TASTEFULNESS UPPDATE
When people ask me, "Dave, is there some humor so low-rent that even YOU will not stoop to it?" I direct them here.
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When people ask me, "Dave, is there some humor so low-rent that even YOU will not stoop to it?" I direct them here.
Don't try to tell ME that Americans don't care about social injustice!
If this doesn't cause huge throngs to flock to Soap Lake, Wash., I don't know what the hell will.
Alert blogger Howard Owens has obtained the actual transcript of Connie's hardcore journalistic grilling of two "American Idol" contestants, and it turns out that her questions were even tougher than I thought.
As the old saying goes, "Sake and men in loincloths don't mix."
Roses are red
Violets are blue
If you duct-tape me
Then I'll duct-tape you
What if, for the past year or so, terrorists, working in U.S. factories, have been putting lethal biochemical agents on... duct tape?
You had better buy one of these right now.
When people ask me, "Dave, can the Internet be a force for good?" I direct them here.
OK, this is just sick.
Our big issue, in these troubled times, is: bull flipping.
I don't know about you, but I'm taking this thing seriously. I'm wrapping duct tape around the Heineken.
It is even raining at the airport.
I am (briefly) in Los Angeles, where a HUGE story is breaking: Rain. Yes. It is coming from the sky and landing on the ground, and the TV news people cannot get over the extreme amazing urgency of this. They have reporters in rain slickers all over greater Los Angeles, and they're all reporting that, no matter where they go, incredible as it sounds, it is raining there too. And even more incredibly, the roads are wet. Some areas are expected to get more than an inch.
I will have updates on this incredible breaking story as developments warrant, or I get really bored.
He still has not made up his mind! This is because he faces a very difficult choice. Also, he has the IQ of a lawn ornament.
How, in the name of justice, could the Academy Award nominators have ignored this film?
I just watched Connie Chung interview two "American Idol" contestants. I may have some of this wrong -- I'm a slow note-taker -- but, as I heard them, here are some of the tough, hardball questions Connie fired off:
Q. Both of you are so good!
Q. I saw your mother hug you! It was so sweet!
Q. If you win, do you think you'll still be a nice person?
Q. Good luck to both of you! I'll be watching!
How will you answer when, years from now, your child asks you: "Mom or Dad, what did you do to combat the evil of squirrel hazing?"
We are in a Heightened State of Alert. Our official national-security status has been raised to Level IX, or "Buttpucker." Everybody needs to be ALERT and HIGHLY SUSPICIOUS. Like, if somebody at the supermarket asks you, "Paper of plastic?", your correct response is: "Who wants to know?"
He has a big decision to make tonight. My prediction? He's going to choose the person who, when all is said and done, really and truly makes him happy. And that person is the butler.
They're also squirrel-fishing at Penn State.
(Thanks to Fred Coppersmith)
What I want to know is: How, exactly, is this different from opera?
(Thanks to Leah Meredith)
Sure, it can cost well over a hundred thousand dollars to go to Harvard. But look at the results.
(Thanks to Christy Smedley)
It's a small world after all
It's a small world after all
It's a small world after all
But the lines are really HUGE
No posts today: We're at Fisney Forld's Fagic Fingdom, experiencing the fantastic whimsical fun of paying nine dollars for a hot dog.
Cuban troops have invaded Key West.
If you are not passing, GET OUT OF THE LEFT DAMN LANE.
"We're not there yet."
We're leaving now, for a 250-mile trip in an enclosed car with a two-year-old. At least we're starting out with her in the car.
Turns out they also race zucchini in Boulder.
You know what ticks me off? It ticks me off that TV executives get credit for thinking up shows like "Survivor" and "Fear Factor," where contestants try to make money by eating insects. My former editor, Gene Weingarten, who is clinically insane and now works for the Washington Post, thought this idea up MORE THAN TEN YEARS AGO. Here is proof, in the form of a column I wrote at the time, which my Technical Support Group, Judi Smith, somehow figured out how to put on the Internet.
Posting here may be light or nonexistent for the next day or so, because I will be on a trip to a Secret Undisclosed Location that I will refer to by the Code Name "Fisney Forld."
As you know by now, if you follow world events, Trista dumped Russ. Afterward, she said she knew she had made the right decision, because -- as I interpret her remarks -- Russ did not react to the news by immediately committing suicide.
They race zucchini.
The Miami Herald reports today that the chief of police of my town, Coral Gables, accidentally shot his gun in the bathroom of the police department Wednesday. Last year he accidentally shot his gun in a fitness club. Sooner or later, he is bound to hit a criminal. I say this because our criminals are not the sharpest knives in the drawer; if you scroll down from the police-chief item -- past the item about the trial of the gastroenterologist charged with having sex with a patient who was under anestheisia while being treated for varicose veins -- you come to the item about the sentencing of a man who robbed a bank and then, during the getaway, shot himself in the pants.
Two items below that is an update on an injured pygmy sperm whale, Kokomo, who had been staying in the swimming pool of a motel.
These items all appear well inside the paper, because down here they are fairly unremarkable. This is not the planet Earth.
We have obtained the full text of Secretary of State Colin Powell's speech on Iraq to the United Nations. You can see it, and sing along, here.
People say these are hard times. But I say bold new enterprises are springing up all over.
"Young Canadian Lard Sculptors" would be a good name for a rock band.
When people ask me, "Dave, why aren't young Canadians sculpting with lard?" I direct them here.
I could be mistaken, but I don't think this has anything to do with the polka community.
I can't believe I am just now finding out about this. I am reminded of the old folk saying: "Do not become intimate with a toad wearing a radio transmitter."
Like an idiot, I assumed that Joe Stanky, of Joe Stanky and the Cadets, was the only "big name" Stanky in the polka business. Boy, is my face red!
If ever two people deserved to be together, for ever and ever, with no possibility of escape, those two people are Joe Millionaire and the Bachelorette.
When people ask me, "Dave, what is a good argument FOR owning an SUV?" I direct them to the video clip at the top of this page.
When people ask me, "Dave, where can I find some hilarous polka-related jokes?" I direct them here.
I have an odd little connection to the Columbia: It once carried a book of mine into space. This was on a 1995 mission, STS-73, Oct. 20 to Nov. 5. An astronaut named Marsha Ivins, a neat lady with whom I've corresponded over the years, gave the crew of that mission a copy of Dave Barry's Complete Guide to Guys to read in space. All seven crew members -- none of whom was on the shuttle for its final mission -- wrote little inscriptions to me in the book. For example, the pilot, Kent Rominger, wrote: "You are right, the Space Shuttle is the ultimate gizmo!" After they landed, Marsha gave the book back to me. I always thought it was very cool, to have a book that had gone into space. Now it means something different, of course. But I'll treasure it.
OK, if there is a better name for a polka band than this, I would like to know about it.
"They believed in what they were doing."
-- A NASA spokesperson