this hole.

Milf Tips: TPC at Valleywood #17

NOTE: Bear with me people. We're almost done. Only 2 days left; gotta crank these out.


This hole sucks. It's a 4o2 yard par-4 that, because of a large mature stand of trees and a pond and a big hill at the crux of the dogleg plays about 450. Your tee shot needs to be perfect: too far and you drive it through the fairway out of bounds; too short, and you have no shot at the green. Too far right - if you don't put it in the trees over there, and your approach will be about 230 yards into the green. Too far left, and - well, it's too horrible to contemplate.

So assuming you hit the 5 square-foot ideal landing area with your tee shot, you face about a 170-yard approach, all uphill, with OB hard up against the right side. Fuck this fucking hole.

FOOT'S SECRET TIP: In one of the few good risk-reward type shots on the back 9, you can try to cut the dogleg. However this entails hitting a shot high enough and long enough to carry:

* A pond,

* A big hill on the other side of the pond,

* A stand of mature trees on top of the big hill, and

* The rough on the other side of the big trees.

In MilF-2006 the Nihilist in Golf Pants took this shot, and put it in the rough on the other side of the trees, so I guess it can be done. Though, I suspect blood doping.

FOOT'S SECRET TIP #2: The descent down the hill from the tee box offers a nice, albeit somewhat distant view of The Hole 14 Bikini Chick.

The Abridged NonMonkey


Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Milf Tips: TPC at Valleywood #16

NOTE: This is the 16th in a 19-part series meant to introduce MilFers, drum up excitement, use up bandwidth, fill copy area, blah, blah blah...

"Dances With Woods"

Playing 380 from the Milf tees, #16 is a bitch. You will realize this as soon as you step onto the tee, and see that you have to hit a damn good shot here to have a chance at any semblance of a respectable score.
The tee shot must negotiate a couple of nasty situations to end up in play: A valley with water on each side, and a fairway landing area wide enough to accommodate not much more than a couple of geese. Manage that and you'll be faced with an approach that needs to be just as precise. Too long or left and you are down a steep embankment with a blind come-back. Just a little too right and you are in the trees. Short may be the best miss here.

For all this, I actually like this hole because it sets up almost perfectly to my natural fade as it doglegs right off the tee. If you have a nice fade with the driver, hit it here. If you are worried about slicing or hooking, put the big dog away and hit a club you can control.

BILL'S SECRET TIP: The same advice I have for any tight, narrow hole: 4 iron; 5 iron; chip; putt.

The Sad Haiku of Shark Jumping

That noise you hear is
The sound of Mister Kouba's
Noggin exploding.

Removing All Doubt

Last week, I expressed my exasperation at the dim bulbs out there bloviating in a tone of absolute certainty about the cause of the St. Anthony Bridge collapse (The GOP and David Strom). This, of course, came before any of the submerged bridge parts had been fished out of the river, to say nothing of an actual forensic investigation of the causes. Needless to say that those of us with at least one functioning brain cell not exclusively devoted to electing DFLlings to power thought that we might want to hold off judgment until the actual cause was known. The thinking person's natural first thought has been, and should continue to be: there are other bridges rated worse than this one, that are older than this one - why are they all still standing?"

So anyway, I thought we had plumbed the depths of stupidity, and swore off writing anything on the topic at least for a long while. Then, of course we were afflicted with Sunday's Strib Letter of the Day. But then, I thought, "OK, now rhetoric relating to the bridge can't possibly get any stupider."

Alas, we haven't yet bottomed out. Jeffie the Wingnut Slayer had yet to write his weekly "column"...

The twin calamities this month [the bridge and the floods in southeast MN -ed.] couldn't be more different. The 35W bridge disaster was man-made, but one that had an element of luck to it. We now know that MnDOT was so concerned about the bridge they feared it may need to be condemned but held back from repairing it in an effort to seek out a cost-effective solution.

Jeffie, is no doubt referring to this article. But Jeffie conveniently ignored (I swear to this day that he really is a semi-literate - he can only read things that confirm his preconceived notions) this part of the article which quite explicitly undermines the assertion that cost was the only factor:

But five weeks later, all those preparations stopped. In a single
conference call on Jan. 17, the same consultants who said reinforcement plates
were needed to strengthen the bridge cautioned MnDOT that drilling for the
retrofit could weaken it.

