What in the world is Barack Obama thinking? Joe Biden as his running mate? I can only guess that Biden’s failing marks at Syracuse Law School gives Barack comfort in knowing Joe is not the one who is above his “grade.” Good luck with this guy.
1987 P in P winner Joe Biden chats it up with 2003 recipient Jayson Blair
Looking to bring more “value-oriented” (Madison Avenue speak for broke, but alert) consumers through its doors for a late afternoon caffeine fix, Starbucks Corp. said it will now offer its morning customers any iced Grande beverage for $2 after 2 p.m.
The price is a big cut from the normal price of most grande-sized iced drinks. A Grande iced latte, for example, costs about $4. To get the discount, assuming you have any room left on your home equity line, customers must present a receipt from their morning Starbucks visit. (Didn’t make it in this morning? Look for hovering receipt scalpers.)
We are not impressed. Even at $2, it’s still a $1 market. Not so, according to Brad Stevens, vice president of customer relationship management for Starbucks, saying, “I think we’ve kind of hit the nail on the head, It’s easy for baristas to implement and it’s easy for customers to understand.”
Wow. It must be incredibly difficult for Starbucks management to haul their “Venti” brains out of bed to come up with this stuff. I have no doubt this gimmick will be successful in pumping out a bunch of the bilge this afternoon, but the bottom line is as fundamental as the bottom of the boat; the price to get on board is just too dang high. “It’s the economy, stupid!”
One thing is certain. A tsunami of calories are going to be ingested this afternoon, and the weight of the world will shift into a high gravity alert. You do the math. Some of those Starbucks adult, wannabe a kiddie, beverages are upwards of 500 calories per Grande. There are 3,500 calories in one pound of weight, and there are over 15,000 Starbucks filling stations.
But, two bucks is two bucks, and if you are going to take advantage of this magnanimous offer, here’s a link to the handy Starbucks Calorie Counter. This will not only help you decide what’s going in you, but hopefully, will get you stimulated to “move it” in line a bit faster. Know that a cup of “Um,” “I can’t decide,” and “Give me a minute,” is not on the menu board. Oh, and a final tip: Grande iced tea is only $1.85, today’s sucker order.
"Oh. It's an old American thing. Back when they had money, they put pics of dead presidents on their bills."
“The Stovepipe. Hmm, I’m not sure. Somebody really should poll the hoodie wearing community and take their pulse on this.”
Was there a racial dimension to what Barack Obama said in his speech last week in Missouri? You know, the part about how he doesn’t look like the people on dollar bills.
Obama’s senior campaign person; Robert Gibbs says no. Obama says yes. Voters say; “Dunno, what’s a dollar bill look like?”
Seriously, does anybody really care? “Rome” is burning, “Nero” Bush fiddles, Congress adjourns for a long, paid, summer holiday, and come November, if there are any voters left standing, unless they walk, beats me how they are going to get to the polls.
Other than acknowledge there are serious problems facing America, neither Barack Obama nor John McCain have offered anything substantive to say. Is there any wonder why the public interest in Britney Spears and Paris Hilton? I mean, whatever it is that they do, at least they’ve got homes, food, and lots of gas money. Maybe, “Enquiring Minds,” want to know; “what’s their secret?”
Phil Gramm got it wrong! Americans are not “whiners,” we’re just dead – broke! If ever there was a time for a White or Black Knight, and if that’s racist, bring him/her on, I’ll vote for it.
Grown-up cell conversations. What gives? Actual (partial) conversation, and eavesdropping is not required – it’s out there, for everybody to hear:
Nothin’. Whatchoo doin’, dawg?
Nothin’. Getting ready to text you.
Really? Cool! Me too!
Me too, what?
You know, text you.
Oh, OK, Cool! Where are you?
At the gym. Where are you?
Really? Me too! Where? I don’t see you.
