Oh ...

... my god. I was at least partially responsible for a successful fisting all the way over in frikkin' England! Grasshopper, you have learned well. Whoa.

And I LOVE how she managed to talk about fisting and "Fistful of Dollars" in the same entry.

Have you seen that new commercial for Snickers Crunchers? I'm talking about the one where the mass-transit train conductor repeatedly "crunches" obnoxious train station people (the person with the cell phone, the person in stupid costume handing out ad garbage [we don't have those here, actually]) in the doors of the train. He's standing there in his little controller department, smacking the Door Close knob with glee. I love that commercial. Snickers has pretty cool e-cards up on their site, too. I don't actually send them to anyone, but they're fun to watch. Especially the singing fish one. I'll have to go buy one of those candy bars. I'm not even sick of the wind-up toy "Don't go there," "Your sister's pretty," "Whazzup," "That's okay, it happens to lots of guys" crunching commercial yet.

We're going to have to have a fire drill here soon. Our fire drills require everyone in the building to go down the stairwell. For us, that's 22 floors.

I have no doubt that I can physically handle this with ease. My problem is, I know I'm going to get log-jammed behind a bunch of slow-ass women in godawful, not-made-for-stair-descending shoes, yakky yakky yakking about inane shit as we trudge down and down and down, bitching all the way. And I'll be stuck. Waiting for them to take the next step down when just a leeeetle push would speed things along nicely. Errrg.

I took some pictures of the burned out bowling alley yesterday afternoon. In this first one, which I find very representative, the word in the sign that's barely legible now is "Lanes".

And here's one that would make many cry.

And finally, what I believe was the actual lanes area of the bowling alley. I thought it would be really cool to find a charred bowling ball, but all you can see is the collapsed roof. And you'll notice that there's no safety tape around or anything. If I was stupid, I could've tromped all through here.

This site could cause nausea or vomiting. It's not for the squeamish. It would give nightmares to Gawain. Don't look, Gawain! Don't! Though, now that I think about it, you've probably experienced worse at the Craft Store of Gay. My coworker Leslie described it as the tragic consequences of an amorous chow and an unfortunate Pomeranian.

And then there's the Manbeef site, which I found while browsing through the latest Internet Urban Legends at Snopes.com. Frankly I find it less sick and disturbing than Mr. Winkle. (addendum: I'm having problems getting manbeef.com to load, so go to the Snopes link, click on Currently Circulating, and scroll down to the ManBeef report.)

BOLO: This weave could be on its way to YOUR neighborhood.

Yes, parts of this weave's whereabouts are now unknown. There used to be more of "it," aka The Commie Red Weave, aka Bozo's Bad Hair Day. If you see the remaining portions of this weave, suspected to now be tangled on the rotor blade of a Public Works Department mower, approach with caution. Thought to be gross and dangerous.

BOLO is cop shorthand for Be On Look Out.

And one last treat. You guys aren't going to believe this. Go read Naggin' 24/7's entry yesterday and then proceed to today's. I've heard of women fantasizing about this kind of scenario, but I've never heard of anyone actually doing it. Of course, I don't really run with the het married crowd. Go, Naggin'. YOU rock. I just hope the guy doesn't go psycho.