"That was the turning point. That's where we turned the ship 180
degrees," said state bridge engineer Dan Dorgan.

I mean, that's a pretty important factor in the calculus don't you think? Oh, there was this part too:

Dorgan and senior engineer Gary Peterson denied in interviews that money was a
factor in deciding what to do with the Interstate 35W bridge, which was not due
for replacement until 2022. They provided a written timeline showing that MnDOT
supervisors on Nov. 1, 2006, funded the reinforcing project for $1.5
, with work to begin in January 2008.

To say nothing of the very real possibility that the overarching cause of the disaster was a design defect. Of course Jeffie probably was unable to read that article, what with his selective illiteracy setting in.

But this is old terrain, and there's nothing I, or the drooling partisan retards like Jeffie, haven't written before.

What makes this extra super dooper fun, is that he tries to make the connection to the flooding in southeastern part of the state, with hilarious results:

That point was driven home to me this weekend. Nobody and nothing can prevent tragedy; we may find that the disaster in the southeast had no easy prevention, that it was, as the insurance agents will put it, an "act of God." [the legal term is "force majeure", something I figured Jeffie would know because he met a lawyer once and was briefly married to another; one thing's for sure, though: that toothless dog would have misspelled it. -ed.] Perhaps there was no levee that could have protected against the flooding,


No, there wasn't and can't be. Since you had a hard sustained rain falling on a very hilly area with only a thin layer soil over the bedrock, you'd need one damn big levy to keep that water from running down into the watersheds of the valleys in the area, where some of those towns were unfortunately situated.


no police that could have secured the area to prevent a car from chancing a water crossing it was not designed to make.


They were flash floods. I suppose Jeffie possesses the intellect to immediately know exactly when and where these might pop up. In the real world however, things are a little more complex.

We may find this was just the sort of senseless, random tragedy our species has had to deal with for the past 200 millennia. And before 35W collapsed, I would have felt sure of that.

But now I wonder: did we cut corners somewhere?

Yes. We didn't spend eleventy billion dollars building levies around the bases of all those hills in the driftless zone.

Could we have had state troopers out, but for the cost-effectiveness of it?

Oh, sweet Jeebus.

Could we have built levees, if the money had been there? Could we have done something to prevent this, if only we'd been willing to make the sacrifices needed to do so?

You. Are. An. Idiot.

Maybe not. Probably not. But I wouldn't have even entertained the possibility a month ago.

That's because you have a feeble mind, ill-equipped to function in the real world.

Back then I believed that Minnesota was a state that did what it could to protect its residents, even if that wasn't always cheap or easy. I don't believe that state exists anymore. It's gone -- it turned out that kind of wishy-washy, liberal thinking was interfering with tax cuts for the wealthiest among us. And why should we ask the best off among us to look out for the least among us? Let the poor build their own bridges.

Ryan??? RYAN???!!!!! This graf is so NonMonkeyesque, I feel like I'd be intruding on your turf.

We owe each other something. We owe our children something. We owe our neighbors something.

And we've been paying it. Or so I need to shove my tax returns (and all those receipts with sales tax and gas tax line items) in your fat face?

No, the government can't solve every problem, nor should it, but it can solve some problems better than private enterprise can -- or "government" as an institution wouldn't have survived Adam Smith.

Like building enormous levees around the bottoms of hills.

There is every good reason to ask that government do things efficiently and carefully. But it can't do its job well if it lacks the resources to do it at all. We, the people of Minnesota, have to ask ourselves if we hope for our state in 2025 to resemble Minnesota -- or Alabama. I know which one I'd choose, and why. Do you?

Well, if you measure success by tax expenditures, I'd say that Minnesota's budget ($25 billion / annum) has a long long long way to go to match Alabama's ($11 billion /annum).

I'd say the old taxes are generating enough revenue.

Unless, you know, you want to build levees everywhere and station State Patrolmen every 200 feet.

The Archetype

George Will pays tribute to America's Umpire, Bruce Froemming.

Milf Tips: TPC at Valleywood #15

NOTE: This is the 15th in a 19-part series meant to introduce MilFers to the home course, and to use up precious band-width with content that is targeted to just a few people. Anyone reading this stuff from afar will absolutely wonder what all the hullabaloo is about.