PAUSE FOR THIS BRIEF COMMERCIAL MESSAGE:
Honestly, people, lose the cell phone and get a life! Making matters worse are these new, no-thought, State laws requiring your hands to be free while driving, ostensibly for more important permissible things like texting and sucking on a venti sextipple shot soy frappacino vanilla mocha latte with whipped. Want a stock tip? Bluetooth and/or Starbucks, their lobbyists are in every Statehouse in the United States. As if that’s not enough, they’ve gone global, bending the ears of the European Union, now acquiescing to cell phone rapping on planes over European air space. Even Europeans were against that move, by 85% in a published poll! The only saving grace is that “quiet time” is during take-off and landing, so enjoy your nap, I guess.
I never would have believed that hearing aids would become a fashion accessory, but dang if everybody hasn’t got one growing out of their ear canal. And what’s with the flashing light? State trooper-blue seems to be the color of choice, a bonus thrown in by Bluetooth to either ward off mosquitoes or alert low flying crop dusters. However, if you see somebody rapping and the light is not on, there is no incoming voice, so move quickly to the other side of the street. These people are potentially dangerous, as only the seriously deranged talk to themselves.
I used to feel sorry for my Grandparents when their hearing left and it was wear a device or just nod, smile and fake believe they were following the conversation. Old age self-consciousness took over for the longest time, and hearing aids got so tiny folks were actually losing them in their ears. Not anymore – the bigger, and gaudier, the better!
Anyhow, I’m over at Amazon.com on on a book buying bender, as I am oft to do, (not – I usually borrow or steal) and I bump into A Dick by Fiona Giles, digester of fifty penis-envy anecdotes like; “what would you do if you had one?” as told by all types of “in-the-know” women folk.
"What's a Dick for? ...Exactly, I say!"
At $25, Dick was out of my reach in hard back, and I was still not stimulated at $19 for the soft covered Dick. Amazon is good though, and reminded me that I could get Dick, wrapped as a gift for no additional charge. Still, I did not bite on Dick. Goading my sense of loss, I was informed used Dick’s were available starting unbelievably small at only $.03 a unit, and I guess at this price, a Dick that has only been had for a day might be a worthy summer pass time. The pre-owned condition notwithstanding, I whipped-out my credit card and popped, and if you wish, I’ll loan you my Dick when done.
Dr. Edgar Mitchell – very much alive and well, thank you.
As reported by the AP (“Alienating Propagandists,” as far as I’m concerned!) Former NASA astronaut and moonwalker Dr. Edgar Mitchell — a veteran of the Apollo 14 mission — claims aliens exist.
First off, how come they always say about people; “former” this, and “former” that? When I die, are they going to say “former living human?” Secondly, who’s to doubt what Dr. Mitchell says? I mean, I’ve never walked on the moon, have you? I bet you’ve never even met Michael Jackson, yet don’t deny his moonwalking abilities. Thirdly, Ed and John McCain are about the same age and I’ve never seen you throw a moon rock at John, so there.
Anyhow, Ed says extraterrestrials have visited Earth on several occasions — but the alien contact has been repeatedly covered up by governments for six decades. (that’s like, 60 years, Earth-time)
Mitchell, 77, said during a radio interview in Birmingham, England, that sources at NASA who had had contact with aliens described the beings as “little people who look strange to us.”
He said supposedly real-life ET’s were similar to the traditional image of a “small gray” — short, slight frame, large eyes and large head.
Mitchell also claimed human technology is “not nearly as sophisticated” as the aliens’ and “had they been hostile,” he warned “we would be been gone by now.”
PROOF! Former “Mini-Me” and present Porn Star wannabe – Verne Troyer.
They are reporting “breaking” news that (he is not a) Prince Marcus Eberhard Edward (is not) of Anhalt, (nope) Duke of Saxony and (nor here) Westphalia, (wannabe) Count of Askania, well known for his jetsetting and international tabledance club chain (one dive is a “chain?”) “Pure Platinum” as well as extensive supercar collection has taken the displeasure of severely cracking his orange Gemballa Porsche Carrera GT at the famous Paul Ricard racing circuit in France.
“Next time you ask yourself, who has the money or inclination to buy a Porsche Carrera GT worth €500,000 in addition to Gemballa’s €225,000 tuning package, think of this guy!” NOT!
