Tannic Acid

In my veryfarfromhumble opinion, the first and last GOOD, BENEFICIAL tea party was in 1773(unless you count trippin' balls with the Mad Hatter's crew).
In fucking BOSTON.

And this coming from a half Englishman!

I have to hand it to the self-righteously indignant Repubs, who have publicly been throwing their toys out of the pram. (Yes! Englishism! eat it.) They do seem a bit more motivated than the Dubya-era Democrats, who couldn't be bothered to do anything more collaborative than yell along with Deano the Screamo, and put all their hopes on a botoxed, ketchup-rich Yankee.

But, on the other hand, I'm gonna have to call them sore losers.

Jon Stewart pointed out some flaws in the ideology of the "thousands of disgruntled people of non-color taking to the streets", most notably their response to the gubment's "wasteful spending", which was to buy a million tea bags.

Define irony.

The silver lining was getting to hear all the Fox "news" cardborad cads and newsbunnies saying the word "teabag". Priceless.

The only thing that tops that is the HBO RealSex episode from 2000 that came on last night, showing a bunch of very empowered spoken word peotry females saying "PUNANY!!!"

"PUNANY!!!"

And it's poo-nahn-ee, according to these experts.

They must've said it like 30 times. The best parts were when they said it in a very serious sentence like "Yes, it's a movement that portrays the power that women must harness....punany." or "It's an issue very important to us, punany."
Amen sister!

I think I now have a hernia.

Oh, and on another note, I've been meaning to chastise you lurkers (Ronnie) out there for not signing in a basic profile and 'following' this blog. Ask Gene (half of my following) how easy it is. Although, Gene informs me that nobody really reads this. Punany.

(In my book, that's a word that really ends in "ie".)

-J

I run the gauntlet

every day that I drive to work. I pull out my caffeine IV, put on my helmet, goggles and gloves, check my propeller, flaps and my rudders, and then I make my way down the Red Baron- fucking- dogfight- alley that some people call Abercorn Street.

Key ominous music.

By the way, I staunchly support a neo-WWI labeling of cars: instead of confirmed kills, you put a stamp on the side for every dumbass wreck you've been in. This would mean that some....many cars would resemble a Luis Vuitton bag, but with marks of dumbassedness, instead of those apparently rare, costly LVs. As of today, it looks like they're using dents and scratches.

In about two months at my new job, I have seen five wrecks. These, of course, are only around 8am (after I sacrifice my firstborn to God in order that He may let me make it to work alive) and 5.3opm (after a day at a law firm, in which case I'm resigned to a very gory, albeit deserved MVA death).

That's not your classic Motor Vehicle Accident, it's what I refer to as a "Motherfuckin' Vehicle Attack", and they are everywhere.

Anyone who has had the unique pleasure of accompanying me on a drive knows that I reserve my purest, unadulterated hatred for my fellow motorists. While I know this will never change, I've now accrued a supplement: genuine paranoia.

Today I signed up a client. Let's call said client Mr. X.

Mr. X had a car land ON his car. ON

Where you would think it would have been a head-on collision, the high rate of acceleration, coupled with the Lord's strategically placed concrete median (cos we all need a laugh, or in His case: Laugh) ensured that the car went airborne.

Now I have a new worry. Along with the Pembroke, two-tone hair hoes putting on their makeup at 60 mph; the SCAD 18-year-olds with their '80s sunglasses falling down their noses as their neon Scion changes lanes; and (for lack of a better term) ghetto drivers who speed like they're in a high speed chase out of habit, I now have to worry about the dreaded combo of cars and gravity.

Newton had no fucking idea.

to quote an attorney, "WATCH OUT FOR FLYING CARS!"

-J

Times

are messed up on my posts. I don't really post entries at 7.45 in the morning. I can't seem to be able to change the times, and I don't particularly care.

Just letting you know I'm not on crack, or 5 hr. energy (interchangeable).

-J
(at 10.48am)

Never

has a whiter man danced in all the history of the world.

You know how you can find yourself thinking of relationships past? Yeah, you're glad you dumped the bitch/jerk/hoe/whatever guy equivalent for hoe is, but you can still look back at the good times.

Here's a great snapshot of all of our last big relationship, when we were constantly reminded how great everything in the world was.

He might have had vastly different political views than you, or carpet-bombed your neighborhood, but whatever differences you may have had, he could always get a smile out of you.

I say again, never has a whiter man danced before.

Freshly proud to be American (just... more proud than usual)

-J

American Weekend

Yes! This weekend was the culmination of Americana coming to a head. That's right, WingFest AND the Gun Show.

On. The. Same. Day.

I know the ex-wrestler looking, long haired, Fu Manchu-ed guy in Pink Floyd pajama bottoms feels me on this one. (I was surprised. I saw him at WingFest but not the Gun Show. I know, right?)

I don't know what was better: seeing the runner-up in the 10 minute wing eating contest yell at some bushes (think about it: yell at some bushes....ralph...yak...give back to the community) OR the sweet little old lady selling 30 round AK clips telling me about "them Chinese!" I had to agree with her, those little yellow buggers CAN be a handful.

I feel like I just took part in a Bill Maher documovie, sans plot.

Well, as much as I might want to make fun of neo-cons, or 300 lb. guys who can eat a pound and a half of wings in 10 minutes, I do love the Dirty Dirty, (Yankees: that's the South. The scary part) and I love living in America. (Put your pitchforks down, haters, you know I do.)

So next time you get angry at our government as it circles around the bowl on the way to the septic tank (you don't know how many nasty wing similes I wanna toss in here), just think about the diversity in our proud nation.

Everyone who knows me is aware of my (some might say) maniacal support of President Obama. I now have an insight into the mentality need to get up in the morning and pull our nation up by its bootstraps. (Or gay Croc holes)
As wrasslin' Fu Manchu man would say..."Wake up....GOIN' TO WINGFEST!!"

-J

If you don't know me,

then you don't know that the only thing that matches my ambition to ball out is my laziness. (The Lord has a sense of humor, I'm sure.) So, of course, I love it anytime someone else can do the humorous (or whatever) writing for me. For this one I'm gonna pass it off to Anonymous, who has written a hilarious CraigsList entry that's one part Tucker Max, three parts too nice.

Best part: " (not rufies) "

Thanks to Jill for Fakebooking this.

-J

$150 M.

That's the largest award attorney Rick Friedman received in his landmark case Bellot v. State Farm! The other ones are less...like, uh, $84 million and $17.3...

So when he's not kicking proverbial ass in the courtroom, he's following his wife's advice and finding out that "he has something to say that someone would want to read." He's written a few seminal trial lawyer yarns, one of which is Rules of the Road: A Plaintiff Lawyer's Guide to Proving Liability.

Well, that's what I have to read today. YES, homework! Now I'm not missing college! (Never was, until that skinny white boy Asher Roth came out with that bumpin frat anthem that makes me want to go back to a college with Greek life.) But, on the bright side, it's straight gawgeous outside, so I'm gonna read this one in the sun. Oh, and it's a classic photocopied book, which means you can't justify hitting anyone over the head with it. As you do.

So if you see me rubbing a stack of papers all over me, don't think I'm crazy.

I'm just trying to get some $150 millie skills.

-J