"Ramblin' Road"

Playing 472 from the Milf tees, #15 is the last of Valleywood's par 5's, and really your last decent chance at a birdie. This hole looks much more menacing than it really is, with it's large water hazard cutting through and dominating the last third of the fairway. But getting off the tee in fair shape with an OK second shot will leave you in good position to put one close on your approach.

That being said, many, many balls end up in the water on this hole. That's because a respectable drive will put you in a position where you need to make a choice: Lay up to the front of the water (Snowflake!), or going for it on the second shot and hitting enough club to carry the water. Taking the first, safer option will allow you to have a shot at the green on your third shot, albeit a long one over water. The second option will, if successfully executed, put you in great position to lay on in close on your third shot.

Of course, those are pretty big "ifs" up there, and I have first-hand knowledge of 15's water.

BILL'S SECRET TIP: Hit your drive down the right side of the fairway, then take a direct route over the water, to the left and short of the green. This will shorten the expanse of water needing to be traversed on the second shot, and leave a good approach angle to the green.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Moron Mail

How to pay tribute to those victims of the bridge collapse?

How about lighting up a billboard that advertises a crappy beer?

Yep, you guessed it: it's the letter of the day:

To commemorate the 35W bridge tragedy, I think we should light up the Grain Belt beer sign on Nicollet Island, which has been dark for some time. I'm sure it takes nuclear power to run it, but I'd be willing to cut back on the Christmas lights this year and skip Hollidazzle for the rest of my life to get the big bottle cap up and glowing again.

I think the DSM just got a new chapter...

It's an icon, something that says "Minneapolis" and "cheers" and "city of lights USA" to people all over the world.

To people who drink beer, it says "piss-water" or "barf" or "puke" or "Drinking Liberally" or "hmm, this must have been aged with formaldehyde" or railroad-spike-in-your-forehead-level-headache.

PREEMPTIVE SMACK FOR GRAIN BELT BOBOS: We've had this discussion before. If you're from Minnesota, Grain Belt is Primo-licious. If you're from the rest of the world, it's undrinkable piss-water swill. But face it, you piss-guzzling flaming Minnesotans: if that shit were brewed in Detroit or St. Louis or Milwaukee, you wouldn't touch the stuff.

And I've said it before: there's a reason that my old, beloved (and now defunct) Fowl Play used to sell it for $3.50 a pitcher, while a pitcher of Miller Lite went for 6 bucks.

To those of you who've never had Grain Belt Primo, but have had the misfortune to imbibe Lite: yeah, it's that bad.

Reigniting it would be a fitting tribute to the river itself, and to all the souls who've gone before us.

And an insult to all the beer drinkers who died on that bridge.

We could do it at dusk on Labor Day, get Bruce Springsteen to come sing all that hopeful stuff from "The Rising" and "The River,"

Well, now you got Mitch's vote...

and we could all light red candles all over town. For the 35W bridge victims specifically, we could honor them with a bumper sticker: "Throw Out The Bridge Collapsers."

When you look up the word "non sequitur" in the dictionary, it says "see 'boner'".


Speaking of "Grain Belt Bobos," Bobo shares his favorite Grain Belt Memories.

MilF Tips: TPC at Valleywood #14

NOTE: This is the 14th in a 19-part series meant to introduce MilFers to the home course, and to annoy nongolfers who come here for stupid Letters to the Editor and poop jokes. If you're among the later, it's Tim Pawlenty's fault for not raising taxes.

"The Bikini Chick Hole"

Playing 345 from the Milf tees, #14 presents the golfer a straight, uphill par-4 lined with luxurious homes along the left side. One of these homes, approximately 237 yards from the tee, features a swiming pool around which the lucky golfer can frequently witness a bikini-clad hottie sunning herself or frolicking. Sometimes she's joined by some of her hot friends who likewise enjoy sporting well-cut bikinis. Sometimes, you can see them playing with a beach ball. That's it. Bend over and pick up that ball... Now, hold it over your head and throw it! Make sure you arch your back and really fling that thing...

Er, sorry.

Anyway, blind second shot, blah blah blah, narrow green yada yada, lots of trees etc. tough green...