Listen. This Porno Puff Pastry-Meister is no more a Prince than is his Pseudo Papa; Frederic Anhalt, hospice husband of Zsa Zsa Gabor.
Until somebody shows me Puffy’s “pink slip,” the only thing I find credible about the following pictures is the possibility that the tire is actually out of air, and that this is the finance company doing a re-po on their collateral.
“Dahling I love you, but who’s zoomin’ who?” (Sorry, Zsa Zsa!)
A lone artist puts the finishing strokes on the replacement setting for US presidential wannabe Barack Obama’s “photo-op” in Berlin.
Barack Obama wanted to give a keynote address on transatlantic relations at the Brandenburg Gate during his visit to Germany today, however, German Chancellor Angela Merkel said “nein,” reasoning that the site should only be reserved for very special occasion addresses by politicians, and only by elected American presidents.
I say, bravo, and props to the Chancellor! Seriously, this “stunt” attempt by Obama pretty much finished him for me. I mean, what happened to the guy who claims to be all about “change,” and finding new breath apart from the status quo? Obama needs to make his own place in history by dealing with the present. The time has never been better.
OK OK, I’ve decided to hold the first annual Anemic Royalty Cute Baby Contest, and after careful consideration, have narrowed it down to two:
It’s a toss between Michael Jackson holding his son, covered with a towel, from a third floor balcony at the Hotel Adlon in Berlin, November 19, 2002, or, Pope Benedict XVI riding shotgun in the “Holy Roller” at the World Youth Day shindig at Randwick horse racing track in Sydney, Australia earlier today. Hmm…
Planning a dinner party, and want to be certain you’re including only the best of guests? “Miss Mannerisms” up there has some sage spiced advice worthy of note.
Consider this. Everybody knows about Ed McMahon’s foreclosure probs with his Studio City, California crib, and billionaire host Robert Day probably wishes he had “covered his dish” before entertaining the notion of entertaining Ed.
Ed McMahon filed suit today in Los Angeles Superior Court claiming he tumbled at Day’s home on the “unsafe entry stairs” one evening in March, 2007 rendering the 85 year old “live laugh track” unable to work, so naturally, unable to pay his mortgage. “Yeah, that’s it!” Oh, what people won’t do when faced with responsibility. I can see the grin on the Process Server’s face handing the court complaint papers to Mr. Day whilst saying, “Here’s…the law suit!”
McMAHON’S MANSION MORTGAGE MALADY
Ed’s been trying to dump his house for over two years now, and just like every other Johnny in this market – no takers. Polite Realtors call this “situational bias,” but, let me tell you something. That house has been a printing press of cash for Ed. In 2003, he settled a suit out of court for $7.2 million against his plumber for “water damage,” which invited mold spores to the mansion, preventing him from working, got the wife sick, killed the beloved McMahon dog, and destroyed his “priceless” and “irreplaceable” career memorabilia.
Now, the slick dude in the video up there wants to do Ed and everybody a “favor” by picking up his defaulted note for a “song,” flip it back over to Ed with a slight “haircut,” saving/making Ed millions more…and where is the law firm of “Doowee, Cheetam, and Howe?” Son of a…
Honestly, I’ve learned my lesson. If you are wondering why I haven’t had you over lately to break bread, look no further than your credit score. Unless you’ve got an 850 + FICO, whine all you want, you’re not getting an invitation.
Speaking of song and dance, worthless memorabilia above from my collection, which I will gladly give back to Ed to ease our mutual “pain and suffering.” This is a 1960 something LP of Ed’s vocal “abilities,” for Philadelphia’s Cameo-Parkway label. “Priceless,” is Ed’s rendition thereon of “Georgy Girl.” Just don’t foreclose on my waterboard…please!
I was going to title this story; “Hollywood’s Hidden Agenda,” but the plot is so Twiggy-thin, even those with sublimed non-prime minds can see right through California’s latest ruse to dump it’s still laughably overpriced and undesirable faux-terrazzoed real estate. Oh, I’ll give ‘em an “A” for attempt, but even George Bush knows; “foolin’ me onced’, and yeah, twiced’ fooled me…or something like that, yeah.”
