Monday, March 23, 2015

Bipolar Disorder Has Captured My Soul

See - it isn't so easy updating songs to new names for old disorders.  What I'm told is an excellent description of the disorder is rendered by Stone Temple Pilots.

When tax records are requested, Al Sharpton tends to have mysterious fires. There's an old joke about convenient building fires being Jewish Lightning.  Google will not let me type this name, so let's call it Sharpton Lightning,

I've often said that a great deterrent is worth twice the punishment. Utah wants to bring back the firing squad, which is cool, but I was thinking of public flogging or the stocks.

Many of our nation's and world's problems can easily be overcome by one solution: fear. Take this fine example of how to fix the schools issue.

Because we all know that taking a power saw to a baby's neck is an unspeakable act, you will all be happy to note that, according to autopsy, the baby was already dead when the power saw was employed. 

Communist Party leaders are afraid that the Dalai Lama will not have an afterlife. Worried enough that this week, officials repeatedly warned that he must reincarnate, and on their terms. Now there is a party with some power.

Meth lab found in Walmart. Explosion in aisle 3. That certainly explains a lot.

Forensic experts in Italy said Thursday they had reconstructed the DNA of a national war hero and poet by analysing semen he left on a handkerchief given to a lover 100 years ago. The gift of semen is timeless.

Doctors perform first successful penis transplant. Note: this is not a Hillary joke.

It's springing outside. There is not only sunshine but damn near fifty-some degrees outside. This is almost bikini weather, although perhaps not for me.  Apparently spring fever has sprung, judging from the sights on the way home today.  Maybe it's the weather, maybe it's Dairy Queen, I don't know.

So there we are, parked at Dairy Queen because we decided that we couldn't live without a malt (yes, a MALT) to keep us from eating dinner til ten tonight.  There was a curious mixture of skinnies and fatties. Was it an old Supreme Court justice who said "I can't define obscenity but I can recognize it when I see it"? If he could have seen what I saw, he'd tell you he was fortunate to be dead.  This sixty-something lady, who was extremely well-endowed in the buttocks and legs, was wearing bright white yoga pants with floral patterns all over them, like a walking, misshapen drapery.

While watching the fauna, the dog, firmly standing on my lap, was watching the ice cream go by. He really likes ice cream and malts. In fact, there is a very small list of things he doesn't like. He was watching people, hoping they'd drop off a cone or shake for him. He remained horribly disappointed. Meanwhile I was taking in the occasional bit of MILFy goodness and some not-so-MILFy goodness. There was an awful lot of traffic, which turned out to be driven by free cones. The dog was pissed.

Then I saw the cherry on top of the sundae....  an approximately ten-year-old girl and her friends, all in Catholic school uniforms.  The young lady in question had the biggest thighs I have ever seen, on a ten-year-old or a forty-year old. And she was wearing a uniform that featured a moderately short skirt. It was horrifying, especially when she sat down.  When she walked, I could hear the sound of sandpaper rubbing against itself.  I grew up near a Catholic school whose graduation picture featured many students in pregnancy uniforms.  Is it presumptuous to wonder about a fat uniform? A burka, perhaps?

Sorry, I'm feeling a bit irked today.

The dog, however, got really interested while I held the two malts. He kept trying to arch his tongue to get through the little hole in the dome top of the malt.  He succeded, to the amusement of my wife. She stopped laughing when I told her the dog had eaten her whipped cream.  And when we were done, Marshall got the cup, which he spent fifteen minutes worshipping and removing the top from.

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