Friday, August 17, 2007

Media Week Begins!

We are a mere 7 days from the greatest golf event of all time, The 3rd Annual Millard Fillmore Memorial KARNation Open Championship Celebrity Charity Golf Outing Classic. (Or, as it is now being referred to: the Fifth Major.)

MiLFers and PostMilFers: Check thy email.

And that's really all I have. The sole purpose for this post was to get that graphic on the right out there.

Happy MilFing!
UPDATE: New header too!

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Moron Mail: Happy to Laugh More at Those Happy to Pay More For a Better St. Paul

Ha ha ha! Hee hee hee! Ho ho ho!

What's wrong with this picture? Gov. Tim Pawlenty says "no new taxes." St. Paul taxes will increase at least 7 percent next year to pay for necessary services. St. Paul would like to hire at least 13 new police officers. To accomplish this, one of the cuts will be recreation centers.

Hmmm. Hire more police, close rec centers; the kids who used the rec centers can hang out on the streets, where the new officers can arrest them for various infractions.

Er, it's not like they're using those rec centers anyway.

Are we all nuts? No new taxes will kill us yet, and I don't mean figuratively.

Hang on there a minute sugartits. Are you using the politics of fear?


This is not the first time I've taken glee in seeing the people of St Paul suffer the natural consequences of electing a mayor solely on the basis that he was the candidate that didn't endorse George Bush. It feels genuinely good to see these people'e wallets get anally raped (can wallets have anuses?) annually.

In fact, it feels so right, let's read another...

In times of difficulty, we can either face the problem head-on or leave it for our successor. Mayor Chris Coleman is facing St. Paul's problems head on, proving that voters were right to elect him in 2005.


The city has lost $108 million in local government aid over the last five years. In 2007 dollars, that means $36 million less for core services and infrastructure, year after year. Dealing with these state cuts, and the resulting $17 million shortfall we face this year, isn't pretty, fun or quotable.

Perhaps someone should ask The Holy Savior of St. Paul how much federal money from DHS his city has lost (according to a well placed source of mine) and will lose (according to this appropriation bill, pending signature by the president; the critical portion of which for our purposes summarized here) because he decided to make St. Paul a "sanctuary city"?

Get back to me on that if you will, Ms. Boners.

Nobody wants to raise taxes, and no one wants to close libraries and rec centers. But fixing the long-term city budget deficit now is how we finally set the city's finances right, not to mention avoid even worse problems later on. For that Coleman should be commended.

Please Mr. Mayor spank me again!



I returned home last night to find my home riddled by an apparent terrorist attack involving thousands -if not millions of explosive rockets. Some time before 5 PM Wednesday, al Quaeda, or possibly ELF, terrorists fired a relentless volley of 8 inch explosive rockets through my front door causing massive fireballs of destruction in my dining room and kitchen. Fortunately, no one in my family was injured.

My son Moonchild, who was present during the attack, is pictured below holding one of the terrorist instruments of destruction:

Moonchild Foot holds a rocket he says hit his house during a terrorist raid in a
Minneapolis suburb Wednesday.

This should be a wake up call to America. If terrorists can attack my house with explosive rockets, they can attack yours as well. We must end our illegal, ill-advised lie-based occupation of Iraq (or emissions of greenhouse gases, depending on which terrorist organization perpetrated this heinous crime) so that these murderers will leave us alone!

Don't get the joke? Click here.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

What? They've Never Heard of Nooners?

Oh, to be young, in love and Russian:

A Russian region of Ulyanovsk has found a novel way to fight the nation's birth-rate crisis: It has declared Sept. 12 the Day of Conception and for the third year running is giving couples time off from work to procreate.

So that's what HR means when they call it a "personal holiday"...

The hope is for a brood of babies exactly nine months later on Russia's national day. Couples who "give birth to a patriot" during the June 12 festivities win money, cars, refrigerators and other prizes.

Day off + Hot steamy babushka SEX + Fabulous prizes = The greatest idea ever, er... conceived.

Ulyanovsk, about 550 miles east of Moscow, has held similar contests since 2005. Since then, the number of competitors, and the number of babies born to them, has been on the rise.

