(Thanks to Fred)
(Thanks to Fred)
... but the grandmothers are even manlier.
(Thanks to Claire "Crocodile" Martin)
Key Quote: “I’ve been pumping doo-doo for 27 years and never saw a snake in a septic line.”
Tonight I'm turning over a new leaf. I have decided to stop being so picky about the plot. I'm going to go with the flow. My new motto regarding the plot is, quote: "Whatever."
As far as I can recall without thinking too hard, the current situation is this: The terrorists still have the Death Canisters of Doom, which may or may not have to be reconfigured. Whatever! Last week the current terrorist leader -- we are now on our third or fourth terrorist leader -- called up the president on the president's T-Mobile phone to ask what route the Russian president's motorcade is taking to the airport, and the the president -- Why not? -- told him. Then the First Lady jumped into the limo with the Russian president and his wife. So now, unless Jack Bauer can stop them, the terrorists are going to attack the motorcade and set off World War Three, and possibly also Four. Whatever!
UPDATE: Hey, whatever happened to Jack's hot new girlfriend? Just wondering here.
UPDATE: The president has a great TV screen. It's good to be president, TV-screenwise.
UPDATE: I wonder how come Mike and the president don't notice the drums in the soundtrack.
UPDATE: It's a good thing I'm going with the flow, plotwise, because so far it's WAYYY too much talking.
UPDATE: I think the First Lady should make the motorcade stop at a McDonald's drive-thru. THAT would foil the terrorists.
UPDATE: Chloe is in.
UPDATE: Jack is in. This usually means talking time is over.
UPDATE: Wouldn't it be funny if Jack actually WENT to the men's room? For a change? Chloe could flush the urinal remotely.
UPDATE: A taser! Whoa. HE TASERED JACK!
UPDATE: It's bunker time.
UPDATE: Toyota's Think Big Truck Event is still going on.
UPDATE: Speaking of thinking big: Edgar is doubling in size every hour.
UPDATE: The Hobbit has turned to the Dark Side.
UPDATE: One of the terrorists is using a Swedish accent.
UPDATE: Section 112! That's a serious section.
UPDATE: Does it seem like we already had this scene between Mike and the president like 287 times already? Not that I am being critical.
UPDATE: Praying. That should do it.
UPDATE: Mutiny at CTU!
UPDATE: OK, to summarize tonight's action so far, at the 40-minute mark: Bupkis. But that's OK!
UPDATE: Jack! I forgot about him. Is he still in this show?
UPDATE: So OK, with a head-of-state motorcade coming through, nobody happened to notice that there were guys along the route IN DOWNTOWN LA WITH BAZOOKAS?? OK, whatever.
UPDATE: AND A FRICKING FLAMETHROWER???
UPDATE: Meanwhile, Jack and that other guy have been awfully quiet in that bunker, not that I am suggesting anything.
UPDATE: Nobody called Jack to tell him about the flamethrower 'n' stuff. He will be TICKED.
UPDATE: Nothing more exciting than watching two guys look at computer records.
UPDATE: Jack got hisself tricked bigtime.
UPDATE: He thought he could kill Jack just by blowing him up with a huge explosion! What a moron.
UPDATE: Memo: If you ever become president, DON'T give the terrorists your T-Mobile number, because they will NEVER stop calling you.
UPDATE: So to sum things up: The terrorists are still threatening to use the Deadly Death Canisters of Fatal Doom, and next week they will do this for two solid hours. Whatever.
We will refrain from posting this link.
(Thanks to Don Westblade)
(Thanks to Cindi)
It's a perfectly innocent item created by Mother Nature herself. (The slut.)
(Thanks to CoastRaven)
...it's this guy.
(Thanks to Bill Hudgins)
Don't forget your chicken.
(Thanks to Emily Metzgar)
...this seems like a good idea. On the other hand, it seems to be telling children they should wipe their butts with a puppy.
Mr. Language Person,
When Ted Nugent sings, "My face is a Maserati, looking for a clean garage," is that a metaphor or a simile?
That would be a metaphor. A simile would be, "My face is a Maserati, and I need to change the oil."