In case you didn’t know, the latest left coast trend in property sales, is a voter initiative scheduled to hit this November’s ballot called Proposition 2, the Prevention of Farm Animal Cruelty Act. “Ee-Yi-Ee-Yi-Yo!” Nothing but old time guerrilla marketing, barnyard-style, crankin’ here, Porky.
Ed Begley, Jr, Ellen DeGeneres and Ed Asner have “issues.”
I don’t know who started this, I got bored reading, but you can pick it up by clicking your heels on their lame logo below and be swept over the rainbow to the “Californian’s For Humane Farms” website and sign up to host a “house party” for pregnant pigs and layer hens in need of more space, ostensibly for Tai Chi class, or to do their Pilates, I reckon.
According to the site, and all the big-time “B-list” endorsers; “It is cruel and inhumane to confine animals in cages so small that they can’t turn around or stretch their limbs. All animals deserve humane treatment, including those raised for food.” Talk about your oxymorons – Holy Cow, Batman!
I see what’s going on here. Since they can’t give away condos to humans these days, they’re out to bust existing laws banning farm animals from Melrose to Malibu creating a whole new buying segment. Finally, “Arnold Ziffle,” retired from his pig gig on “Green Acres,” can put his re-run royalties to a Realtor’s refuse along with the likes of Ed, the other Ed, and Ellen up there. And speaking none to fondly of Ellen, I can’t imagine a worse choice on the menu to spear this “humane” effort. This is the fem that just last year found herself fricasseed by the public for getting rid of her adopted homeless rescue puppy because her pre-existing feline friends had “issues” with the new kid, dog! People, puh-leeze…give me a…proposition!
The California Attorney General’s official summary of the chief purpose and points of Proposition 2 is as follows:
“TREATMENT OF FARM ANIMALS STATUTE. Requires that an enclosure or tether confining specified farm animals allow the animals for the majority of every day to fully extend their limbs or wings, lie down, stand up, and turn around. Specified animals include calves raised for veal, egg-laying hens, and pregnant pigs. Exceptions made for transportation, rodeos, fairs, 4-H programs, lawful slaughter, research and veterinary purposes. Provides misdemeanor penalties, including a fine not to exceed $1,000 and/or imprisonment in jail for up to 180 days. Summary of estimate by Legislative Analyst and Director of Finance of fiscal impact on state and local government: Probably minor local and state enforcement and prosecution costs, partly offset by increased fine revenue. (Initiative 07-0041.)”
It should be noted that if (when, I am certain) this thing is passed, the law will go into effect in the year 2015. Ehrum, why the wait? I mean, with all the neurotic chicks cooped in California, why not now? Even better, in order to generate immediate and sorely needed revenue from fines, and get some of these felons masking as family farmers off Rodeo Drive, why not go retroactive with the thing? So, why push out until 2015? One ponders; “What would Ma and Pa Kettle do, hmm?” It’s the real estate, “tha-tha-that’s all, folks.”
Consider this. According to those who know about these things; “given current market and economic conditions, coupled with the existing and projected future inventory achieved via foreclosure, it is predicted California will remain a net real estate “sellers market” for the next ten to twelve years.” Ha! Who’s gonna sit around until 2015 to cash-cow out of a condo?
Think food prices are high now? Go mandate swing-sets for pigs and frisbee trails for chickens, and wait and see what a plate of huevos rancheros will set you back. Of course, if you hafta’ have an incredible edible egg, I guess you can NAFTA it up from Mexico, because there is no way they will ever do something this insane.
I have this mental picture of being in a cali-chic restraunt, and my date enthusiastically asks the waiter about Chef Sandere’s special; the “beurre noisette seared chicken abruzzi with rosemary and sauterne…” to which, he gushes with somber aplomb; “Ah, mais oui, madame has made an excellent choice. We knew her fondly as Candice, and her foster-farmers recall she was extremely well-adjusted, no ADHD and Ritalin-free, and as a wee chick, enjoyed a fine disposition while playing crab soccer and pacific beach volleyball with her clucking cronies. We can, of course, serve this flambeed, should you fancy.”
