Daily Archives: September 22, 2007

what are they putting in the water over there?

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Seriously, this is ridiculous.

Catfishwife

That’s a catfish the way a sabertoothed tiger is a cat. You’re looking at a record-breaking 66 pounds of fish sticks (a gazillionty-seven kilograms, howthefuckshouldiknoweh) landed by Bev Street, a deceptively mild-mannered housewife with, obviously, a lethal antipathy to free-range freshwater fish.

In unrelated news, I have recently deleted our dear friend StevenL from the blogroll, as his former idiosyncratic football/politics/pikefishing/future lung cancer victims rights blog has turned into a gay, pink, ad-bedecked page of financial advisor for profit links. Bleagh. Buh-bye.

…and release.

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55 ways to feed the blog

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Darren Barefoot, over at Darrenbarefoot.com (how did he come up with that name? really, it’s remarkable the synchronicity you stumble across online, eh) has come up with a great, and universal, list of 55 things to blog about before you die. And you never know when that will be.

So get started.

The first 20:

  1. The Story of My Most Serious Injury
  2. The Person I Admire Most
  3. This Will Be My Epitaph
  4. Why I Love My Hometown
  5. Why I Hate My Hometown
  6. Why I Was a Childhood Bully
  7. How I Shop
  8. How I Choose to Spend My Money
  9. I Wish I Spent Less Money on This
  10. Why I’m in My Current Job
  11. My Ideal Job
  12. My High School Clique
  13. My Worst Subject in School
  14. If I Had a Super Power
  15. Here’s Where My Opinion Differs From the Majority
  16. Why I Voted the Way I Did in the Last Election
  17. Why I Don’t Vote
  18. The Cause I Really Believe In
  19. Why I Came To Religion
  20. Why I Don’t Believe Anymore

That should keep you busy for awhile, particularly if you click through and read the entire list. No more excuses, now! Just hit the keyboard, Gord. Type it all in, Lynn. Click on “Publish,” Trish…

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if only I could get money out of mine…

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I hear some women know the trick.

Pussy Purse This little item, from Lola’s Dashboard (via Hazel) reminds me, for no reason I can put my finger on (in polite company) of the time I was at the Bacara resort near Santa Barbara, eating the most expensive breakfast of my life ($42 plus tip) and discussing, as one does at the breakfast table, the Black Dahlia murder case. I managed to avoid the more gruesome bits (a tricky business, to say the least) and concentrate on the psycho-social aspects of the case.

“Everyone said she was dumb, but by the time she died,” I said of the then-22-year-old victim, “she’d been living off men for five years. And she was still a virgin.”

“I want to know how.”

And quick as a flash, the waitress said, “When you find out, let me know, too.”

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