Customs is your friend

Polar BearYou might not believe me when I say that, but Customs is your friend. Specifically, the customs agent who goes through your luggage and finds the four hundred pounds of bear meat from Canada, along with the approximately 60,000,000 worms with which it was infested.

Don't mess with Canada! We'll poison your skinny French ass! 2, 4, 6, 8, time for us to infestate!

Of course, if you knew the first thing about cooking wild game, you'd never have had the problem in the first place. The headline really should read "Don't Eat Canadian Bear Sashimi." People who don't know how to eat bear should not shoot bear, and if they do they definitely shouldn't stow it in their luggage, sneak it across the Atlantic, and invite a snotload of their soon-to-be-ex friends over for a feast.

Don't eat Canadian bears: French health officials 

[and yeah, you can read an invisible "or" in there too if you're feeling mean]

PARIS, April 3, 2006 (AFP) – France's health watchdogs have issued an unusual warning about bear meat, citing the case of French hunters who shot a bear in Canada, ate the meat and then fell violently sick with a parasitic disease…The bulletin warned hunters against "the common mistake of thinking that meat that comes from animals which have been hunted in the wild is always healthy."
 
Those who ate fully-cooked portions of meat suffered no ill-effects, but those who had even a mouthful of portions that were rare fell ill. The meat was found to be crawling with the worms — the average was 295 larvae per gramme.

It is, of course, still permissable and even on occasion encouraged, to eat Canadians. But ask nicely first.

Post #200: YouTube of the Gods

Jiffy SquidNietzschian monkeys hangin' in a bar, picking up chicks. This is why ARPANET developed opposable thumbs and the ability to stand upright: specifically so that one day it would be mighty enough to post this link. Bonus Squiddy goodness.

Jiffy Squid

Some days it’s not worth chewing through the straps

Boris in Chains

It appears there are some people who are having an even worse week than me, and I've just been given my ninth (or is it tenth) eviction notice from the Co-op. They're not being very cooperative, I must say. But enough about my week.

As I said, looks like some people are having an even shittier week than me although it is certainly true that if the gutter press were as guttacious as they've been made out to be they'd be camped out on the front lawn oh yeah, they don't have those things in Islington, the front uh stoop? begging for a quote from the children and bribing the household pets with bacon bits.

It is therefore in the spirit of taking up arms against weeks which are both shitaceous and whoreanus that I present the following mindless Internet game. It should cheer at least one person up to know that Boris Johnson has attained the rarified altitudes inhabited by the seraphim and Kevin Bacon and gotten his own game. So to speak. The associated t-shirts are pure graphic gold, icons of both t-ness and shirt-ness that should be copied for generations hence. The Ice Cream of Truth is a symbol that all but the lactose-intolerant can support (and they shouldn't have any rights anyway) and the sound effects are pure sweetness. Ladies and gentlemen:

Big Ben Boris

Vote Boris! Just because you can't

Thought for the Day

Not that this is related in any way, shape, form, dosage or avatar to the previous post

sigh

Loneliness