Fuck You, George W. Bush

While I am happy that Obama won tonight. I am mostly just happy that we have someone else to call president. Bush, I hate hate hate what you have done to this country. I am so happy to see you go. You inherited coutnry that was in a lot of pain, and you made that pain ten-fold. From Iraq to Katrina to our current shit-hole economy, you have done nothing but fuck things up. Again, I am so happy to see you go. You were so bad that you took an otherwise honerable man, and ruined his campaign. The worst thing anyone could say about McCain was that he was too similar to you. So goodbye, asshole. You ruined your own party, you ruined the office, and you almost ruined the country. I sure hope Obama can bring this country together and effectively lead us to brighter pastures, but I have no doubts he will do a better job than you. I have no doubt McCain would have done a better job than you. When history weighs in on your presidency, I hope it sees you for the supreme jackass that you are.

Worst President Ever.

Kosterpeldings Lose a Friend

Louise

Last night, I went downstairs to feed the birds, and found that Louise had somehow died.

Louise was a good bird. She never quite had the spunk of Harry, but she was steadying force in our bird cage. She was a good bird. She didn’t want to die, and we didn’t want her to go.

Truth be told, Chelsey and I grew to really hate those birds. They were loud and messy, and loud some more. But now that we have lost one of them, I feel horrible. I feel horrible because something I was supposed to take care of has died. And I feel horrible because I know how lonely Harry is going to be now.

If love means never having to say you are sorry, then pet ownership should mean never having to bury your bird in the middle of the night behind your garage.

OK Here’s What You Do

Get up and drive your wife to the airport.

Come home, take a shower, throw in some laundry.

Start up the Roomba on the dining room.  Start it up!

Get out some brie.  Brie cheese!

Cut it in some slices and put it on some wheat bread.  Get your ham out of the fridge.

Put some of that ham on some bread.  Put that piece right next to the piece with the cheese on it.

Now you’ve got to move the cheese over to the ham side, because you’ve got to get some mustard under it.

Get out the creole mustard.  Creole mustard.

Spread that mustard on the bread that used to have the cheese on it.  Then PUT THE CHEESE RIGHT BACK WHERE IT WAS BEFORE.  That is the key right there.

Now you toast both slices of bread.

Watch out, your toaster toasts the holy hell out of whatever you put in there, and it’s starting to burn  your bread a little.  TAKE IT OUT NOW.

Put both slices of bread together so that the ham meets the cheese.  Hello cheese!  Hello ham!

Press them together.

The cheese drips out the side of the sandwich.  THIS MEANS YOU HAVE DONE IT RIGHT.

Look at the cat, he’s bugging out at the Roomba.

Move the Roomba right into the living room and have it do it’s thing.

Take your sandwich into the office for some early morning internet reading.

WHAT THE HELL YOU CAN’T EAT WITH THAT BIG ASS RIGHT THERE.

Make a post while enjoying your delicious sandwich.  IT’S DELICIOUS.

What an ass.

Hi,

Saturday night we went to see a play Paul is in where the audience participates. A Dutchess reads out offers and audience members raise their hand when they hear one they want to participate in. I chose to get my name tattooed on an ass and here it is!

Enjoy the view.

Here is a link to the play’s website: www.rubberrep.org

p.s. Mark got buried alive.

Shame!

At the greatest game the Saints have ever played, my mom, Dave, and I had the best seats in the Superdome: the very last row.  Like everyone else up in that last row, we beat the hell out of the wall behind us, so much that my hand was sore and swollen for days.

Today I read this, from the New Orleans blog Library Chronicles:

Over my many years of watching and attending Saints games, I’ve been accustomed to seeing or hearing fans in the top row of each section bang on the metal walls in order to create noise when the opposing team has the ball. When we purchased our season tickets in 2006, we selected seats in the top row so that we could participate in this time-honored bit of idiocy which has been in practice basically since the Superdome opened in 1975. During the second quarter of a crucial Monday Night game in 2008, Superdome security decided that it was time to crack down.

A few minutes into the second quarter, for no apparent reason, a uniformed security person shouted at everyone in our section that the next fan seen banging on the wall would be thrown out of the stadium. We were mystified. Is this some bizarre interpretation of the NFL’s notorious new “Fan Code of Conduct”? The section adjacent to ours is typically filled with fans of the visiting team. Did one of the Vikings fans complain? If so, why? And also fuck them. Over the past three seasons, the Superdome has become an ever-more fan-unfriendly environment. What can be done to reverse this trend?

Seriously?  That is just terrible.  Why on earth would the Superdome security shut down such a great, fun, masochistic homefield advantage?

Also, like me, Library Chronicles, is a strong supporter of the Saints’ correct gold pants.

Also:

He looks like someone here, but I can’t place it.  Ralphie after he shoots his eye out maybe?