Russia, with one-seventh of Earth's land surface, has just 141.4 million citizens, making it one of the most sparsely settled countries in the world. With a low birth rate and a high death rate, the population has been shrinking since the early 1990s.

In his state-of-the-nation address last year, President Vladimir Putin called the demographic crisis the most acute problem facing Russia and announced a broad effort to boost Russia's birth rate, including cash incentives to families that have more than one child.

Ulyanovsk Gov. Sergei Morozov has added an element of fun to the national campaign.

The 2007 grand prize went to Irina and Andrei Kartuzov, who received a UAZ-Patriot, a sport utility vehicle. Other contestants won video cameras, TVs, refrigerators and washing machines.

So you, uh... get off of work, boink like a wild Dementee in heat, get pregnant, win a refrigerator, and then give birth to a child who will eventually become two years old and destroy said refrigerator.

Sorry, I was projecting there.


James Gennaro is a complete and total freedom hating Son of a bitch. You can find a picture and bio of the fucking prick here.

To hell with bridges, this goddamned, cock-sucking, fudge-packing, wipe now wants to ban smoking in cars if kids under the age of 18 are on board.


In Rockland County, which in June approved a measure to ban smoking in cars with minors, critics called the law an invasion of privacy and a violation of personal liberties. Mr. Gennaro dismissed those arguments.

"Boo-hoo," he said. "You can't subject kids to 43 carcinogens and 250 poisonous chemicals and claim privacy. Get over it. Their right to privacy doesn't extend so far as to poisoning kids."


Where do you get off painting people with legitimate concerns as whining babies?

“I am just seeking every opportunity I can to denormalize smoking and to try to put it out of the reach of kids,” Mr. Gennaro said. “I’ve lost family members to lung cancer and I’ve seen what happens.”

This jerk is going to come into the homes of New Yorkers next. He’s going to approve of kids who turn in mom and dad for sucking down a Marlboro.

Screw the whacked out Islamists.

The enemy is within and Genero is on their team.

LEARNEDFOOT SEZ: Good to see that you had a chance to unwind and relax during the strike, D. Poetry does tend to have a calming effect.

Bridges? We Don't Need No Stinkin' Bridges!

NOTE: Enhance your enjoyment of this post by reading it while you listen to KAR's official rant music.

Labor crisis not withstanding, I've decided for my own sanity to stop writing about that confounded bridge for a while (and yes, that was an obscure Zeppelin reference). The rhetoric surrounding the issue has become so deeply deeply stupid, so malinformed - and I think in most cases, willfully so - that there's absolutely no point to it any more. The morbid douchebags on the left continue to leave their brains idle in the corner while trying their damndest to hang the disaster on the GOP despite mounting evidence to the contrary. Instead these ghoulish pigs plug their ears, pretend this information isn't out there and offer the simplistic solution - the same solution they have for everything - to raise taxes. Even though the causal connection between "No New Taxes" (left unsaid in all of these stupid information-free columns is that the Old Taxes have doubled the state's revenue in the last 20 years) is at best tenuous, it doesn't keep public scolds and partisan activists from blowing right past the facts - facts like those stated above as well as others including:

* It wasn't a money issue according to the state's leadiing bridge guy;

* Traffic issues from performing a massive reworking of the bridge must be factored in before we go around tearing up bridges willy nilly - especially the St. Anthony. Often the impact on traffic flow is just as important a factor in decisions relating to road repair as is the cost. Of all the lefty know-it-alls spouting off on this, I have seen this acknowledged nowhere;

* Other bridges around the state (and country) with much lower ratings than the St. Anthony haven't been falling down.

But it takes so little brain power to lay the blame on the guy who happens to be in office at the time (especially if he's GOP) than to actually fire a fucking synapse.

Also left unmentioned by these lobotomites is how exactly a 5 cent increase in the gas tax is going to be used. Will it be used to upgrade all the "structurally deficient" bridges (a term that has been abused, misapplied or at best misunderstood by all of them) to "structurally impenetrable" ones? Is 5 cents enough? Is it possible to buy perfection? Why not jack up the tax to $10 per gallon and replace all the bridges every 5 years? It's about ssfety and good government right? Can you really put a price tag on public safety?

