You got to imagine how excited each of this good boys and good girls was when he or she first discovered this easy-to-use invention.
I don't want to be judgmental about other peoples' habits, but I could never leave my dog in the car. She hates it. But I am pretty sure that if she found the horn she would do exactly the same thing. And she would lay it on all day like a freakin' Brooklyner.
Google Play makes the first 45 pages of How Dante Can Save Your Life available for free. This is probably the only way I'll read any of it. Here's a teaser from page 27:
Suddenly Daddy and Ruthie were standing over me. “What’s wrong?” Daddy asked. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I said, looking up with a face swollen from crying. “I shot those baby squirrels. They were just babies.”
I looked up from the ground at my father and my sister. Ruthie burst into laughter. Daddy screwed his face up in disgust and growled, “You sissy .”
A thick iron gate slammed shut within me, and from behind it I regarded my father with cold contempt. He had struck me where he could do the most damage: my sense of manhood. I followed him and my sister out of the field, my face on fire, this time not with shame but with wrath. And from that moment on, I saw him not as my champion. I saw him as my adversary.
Welcome to another installment of (dum-ta-da-DAAAAAHH...) Around the Internets! This awesome feature is one which I originally described as "[a] quick digest of stuff which I've seen, read, noticed, thought 'Gee I ought to blog that', etc. over the last 4 or 5 months." Actually the time-frame is a bit shorter this time. So without further ado....
Firstly, it's always a good idea to check in with Sistah Raccoon in St. Francisville, Louisiana. She always has something interestin' to share with us. Her latest:
Ain't you glad you not related to Lil Ray?
Lil Ray now telling the whole world how old an feeble an helpless Big Ray be now.
http://www.theamericanconservative.com/dreher...
Old age be a humiliation, say Lil Ray. Telling about old people like Big Ray crapping they pants in the hospital. Course he telling ever body all this about Big Ray out a LOVE, you understand, umh-hnh.
Slow down, Lil Ray. You gone get all that land in good time.
Just be glad Lil Ray not telling the world what happening in YOU pants.
The taste was electric, almost indescribably good. It was one of the few times in my life when the experience of tasting something delicious made me feel a sense of exaltation. They were like cold sea grenades exploding in my mouth, bursting with saline, iodine, and that metallic taste you only find in oysters. I slurped them from the half-shell, holding them in my mouth longer than usual to savor the new sensations. I have never, ever eaten oysters that prepared me for these glorious creatures. Later, I e-mailed Julie that eating French oysters was like licking the ta-tas of Poseidon’s favorite concubine. She was not amused. But it’s true! The aesthetic frisson was absolutely erotic. Dominique Strauss-Kahn lives around the corner, at the Place des Vosges; I think his proximity to Le Bar a Huitres (Oyster Bar) might explain a lot.
So many times, I’ll put something on my blog, and my wife will say, “I wish you hadn’t done that.”
One scene, near the beginning of the book, had an especially dizzying effect on me. (I’ve read it hundreds and hundreds of times.) It’s where we find Ignatius practicing a little "self-love" in his bed; an innocent, even saintly, wank to a happier time in his life. He had accessories nearby: a rubber glove, a piece of fabric from a silk umbrella, and a jar of Noxzema:
Ignatius manipulated and concentrated. At last a vision appeared, the familiar figure of the large devoted collie that had been his pet in high school...Ignatius’s eyes dilated, crossed, and closed, and he lay back among his four pillows, hoping that he had some Kleenex in his room.
This is the page where I went fag. The solitude and isolation, the very sadness of it all, didn’t turn me off—on the contrary, it was the hook. Sex scenes had always been filled with gorgeous people. Ignatius wasn’t gorgeous. But he was sexual. I think it must have been the first time, in literature or film or life, when it occurred to me these were two different things. It was loud and clear. I had been fooling myself. I wanted something else from the Ignatiuses of the world. Something if much more than hugs.
In the spirit of Keith's last post, I give to you... ANIMAL PHOTOBOMBS!!
Warning: contains public animal intercourse. Or, as I like to refer to it, the "doings of beings".
David French explains why wiping out Hamas would be perfectly reasonable for Israel to do.
When an enemy force consistently and deliberately does all that it can to terrorize and kill as many of your citizens as possible, with no regard for the difference between military and civilian targets, the “reasonable” thing to do is obliterate that enemy. Destroy it. There is nothing unreasonable about self-defense, and there is nothing unreasonable about destroying an armed enemy force. In fact, our own military has a long and proud history of destroying enemy armed forces, and our nation and the world tend to achieve far better outcomes when our military is given the free hand to do the truly reasonable thing: defeat the enemy.
But since we’re defining “reasonable,” let’s also define “unreasonable.”
It is unreasonable to expect Israel to exercise more restraint than the United States would under similar circumstances. It is unreasonable to demand that Israel abide by made-up rules of “proportionality” that we’ve rightly rejected for our own armed forces. It is unreasonable to assume that the so-called “honest broker” role requires this nation to blind itself to truth and violate its own laws by funneling hundreds of millions of dollars per year to a terrorist “unity” government.
New saying: "Are you kidding me? Do bears scratch their backs in the woods??"
Hilarious. An intense yet civil argument.
Diane, this is for you and all other dog lovers out there.
Here's the text from the Youtube page:
My "pet" gray squirrel, Crunchy.
Crunchy is sat on the bird table, munching an unsalted peanut.
He comes and goes.
Start the day off with a nature video.
Of course if that was your bird, you might overreact.
The funny thing to me is that in the book, Rod relates a story about flipping out when one of his relatives drowned a bunch of cats owned by one of his crazy cat-lady aunts. He shows up at the mean relative's house furious with righteous anger. This cat is probably a descendant of his aunt's brood, possibly inbred. But still possessing that learned Dreherian taste for the French delicacy of raw chicken head.
When you have limited time, you have to use bloggers math to decide how to post on multiple topics at one time. Plus I know you're all too busy to read my crap all day long. So, for example, adding this story about John Cusack calling Obama an asshole to this story about rabbits chewing through ignition wires at Denver Airport yields the following, much more interesting, video:
