NEW RELEASES
In Our Humble Opinion . . . the FBI should look the other way when you try to find your teenager a new family to live with on Craig’s list.
In Our Humble Opinion. . . Shane Doan would have appreciated a big smooch from us after his hat trick yesterday
But I don’t want to go anywhere cold or where there’s big bugs
Did you know that the ATM at the The Vatican Bank is the only bank in the world that will allow you to perform your transaction in Latin? This fascinates me and I really have no idea why.
I long to see “Etiam iaculis mollis Identification Number ergo press penetro.”
Doesn’t that sound more interesting than “Enter your PIN, then press enter”?
Do you think if I went to Vatican City for the sole purpose of using the ATM so I could report back on this blog about the authenticity of the Latin claim that the 
IRS would allow the expenses?
While I’m there I’ll check out that ceiling that gets so much attention and probably grab a plate of spaghetti and a little eggplant Parmesan since I’m in such close proximity to Rome. Maybe I’ll toss a coin in the fountain for
good luck.
I think this could be a really popular feature for the blog and now I’m super excited about it. I could fly around the world and check on interesting and outrageous claims such as this one. What other things have you heard about and wonder if they’re really true? I will totally get on a plane tomorrow and check these things out.
Secede si vis pecuniae lego vel ineo amount recedere. That’ll be 1,000,000 Euro please – before there are no Euros left.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . Ron Paul looks like a garden gnome.
In Our Humble Opinion …people should hit their brakes before they hit the back of your car.
I’d rather have a shrinking butt
I was alerted to a great list of trivia questions this week and if there’s one thing I love it’s trivia. I have a head full of completely useless knowledge and I just keep cramming more and more in there. One of these days I’ll finally get on a game show and, just watch, I’ll freeze like an Otter Pop and get nothing right. I’ll walk away with “lovely parting gifts” like a lifetime supply of Simonize and a free Bikram Yoga membership. I love Bikram yoga almost as much as Ava, but not quite.
Anyway, I thought I’d drip some of the more interesting trivia questions over the next couple of weeks. Of course, I’ll add my thoughts. I guess my wonky musings matter or why else would you torture yourself with these blog posts?
In the 1970s, Mattel sold a doll called “Growing Up Skipper.” HerWhile looking for her on the internet, I found all kinds of disturbing dolls like "Shaving Ken". Ick.
breasts grew when her arm was turned.
Well that’s just fabulous. I don’t remember a lot of girls in the junior high school locker room swinging their arms in a circle, but I’ll admit, I was mostly just trying to get my clothes on and get the hell out of there. Thus I may not have been the most observant thirteen year old.
Of course, this tidbit of information makes me wonder. Now that Skipper is nearing fifty and all kinds of bad things have happened to her perky little body, do you suppose if you wind her arms the other way, her breasts go back up to where they’re supposed to be?
In Our Humble Opinion . . . conference calls suck.
If they’d let me have a goat I’m sure it would be happy to chauffeur
Once again, I found an outstanding article in the Daily Picayune. This one once again appears thanks to the recent tradition of re-publishing stories from 100 years ago to celebrate the centennial of our state.
This one is especially funny, hysterical even, and I’m confident that if newspapers wrote more irreverently humerous articles like this one, the industry wouldn’t be in nearly as much financial trouble as they are now.
Sit back and enjoy.
Dec. 8, 1912
A goat, one of the animals who have helped to make Bock Beer famous all of the civilized world, held up Doctor H. E. Crepin yesterday. Although it was a hold-up pure and simple, the goat took nothing from the physician but patience – and Mr. Goat took all of that.
Like all other affairs of its kind, the hold-up was the result of an unfair advantage plus a sudden onslaught. The doctor was making a professional call in the south end of the city and had left his automobile in front of the patient’s house.
The automobile was all alone, no one to guard it and nothing to do – it is presumed that it finally grew lonesome. In the mute language of distress it sent the C.Q. D. for aid (Morse Code distress signal)and soon a rescuer hove in sight. Casting aside all formalities of introduction, the rescuer, who proved to be the goat, assumed charge of hte abandoned car and climbed upon the seat. After examining the dashboard carefully the goat gave up in disgust – it was not equipped with a self-starter, and it is just as hard for a goat to crank a car as it is for some other people, so the goat gave up in despair and decided to wait patiently until the physician arrived and assumed his responsibility as chauffeur. (It may be that the goat knew how to start the car but was not a licensed chauffeur under the new law.)
Upon the doctor’s return, another war was inaugurated, and according to the war correspondent, the doctor signed the protocol but refused to revictual the stronghold – whereupon the goat withdrew without giving up his arms or dignity.
Doctor Crepin in an interview said that he has often taken dogs to ride, and it is possible that the goat knowing of this considered himself welcome. The result of the affair is a positive statement from the doctor that he will not take any goat, whatsoever, to ride in his car.
Was I right? Funny, huh? I feel like I might have been a reincarnation of this reporter.
Like “Let’s Make a Deal” only totally not
Sassy made a deal with me. If she could correctly answer three questions of my choosing, then she could stay up and read for another thirty minutes. I was in a wagering kind of mood, so I agreed, especially with the codicil of “my own choosing.” Foolish girl.
Too bad there wasn’t any money at stake.
“Question number one,” I began, “What is Grandma’s middle name?”
“Which Grandma?” she asked.
“Either.”
“Myrtle?” Oh, this is definitely my kid. No one else in the world would have pulled that name out of the air.
I laughed and made the buzzer noise. “Nope. Aleta or Ann would have been acceptable. Question number two…”
“Nothing about family members,” she interrupted.
Fine. I could work with that. “Number two. How many pounds of pressure is in my car tires?”
“Uhhhh, nine?”
Again with the buzzer noise. “Nope. 32 pounds. Number three..”
“OK, nothing about cars or people in the family.”
“I wasn’t aware we could make up new rules as we went along,” I noted.
“Yeah, well I don’t know any of those things,” she informed me.
I wonder how hard it would be to get one of these out of Australia?
“Duh. That’s why I asked them. What do you know about?”
“Animals, I know lots about animals,” she said with confidence.
“Fine. How many feathers on a duckbill platypus?”
“NONE!” she hollered across the expanse of the dark bed.
I laughed. “Very good. Trick question. The score is two for me, one for you.”
“I’m gonna win!” Her voice was high with misguided self-assurance. “I told you I know animal questions.”
“So you say. Are you ready for question four?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What was the Elephant Man’s real name?”
“That’s not an animal question,” she protested. It’s too bad there wasn’t a judge around to hear her case. It’s hard to say who would have won, but I’d like to think it would have been me on the technicality that there was an animal in the question. “That’s like a half an animal question.”
“Quit stalling,” I told her preparing to get out of her bed and give her a final kiss good night. I hummed the Jeopardy theme music.
“I don’t know.” I could hear the pout in her voice.
“Just give me his last name, then.”
Heavy, huffing sigh. “Forget it.”
“Good night. I love you.”
“You are really unfair.”
“Yep.” I kissed her forehead. “You know, ‘Never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line’.”
“Mooo-ooom! No one ever knows what you’re talking about.”
“Inconceivable!,” I said as I waltzed out of her dark bedroom, “cause I’m really funny.”
“No you’re not. You’re just weird.”
I’m totally fine with that.
A toast to 2012
Happy New Year!
We’ve been trying to get Kelli off the champagne bottle for a while now, but she just keeps growling at us.