Look, I’m all in fervent favor of humane treatment of God’s creatures (even most human’s), including the one’s that go hiss on the barbaque, but zero thought has gone into this ballot measure. Californians could no more exist without chicken on the chalkboard than they could without a cell phone in every ear. Yes, I know a couple of other states including Arizona have similar laws, but that’s the land of Barry Goldwater and John McCain – they eat ten penny nails over there, and only write laws to dupe tourists into thinking they are progressive and proactive. How else you gonna get people to pay to see mesas and tar pits?
We already have laws in all 50 states prohibiting animal cruelty, and can/should do a better job with enforcement. Even New Mexico outlawed cock fighting just last year. (You go, Governor Bill!) Somebody else has just got to find a better way of selling real estate – or a better use of one’s time and resources.
“Dahling I love you, but give me Park Avenue…” “Dah-dumb…”
Is it me sweating the small stuff or does anybody else out there in workout land have a problem when it comes to trying to get a sip of water? Every gym I’ve ever been to, regardless of size, has only one, or maybe two “free” water fountains, probably required by the department of health, and always purposely hidden, I suppose to get you to pay for the bottled version. I’ve never bought a bottle of water, and hope to never have to. Anyhow, the fountains are not hidden well enough, in that whenever I really need a drink, there is always a premier-nite sized line of “gym dromedary’s” filling up bottomless “urns,” ostensibly to survive the rigors of their 30 minute stretch or fake cell calls. Honestly, some of these home vats hold enough H2O to satiate and meet the hygiene requirements of one’s entire apartment building and/or village. As if this is not bad enough, what’s up with the designer water wannabes who bring expensive labeled empties for re-fill with, le gasp, gym tap water!?! Heck, half of this crowd didn’t buy the bottle when full, preferring to “re-cycle” the gym trash bin for pace-setter plastic. Forget about the oil crisis. There is a large populous out there that has no problem in having their bank account debited for expensive monthly gym dues, yet cannot afford to run their own water spigots at home. Be frightened, folks, very frightened. Yeah, OK, I’m done.
So, former Senator, and erstwhile economic Czar to John McCain, Phil Gramm is “in dutch” for saying this about Americans:
“We have sort of, become a nation of whiners. You just hear this constant whining…”
John “I feel your pain” McCain, the presumptuous (sic) Republican presidential nominee, scared he won’t live long enough to covet the White House, immediately goes dutch-candy-tail, and attempts to distance himself by asserting; “Phil doesn’t speak for me.”Well…why not?
John and other critics are missing something here. Phil was close, but blew it when he said; “sort of, become.” Huh? America was founded by whiners, and for centuries now, whining has made it the “in” place to live, and let me explain. I mean, what do you think the Pilgrims were up to back in the 1600′s? Whining, of course. Whining for religious freedom from the Church of England. Feeling strongly about it, they whined their way out of England and wound up re-locating to the Netherlands, until “issues” caused them to re-whine a long, full ten years later, and then take their act to America.
History shows us, and the Pilgrims wrote to all, that life was tough in the Netherlands. They spent dry their savings withdrawn from the Bank of England, couldn’t find “suitable” employment, had “trouble” learning the Dutch language, and knew there was a big problem when all the young Pilgrims decided to bolt back to England for a better gig, leaving the old broke Pilgrims to fend for themselves.
The Pilgrims even whined about moving to America with all it’s uncertainties. (They almost moved to Guiana, but their English investors and business partners sold them on America instead). Stories had come back from America about failed colonies. There were fears that the native people would be violent, that there would be no source of food or water, that exposure to unknown diseases was possible, and that travel by sea was always hazardous. Anyhow, after some particularly unscrupulous business deals, lies, and high-seas hanky-panky, the Pilgrims made it to America in 1620, albeit, in the wrong place.
Fast-forward to the 1780s after the American Revolutionary War, necessitated because whining was not working fast enough to get a divorce from the English Monarchy. You would think winning the war would be enough to make all Americans happy, but nope. In effort to “incorporate” the new America, there was vehement whining between the “Federalists,” such as Alexander Hamilton who favored a strong federal government, and the “Anti-Federalists,” such as Thomas Jefferson and Patrick Henry who favored a weaker federal government. Go figure.