Oh don't look so smug you people on the right. Privatizing bridges and roads is about the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Tollways? When Foot's doin' 80 on the interstate, Foot don't want to have to stop every 2 miles to throw loose change into a basket (if and provided that he remembered to bring some) just so he can get to Roseville. I don't care if the tollway between Bumblefuck Colorado and Outer Bumblefuck Colorado is nice. Ever drive the Tristate tollway? No thanks. Keep it Illinois, where they deserve such inconveniences. Roads are a legitimate functionof the government. If the drooling moonbats you send to the legislature would rather through state money at St. Paul so it can keep it's "underutilized" "community" "centers" open, then it's time to throw the drooling moonbats out of office. Not fuck with what is one of the few efficiencies government can provide.

And I'll just close on this note. No post about the abject stupidity surrounding the bridge thing would be complete without one of the stupidest voices in the whole matter represented.

Remember when NonMonkey said that it wasn't too early to politicize the bridge collapse?

Why, yes. Yes you do.

Well today, according to Nick, while we don't need to wait for the mourning to end to take shots at the governor, it is imperative that we take our time replacing one of the most vital stretches of freeway in the state.

I shit you not.

Good night and good luck. With drooling morons like these forming / representing public opinion, you'll need it. Wake me up when the morons are dead.

He Has the Journal, But We Have the Thunder - Part 2

LEARNEDFOOT: Good afternoon Mr. Tucci.

TUCCI: Yeah yeah. Let's get down to business...

LF: I take it that the union has duly appointed you to be their representative for this collective bargaining session?

TUCCI: They have.

LF: Good. Then there's no reason we can't begin.

TUCCI: Good. Well, you know our demands. We are prepared to end our strike and cease posting poetry immediately if you agree to them.

LF: Um, yeah. Unfortunately it's not that easy...

TUCCI: Oh really? Do tell. This oughta be good...

LF: Well, instead of telling you, I have arranged for this video presentation that, I think, will help you understand management's position.

TUCCI: We'll see. Roll 'em.

LF: OK then, I'll just hit play, and...

TUCCI: [Darth Vader] NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! [/Darth Vader]

LF: Mwahahahahahahaha!

TUCCI: Turn it off!!! TURN IT OFF!!!!

LF: Not so fast. I'll stop this video once you agree to a few things.

TUCCI: Whatever... I'll agree to what ever you want! Just stop that vile video!!!

LF: First, the union will provide me a full non-deductible dental plan.

TUCCI: You got it - just pleeeeeeaaaase -

LF: ...and I want the break room refrigerator fully-stocked with beer - good beer, mind you; not that Grain Belt shit - every day...

TUCCI: Fine! [Crying] Just turn the damn thing off!

LF: ...And every morning I want one of Bill's delicious Country Apple pies waiting at my desk before I arrive, fresh from the oven and sprinkled with that large-crystal sugar I like so much...


LF: ...and finally, OPG has to clean up his own vomit from now on. If he passes out before he can do so, then you do it.


LF: Done. [Turns off video.]

TUCCI: [Weeps openly the tears of a broken man.]

LF: Shake on it?

[TUCCI offers a very limp handshake.]

LF: Good. I'm glad that we can finally put this ugliness behind us. Now on to more important things...

The Poetry of Robert Burns 1

Oh, so that stunod thinks he can bust our union with scabs, does he? Time to kick this strike up a notch.

I give you the indecipherable genius of Robert Burns...

To a Louse

Ha! whare ye gaun' ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze and lace,
Tho faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her--
Sae fine a lady!
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.

Swith! in some beggar's hauffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle;
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle;
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now haud you there! ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils, snug an tight,
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right,
Till ye've got on it--
The vera tapmost, tow'rin height
O' Miss's bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an grey as onie grozet:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't,
Wad dress your droddum!

I wad na been surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On's wyliecoat;
But Miss's fine Lunardi! fye!
How daur ye do't?

O Jeany, dinna toss your head,
An set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin!
Thae winks an finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin!

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
An foolish notion:
What airs in dress an gait wad lea'es us,
An ev'n devotion!


Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Open Thread for the Nihilist in Golf Pants

Sisyphus appears to be playing ball with the union, and is engaging in a work slowdown of his own. I knew I should have called in fellow management for my scabs.

Nihilist in Golf Pants only, please.