Britney caught K-Fed sleeping at Shar's in his man-panties.
Justice is meted out to the Toilet Paper Avenger.
(Thanks to everybody)
(Thanks to M. Rosenberg)
...especially if you run a meat-processing plant.
(Thanks to Melissa Fountain)
(Thanks to John Hicks)
It's even tougher when you're dead.
Key quote: "When he asked me to marry him, I said: 'I love you a lot but I can't marry you, I can't because I'm dead'," she said.
(Thanks to Marie in Kourou)
You might want to avoid Elsa.
(Thanks to Suzy Q)
Bet it won't be a small sect for long.
(Thanks to Suzy Q)
Today is my daughter's 6th birthday. Her mom is far away in Italy, but she of course prepared for today before she left, wrapping presents and so on. What she could NOT do was get the cupcakes. By federal law, when your kindergartener has a birthday, you have to take cupcakes in to the class so the class can get frosting smeared all over itself. My wife got the plates, napkins and boxed drinks ahead of time, but she could not get the cupcakes, and this is KILLING her, because it means she has to leave the getting of the cupcakes to me. And while she trusts me to deal with trivial matters such as the mortgage and the income taxes, she just KNOWS that I will somehow screw up the cupcakes. Since she left for the Olympics, we have had roughly 50 telephone conversations, and in those conversations she has said the word "cupcakes," I would conservatively estimate, 63,500 times. Because she does NOT want me to forget the cupcakes.
So in case she is reading this: Honey, I forgot the cupcakes. Sorry!
No, really: I GOT THE CUPCAKES. I ordered them from the Publix supermarket. I selected vanilla frosting with sprinkles and a gender-neutral little plastic happy-balloon ring gizmo stuck on top. I rejected the King Kong ring, even though I wanted it very much. That is the kind of sensitive and caring father I am.
UPDATE: The cupcakes were a big hit. Or, to be accurate, the cupcake frosting was a big hit. Turns out kindergarteners don't use the cupcake for anything other than a Frosting Delivery Platform (FDP). You could bring your frosting in on top of rocks, or pine cones, or tame (or frozen) squirrels, and the kids would just lick the frosting layer off and leave the naked FDP for you to dispose of.
Likewise if you are a convenience-store patron.
There will be no good deeds done in Little Rock, at least none involving sheep.
(Thanks to queensbee)
It seems likely that these have the same effect on land.
(Thanks to Andy the tropichunt.com guy for the old but important news)
They're into the costumes.
(Thanks to Drew Harchick, who notes that this is Yahoo's most-emailed picture)
Still only $10.
OK, you want to steal a toilet seat, so you pose as... a reporter for the New York Times!
David Beckham is also excited.
(Thanks to KCSteve)
Yesterday my daughter brought home the dreaded Head Lice Memo, stating that somebody in her kindergarten class has contracted Pediculosis Capitis (literally, "hideous little leaping scalp critters that, if they were 5,000 times larger, could star in a horror movie chasing Sigourney Weaver"). So I informed my wife via a long-distance phone call to Italy, and she instructed me that Sophie's hair had to be done in a pony tail, to make it harder for the enemy lice to jump onto her head.
As a husband and father of the male gender, I have learned that there is no arguing with instructions given in a Certain Tone. So this morning I had to put my daughter's hair in a pony tail, which for me is harder than brain surgery, not that I have ever performed brain surgery, but I just know it would be easier. Anyway, I finally made a sort of tail out of Sophie's hair, such as you might find on a mutant pony-oid creature from another planet, and that is how Sophie went to school. And if you do not think that I had to take a picture of this pony tail and email it to my wife as proof that her daughter is being cared for properly, then you do not know much about being a husband and father of the male gender.
UPDATE: For those of you who've been asking for a picture: Here you go.
Keep an eye out for: Leaping Carp.
(Thanks to Claire Martin)
...the bad news is, it causes dumpy tree frogs to try to mate with you.
Bonus Good Rock-Band Name Found in Story: "Mjoberg's Toadlet"
You go to buy cow ghee for a special occasion, and they sell you plain old dalda.
A squid thief is apprehended.