Patrick Henry, famously saying; “Give me liberty or give me death,” really meant, “I have a right to whine, hear me roar.” (Think “Freedom of Screech, er, Speech” here). and so was born the Bill of Rights and protections of the First Amendment of the Constitution, ratified in 1791.
Clearly, “the right to whine” is our most important, greasing the skids for 26 other, not to be over-shadowed Amendments, or rights. Nobody will dispute that America would not be great without the First Amendment, although caution, and sometimes discretion, is advised in exercising it judiciously. In example, speaking last Sunday, the Rev. Jesse Jackson said he wanted to “cut his [Barack Obama's] nuts out” and he accused the fellow Chicagoan of “talking down to black folks” on numerous issues and social concerns, including responsible fatherhood. Ouch! Talk about things that could make you whine!
Now, I don’t think anybody believes that Jesse will follow-through with his threat to Barack’s “family jewels,” but, it should be remembered that statements far more “civil,” have landed quite a few, including Jesse, in places much worse than than being “in dutch,” like the Pilgrims.
Everybody recalls where they were in the 1970′s when Peter Finch famously whined from an open window of his Manhattan co-op in the movie “Network;” “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore,” and likewise in the 1980′s with the equally riveting lesson of Michael Douglas in “Wall Street,” eloquently reminding a room full of whiners that “Greed is good.”
Look, whining gets things done in America. It’s practice is never “manly” or pretty, but where’s the beauty in pain and suffering? There is not a single homeless person that hasn’t seen a better day some place else, and our pot-holed streets are getting crowded with 1 out of 500 families now (and growing) in some stage of foreclosure. If this is you, take comfort in knowing the good news is that getting run-over by a Prius is far less painful than by a Hummer. (And the Pilgrims thought they had it tough because they wouldn’t learn to speak Dutch).
I’m strongly in favor of whining, the “oil” which keeps America rolling. If it weren’t for “squeaking wheels,” Norm Larsen wouldn’t have realized his “American Dream” with the invention of WD-40 in the 1950′s, the same goo that actually enabled flight of our ICBM defense system and journeys to the moon. Whining got us Franklin Roosevelt’s “New Deal” in the 1930′s, and Lyndon Johnson’s “Great Society” of the 1960′s.
The real problem with America today is not whining, it’s that we’re not whining constructively enough. A case to consider, but let me first preface by saying I am no fan of either John McCain or Barack Obama. It doesn’t matter whether you call “it” (<<see Bill Clinton for definition of “it”) a recession, we’ve got some very serious money problems, causing all flavors of other problems, and no Norm Larsen, no “WD-40″ to turn to.
Pretend for a moment that you are a troubled business owner interviewing applicants for that accounting position, and some “John” waddles in and tells you; “I don’t really understand economics.” …Oh… Or, here comes “Barry,” the hot-shot candidate you’re considering for your HR problems, who lies to you about his people skills by saying, “I can no more disown him (Rev. Dr. Wright) than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother.” …My…
“Change” is already here for a bunch of folks, and it’s not all good. Live with it, or do something about it with a collective and concerted whine for the better. The Beastie Boys tried to convey this message over twenty years ago through song; “(You Gotta) Fight (Whine) sic for Your Right (to Party!)” …and drive the car of your choice, lose yourself in a McMansion, eat corn, and get a paycheck every once in a while…
JUST WHEN YOU THOUGHT IT WAS SAFE TO COME OUT AND VOTE…
“Denizen McCain” is the upcoming drama to be staged by the Republican National Committee September 1 – 8, 2008 at the Xcel Energy Center in Minneapolis-St. Paul, Minnesota. The story promises to unveil the life of John Sidney McCain, III, born in 1936, a man whose public career has been lived of idealistic social service, and promises not to gradually evolve into a ruthless pursuit of power. Voted the Republican Presidential nominee principally through dismal historical flashbacks, the saga continues as the world tries to solve the mystery of; “where’s the oil, bud?”