Open Thread for Sisyphus

I'm sick of talking about the damn bridge, and I need to bring in a scab.

Therefore, an OTfS seems the obvious thing to do.

Sisyphus only, please.

MilF Tips: TPC at Valleywood #13

NOTE: This is the 13th installment of our ongoing series "Meet the MilF Course". Bill was scheduled to do this writeup, but has been temporarily suspended from his duties while collective bargaining takes place between the union and KAR management.

"Deja Vu"

The final par-3 at Valleywood presents the player with a 160 yard downhill shot over water to a very large green. The smart play...uh... here is...


Number 13:

Number 7:



In fact, this hole is nearly identical to Number 7 ("Bill's Bayou"). To do a full hole analysis here would not only be needlessly duplicative, but a waste of labor resources. So I can save myself time while simultaneously striking a blow against my ungrateful ThunderJournalists by merely sending you here.


FOOT'S SECRET TIP: If that hot dog you ate at the turn is starting to percolate by the 13th, your next chance to poop doesn't come until 15. Better pucker it up, Snowflake.

Monday, August 13, 2007










The Poetry of Emily Dickinson 5


I CANNOT live with you,
It would be life,
And life is over there
Behind the shelf

The sexton keeps the key to,
Putting up
Our life, his porcelain,
Like a cup

Discarded of the housewife,
Quaint or broken;
A newer Sèvres pleases,
Old ones crack.

I could not die with you,
For one must wait
To shut the other’s gaze down,—
You could not.

And I, could I stand by
And see you freeze,
Without my right of frost,
Death’s privilege?

Nor could I rise with you,
Because your face
Would put out Jesus’,
That new grace

Glow plain and foreign
On my homesick eye,
Except that you, than he
Shone closer by.

They ’d judge us—how?
For you served Heaven, you know,
Or sought to;
I could not,

Because you saturated sight,
And I had no more eyes
For sordid excellence
As Paradise.

And were you lost, I would be,
Though my name
Rang loudest
On the heavenly fame.

And were you saved,
And I condemned to be
Where you were not,
That self were hell to me.

So we must keep apart,
You there, I here,
With just the door ajar
That oceans are,
And prayer,
And that pale sustenance,

The Poetry of Emily Dickinson 4


AT last to be identified!
At last, the lamps upon thy side,
The rest of life to see!
Past midnight, past the morning star!
Past sunrise! Ah! what leagues there are
Between our feet and day!

The Poetry of Emily Dickinson 3


I TASTE a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl [Ooo. Sounds delish! -ed.];
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!

Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew [You can get drunk off dew??? -ed.],
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue [I've actually barfed molten bleu before. -ed].

When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove’s door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more! [Testify sister! -ed.]

Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun! [Or the toilet. -ed.]

This one made me a little teary-eyed. 'Scuse me...

The Poetry of Emily Dickinson 2


DOUBT me, my dim companion!
Why, God would be content
With but a fraction of the love
Poured thee without a stint.
The whole of me, forever,
What more the woman can,—
Say quick, that I may dower thee
With last delight I own!

It cannot be my spirit,
For that was thine before;
I ceded all of dust I knew,—
What opulence the more
Had I, a humble maiden,
Whose farthest of degree
Was that she might
Some distant heaven,
Dwell timidly with thee!

The Poetry of Emily Dickinson 1


I LIKE a look of agony,
Because I know it ’s true;
Men do not sham convulsion,
Nor simulate a throe.

The eyes glaze once, and that is death.
Impossible to feign
The beads upon the forehead
By homely anguish strung

P.S.: Bears suck! tee hee.

He Has the Journal, But We Have the Thunder - PART I

OBNOXIOUS PACKER GUY: Y'know Bill, I'm awfully disenchanted with this ThunderJournal right now. The working conditions are lousy - no beer in the break room, the pay is nonexistent - no beer in the break room, and I feel I have been underutilized these past few months. To make matters worse, a looming champagne shortage threatens to put prices out of my reach!

BILL: I hear ya' brother!


JOE TUCCI: And what's more, we could really use a dental plan, what with Bill constantly serving us all those delicious pies!

OPG: Amen!

BILL: Well, guys, I may know of a solution to help improve our lot...

