Local time where you're at. ("Where you're at"?)

In the last three weeks or so, we’ve had pop up a self-important pussified little she-male calling herself the “Dog-Catcher”.&#160 And I do mean “pop up” – in the manner of a particularly nasty yeast infection.

No offense intended to yeast infections.

Anyway, the little douchebag is running a site called “Mishawatch” (ooooooooooh, how creative) – and, no, I’m not going to link to the limp-wrist; he doesn’t deserve so much as a look from The Six Or Seven Of You Who Still Read This Blog&#153.

So now he’s trying to put the Rott out of business by kvetching to Misha’s hosting company – which, by the way, is the same great group of guys that house My Eternal Wisdom&#153 (grin) – in a half-assed attempt to get them to shut him down.&#160 This, of course, after he issued the obligatory pissing and moaning about how we right-thinkers are trying to silence those we think are idiots.&#160 Such as The Clap-Catcher, but I digress.

Anyway, our champions at Hosting Matters politely told ol’ Clappie to go pound sand.&#160 And the douchebag isn’t happy about it at all, no sirree:

I see that the wingnut is already busy gloating over his “victory” when his host rudely dismissed my very reasonable email to them. Really, “emporer”, do you honestly believe that I am going to leave it at that? I merely wanted to provide them with a chance to do the right thing voluntarily but, realizing the possibility that they might refuse, I already had a plan B in place.

So laugh while you can, puppy.

Since your “plan B” is to run down to mommy’s basement, throw yourself on your cumstain-and-pictures-of-Pee Wee Herman-lined couch and have the Mother of All Crying Jags&#153…why yes.&#160 Yes we will.

Laugh our asses off at you, that is.&#160

UPDATE:&#160 Oh, shit.

It’s a prank.&#160 A fucking prank.&#160 I’ve been pranked&#160 by my best friend.

D’ohhhh!!!!!! &#160

This may be the first thing Big Dickhead Perry’s ever done that I liked.

Nice going, BD.&#160 That’s one “attaboy” for you.

You now officially have 9,999 “awshit”s to make up.&#160 Get busy.

Still don’t feel much like posting (but I gotta put something&#160 up), so here’s the latest from the Grab-Bag&#153 from the Mothergoose in Denton:

Appropos, no?

Well, something’s amiss in the Backyard&#153, so I’m starting the long-put-off process of moving all the graphics into Pegasus’&#160 main core.&#160 The banner’s first, and more will follow.

Keep yer eyeses peeled.&#160 🙂

(Hat tip to the SpatulaGoddess.)

I like this.

Denizens, you all know that I’m about to tie the knot for the fourth third-&#189 time.

What you guys don’t&#160 know is that part of this package deal is a fifteen-year-old stepdaughter.

Whom, I just found out, attended this collective display of bovine execrement.

Pray for me.

And hand me a hammer & chisel.&#160 There’s a lot of work to be done on this skull full o’ mush (a little Rush lingo, there).

A lot&#160 of work.

Erin Go Braugh(less) and all that.&#160

Happy St. Paddy’s, you guys.

UPDATE:&#160 Well, this&#160 is a failed bit.&#160 Time to go confiscate McCool’s supply of Romulan ale again…

Don’t feel like writing much today, even thought I probably ought to, so today’s blurb comes from the Grab-Bag&#153, courtesy of the Mothergoose from Denton, who says:

An archeological team, digging in Washington DC, has uncovered 10,000 year old bones and fossil remains of what is believed to be the first Politician.

&#160&#160

One wonders how we’re going to win this war if the leadership is this spineless.

As most of you know, probably my biggest pet peeve is someone who speaks truth to leftist douchebags one day…then turns around and offers up his balls while groveling for forgiveness the next.

Which is what we have here.&#160 And by a Marine general, no less.

More »

Growing up, I wasn’t on board with the rock ‘n roll genre.&#160 To say that I equated all R&R with Metallica wouldn’t be an inaccurate statement.&#160 And I wanted no part of it.

That changed shortly after I graduated “hah skrewl” (a little Rush lingo, there) in 1981.&#160 It was at that point that I entered a fairly rebellious phase (for me) in my life.&#160 Part of that was developing a taste for – gasp! – rock ‘n roll.&#160 And the first band I remember going nuts over was Boston.

But if you click that link today, you’ll see a tribute to its lead singer, Brad Delp.&#160 That’s because he’s reached his destination, having passed from us at age 55.

In the story, they call him a tenor.&#160 Sorry, guys – that’s no tenor.&#160 I’m a tenor, and there’s no way in Hell&#153 I can get my voice that&#160 high without a vise grip attached firmly to my balls.

Tom, Barry, Sib – I loved your music, hated your politics, and haven’t listened to any of your stuff since Third Stage.&#160 But I will miss the hell outta Brad, and I grieve with you that he’s gone.

Rest in peace, Brad.

Okay, now&#160 I’m pissed.

Went to have lunch yesterday at a place called Ryan’s Family Steakhouse.&#160 Nice place, friendly folks, decent enough food (get the fried chicken).

Placed my order with the cashier.&#160 The ditzy sort, but competent enough.

