Yeah, it’s Monday morning, and after a heavy Sunday night’s boozing, you just woke up next to Lizzo.
‘Nuff said. So:
Yeah, yeah… yuk it up, assholes, as you count the eight .45 entry holes in your mid-section.
The Finnish government are as big a bunch of fucking killjoys as our own. Who knew?
Anyway, to end this post on a positive note:
Yeah, yeah, I know: “Never mind the chick, check out all those ammo boxes.”
And to see us out of the cornfield and into the week:
Louise Brooks was quite probably the sexiest of all the silent screen actresses. Her life ended up being… interesting, not to say tragic. But I’m endlessly fascinated by her… and Pandora’s Box (excerpt) is easily the greatest silent movie ever made, because of her. (If you want the movie, be warned that it’s only available in PAL format.)
Astonishing. Diary of a lost girl, indeed.
The immortal line from the late and much-missed Dennis Farina comes to mind (speaking to some Brits when they throw some unintelligible wordslush at him):
“You guys invented the language; why don’t you fucking speak it?”
Here’s the explanation of the accents behind the language, the accents ranked, and then an explanation of some of the slang.
In terms of difficulty, there are only three that I find absolutely incomprehensible (in order): Glasgow, Geordie (Newcastle/Sunderland) and Liverpool.
For the record, when I’m in Britishland I tend to speak Public (a.k.a. private) School Pronunciation — after I’ve been there a while and lost my slightly-Americanized/Texas accent.
But I fail, and while I am well-spoken, my native Johannesburg wins by two lengths.
I remember reading this and crying with laughter, many years ago. Enjoy.
“Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge’s table, asking for directions to the Coors Light truck, when the call came in… I was assured by the other two judges (Native New Mexicans) that the chili wouldn’t be all that spicy; and, besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted and became Judge 3.”
Here are the scorecard notes from the event:
Judge # 1 — A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing kick.
Judge # 2 — Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.
Judge # 3 (Frank) — Holy crap, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put the flames out. I hope that’s the worst one. These New Mexicans are crazy.
Judge # 1 — Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight jalapeno tang.
Judge # 2 — Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.
Judge # 3 — Keep this out of the reach of children. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.
Judge # 1 — Excellent firehouse chili. Great kick.
Judge # 2 — A bit salty, good use of peppers.
Judge # 3 — Call the EPA. I’ve located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now. Get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I’m getting red-faced from all of the beer.
Judge # 1 — Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.
Judge # 2 — Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.
Judge # 3 — I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Is it possible to burn out taste buds? Sally, the beer maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills. This 300 lb. Woman is starting to look HOT… just like this nuclear waste I’m eating! Is chili an aphrodisiac?
Judge # 1 — Meaty, strong chili. Jalapeno peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive.
Judge # 2 — Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato. Must admit the jalapeno peppers make a strong statement.
Judge # 3 — My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted, and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the pitcher. I wonder if I’m burning my lips off. It really ticks me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming.
Judge # 1 — Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spices and peppers.
Judge # 2 — The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, garlic. Superb.
Judge # 3 — My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulfuric flames. I crapped on myself when I farted, and I’m worried it will eat through the chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that Sally. Can’t feel my lips anymore. I need to wipe my butt with a snow cone.
Judge # 1 — A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.
Judge # 2 — Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment (**I should take note that I am worried about Judge # 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.)
Judge # 3 — You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn’t feel a thing. I’ve lost sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava to match my shirt. At least during the autopsy, they’ll know what killed me. I’ve decided to stop breathing. It’s too painful. I’m not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I’ll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach.
Judge # 1 — The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili. Not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.
Judge # 2 — This final entry is a good, balanced chili. Neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge # 3 farted, passed out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he’s going to make it. Poor fella, wonder how he’d have reacted to really hot chili?
Judge # 3 — No report.
For some reason, I’m really lusting after chili now. I think I’ll make me some. #NoFuckingBeans
Why we should ban perfume in public places
For most people, being in close proximity to someone smelling of honeysuckle and patchouli may be sublime. For those, like me, who suffer with ‘fragrance aversion’ — a strong physical reaction to the ingredients in modern perfumes — it is torture.
STFU. “Fragrance aversion”? Seriously?
Sorry, but I happen to love the scent of a woman — New Wife uses Michael Kors Wonderlust, Connie used Giorgio Armani’s Orangerie, my mother wore Estée Lauder’s White Linen and I still have a crush on an old girlfriend who used to wear Revlon Intimate — all with devastating effect on my senses. And the very fact that I still remember those specific scents after all these years should demonstrate my deep affection thereof.
Nothing smells as good as a woman wearing perfume.
Now granted, the thing can be taken too far. I once rode in an elevator with, it should be said, an older woman who must have used Chanel as a bath additive, but even as overpowering as it was, at least it was a pleasant smell.
You see, I too suffer from an aversion. I fucking detest delicate people: people who get the vapors from (as above) scents, people who start hyper-ventilating at the thought of using public transport, people who can’t eat processed meat, people who fall apart when someone says the word “nigger”, and people who are afraid of guns because “guns are dangerous”.
I can live with peanut allergies, because people can die from that — why, I wonder sometimes, was this never a thing when I was a child? — and similar things that are genuinely harmful.
But a fragrance “aversion”? Why did the stupid bint in the above article not just open the car window when her traveling companion reeked of (rough guess) Axe body spray? But oh no, she had to get out of the car because she was nauseated. What bullshit.
I’m not an inconsiderate person — okay, I try not to be inconsiderate, most of the time.
But I’m getting heartily sick of having to tip-toe through life because of people’s “aversions”. It’s just a physical manifestation of the “offended” mindset. And as a wise man once said:
So fucking what, indeed.
So much for electric cars, then:
Is the electric car really as green as it appears?
Executive summary: no. Not even close. Here’s the true cost of manufacture (even granting ad arguendo that CO2 is all that bad for us):
And here’s the pesky particulate pollution comparison (see article for explanation):
So, as we all knew, the risible NetZero goal is a waste of fucking time (the true executive summary).
But, as Sage Commenter Butch put it yesterday:
“The objective is not to get us all into ‘cleaner’ EVs. The objective is to deprive us of personal transportation and freedom of movement.”
What he said.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back to drooling over Kim’s Lotto Dream Car, the 2002 BMW Z8 with manual transmission — which on a good day gets 15mpg from its 5-liter V8 gasoline-powered internal combustion engine:
…and that only if you don’t floor the gas pedal. [exit, drooling]