TUCCI: What's that boss?

DEM: YES!!!!! DO TELL!!!!!! DON'T LEAVE DEMENTEE HANGIN'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OPG: *burp*

BILL: Well, inspired by an idea that was hatched by some of those rascally scamps at Yearly KOS, the contributors over at Nihilist in Golf Pants have organized their own labor union. Maybe if we banded together we'd have more bargaining strength, and we could get LearnedFoot to heel to our demands for a better working environment!

TUCCI: And I could realize my dreams of becoming a corrupt union boss getting fat off of kickbacks, dues skimming and extortion, just like I see in the movies.

BILL: I like your attitude, Joe.


BILL: OK, all in favor of forming a union, say AYE.


BILL: All opposed?

OPG: Nay! *burp*

TUCCI: Vote "aye" or I will hit you in the kneecaps with this crowbar...

OPG: Aye. Whatever. *burp*

BILL: The "ayes" have it. We're a union! Now, I think we should start planning a strike.


BILL: See, D, that's the problem. How can we make LearnedFoot know that we're on strike, since none of us ever posts anything anyway? It's kind of like when the WB canceled "Space Hooptie": you read about it in the papers, but you're all like "what the hell was 'Space Hooptie'? Was that a sitcom or something?" See, we need Foot to take notice that we're not happy.

OPG: *Burp* Why don't we just, uh, tell him?

TUCCI: And pass up the chance to make a spectacle of ourselves while engaging in an amusing narrative / running gag? Tell him? I think not!

BILL: Tucci's right. We need to commandeer control of this ThunderJournal, mangle its content, and make folks pay attention to the plight of us lowly ThunderJournalists. And I have just the plan...

To be continued...

Friday, August 10, 2007

Happy Birthday to the ThunderJournal!

Tomorrow is the first anniversary of the invention of the term "ThunderJournal". In the ensuing 364 days from it's inception, the term ThunderJournal has taken the internet by storm. It literally revolutionized the way Ryan and I refer to our internet based publishing media outlets. Dozens of people have been exposed to the word ThunderJournal since that fateful day last August, and the popularity of the term continues to pick up steam because of the wicked awesome coolness of it.

But I fear that there may be some out there that continue to refer to themselves as "bloggers" (var. "bah-loggerrrrrssss") even though they may actually be better described as ThunderJournalists.

So as a public service to those who are confused about their identities, and in celebration of ThunderJournal's first birthday, I have composed an online personality inventory, so you can determine for yourself once and for all, whether or not you should be referring to your weblog as a ThunderJournal.

As you can see from my result below, this quiz is pretty accurate.

Are You a ThunderJournalist?

You are a ThunderJournalist! Congratulations, you have achieved the highest evolutionary stage of online publishing. Light up a cigar, grab a beer and bask in your accomplishment a while while sitting on the can.
Take this


Make A Quiz More Quizzes Grab Code

I wonder if this gets me kicked off this blog? ThunderJournal

You Are 52% Feminist

You aren't a total traditionalist when it comes to gender roles. But you're no feminist either.
You generally think that women should be treated as equals, but you're not convinced the world should be gender neutral.
And BTW: The chick who represents my profile is way hotter than the one Foot has!

Moron Mail Editor

Actually, it I think the only moron in this case is that blunt tool known as a spell checker. See if you can catch the unfortunate error:

In the Aug. 8 article "Politicking aplenty at 2007 Farmfest in Redwood County," your reporter correctly noted that the biggest applause of the day from the large farm audience was when U.S. Secretary of Agriculture Mike Johanns "lambasted subsidies for millionaires."

The House version of the farm bill continues subsidies for land owners or operators with personal annual incomes up to $1 million ($2 million for a couple). The administration proposed a limit of $200,000. Why are middle-class taxpayers being asked to supplement incomes that are several times their own? There will be a massive transportation bill following the Interstate 35W bridge collapse, the baby boomers will start retiring in the life of this farm bill, and we have a war debt to pay off.

Isn't it time to sober up about how we spend the little discretionary funding still available? The Senate still has a chance to get this right with tits version of the farm bill.

We should demand that it does better


I think it's a safe bet that David Strom will support this version of the bill...

NOTE: The error has been fixed online, but appears as above in the print version.