Until she asked me – and I swear to Cthulu I’m not making this up – if I wanted the senior discount.

&#160&#160&#160&#160

Just For Men&#169 is about to get a new customer investor…

Grrrrrrrrr.

Today’s dollop of Good Stuff&#153 comes from LC MoMinuteMan – not necessarily with permission.

I ran across this on The Net a couppla years ago, don’t remember where, when or who composed it, but it pretty accurately nails me and most all the guys I know who are PBCs. (The newly coined phrase “Pre-Bizzaro Child”, to describe those of us who were raised by responsible parents before The United States turned into Bizzaro-World)…

“After searching for my sexual identity. I finally discovered it and I can no longer keep it in the closet. I am here to openly announce that I am a Retrosexual.

My Retrosexuality is defined by the following Retrosexual code:

A Retrosexual, no matter what the women insists, pays for the date.

A Retrosexual opens doors for a lady. Even for the ones that fit that term only because they are female.

A Retrosexual DEALS WITH SHIT. Be it a flat tire, break-in into your home, or a natural disaster, you FUCKING DEAL WITH IT.

A Retrosexual not only eats red meat, he often kills it himself.

A Retrosexual doesn’t worry about living to be 90. It’s not how long you live, but how well. If you’re 90 years old and still smoking cigars and drinking, I salute you.

A Retrosexual does not use more hair or skin products than a woman. Women have several supermarket aisles of stuff. Retrosexuals need an endcap. (Possibly 2 endcaps if you include shaving goods.)

A Retrosexual does not dress in clothes from Hot Topic when he’s 30 years old .

A Retrosexual should know how to properly kill stuff (or people) if need be. This falls under the “DEALING WITH SHIT” portion of The Code.

A Retrosexual watches no TV show with “Queer” in the title.

A Retrosexual does not let neighbors fuck up rooms in his house on national TV.

A Retrosexual should not give up excessive amounts of manliness for poontang. Some is inevitable, but major re-invention of yourself will only lead to you becoming a froo-froo little puss, and in the long run, she ain’t worth it.

A Retrosexual is allowed to seek professional help for major mental stress such as drug/alcohol addiction, death of your entire family in a freak treechipper accident, favorite sports team being moved to a different city etc. You are NOT allowed to see a shrink because Daddy didn’t pay you enough attention. Daddy was busy DEALING WITH SHIT. When you fucked up, he DEALT WITH YOU. Buck up, pussy.

A Retrosexual will have at least one outfit in his wardrobe designed to conceal himself from prey.

A Retrosexual knows how to tie a fucking windsor knot when wearing a tie.

A Retrosexual does not strip naked, get into a sweat lodge, and bang on drums to bond with other guys. That shit is gay. However, dressing in kilts, banging on drums around a campfire and drinking heavily is just fine.

A Retrosexual should have at least one good wound he can brag about getting.

A Retrosexual knows how to use a basic set of tools. If you can’t hammer a damn nail, or drill a straight hole, practice in secret until you can or be rightfully ridiculed for the wuss that you be.

A Retrosexual’s asshole is an exit ramp on the road of life. Ladies, contrary to what Cosmo says, spontaneously sticking a finger back there is a good way to be launched off the bed (or if Hooters hotwings have been recently consumed, lose a finger). Make you a deal, we won’t mess with yours unless you want us to, and you won’t mess with ours… period.

A Retrosexual will buy feminine hygine products if he has to, but only under protest. This falls under unpleasant things you have to fucking DEAL WITH. Get some Hagen-Daas while you’re at it.

A Retrosexual gives a lady his seat on the bus/subway/etc.

A Retrosexual does not order an apple martini at the bar. A Martini has fucking Vodka and vermouth in it dammit. And maybe an olive. In fact, why not just get a shot of Vodka??”

DFS.&#160 (Damn Fuckin’ Straight)

ITEM:&#160 Ann Coulter, in a roundabout sort of way, referred to John-John “Breck Girl” Edwards using the word “faggot”.

Not that there isn’t a helluva lot of evidence to support the claim:

Oh, but now here comes Dr. YEARRRRRRRRRRGH!!!!!!!!!!, bitching and moaning at the GOP, demanding they make Ann take it back:

Democratic Party boss Howard Dean demanded that Republican presidential candidates denounce conservative columnist Ann Coulter after she referred to Democratic presidential hopeful John Edwards as a ‘faggot’ during a speech Friday at a national conservative gathering.

[…]

“While Democrats and Republicans may disagree on the issues, we should all be able to agree that this kind of vile rhetoric is out of bounds. The American people want a serious, thoughtful debate of the issues,” the press release read.

“Republicans—including the Republican presidential candidates who shared the podium with Ann Coulter today—should denounce her hateful remarks.”

Oooooooooooooo…kayfine.

In the first place, Dr. Howierd, what did Ann say that, in its essence, wasn’t true?

Secondly, I might point out that you yourself aren’t exactly a bastion of civil-type discourse.&#160 Y’know?&#160 PotKettleBlack&#153 much, Dr. YEARRRRRRGH?

Here’s a clue Chief Screaming Flea:&#160 Can’t stand the heat, get the hell outta the kitchen.