Bulwer-Lytton & I take time off

Had enough of it. Obama wanting to regulate our Tylenol, and these spoiled children in charge – it’s all driven me over the edge. America was never supposed to be an adolescent-run, over-managed nanny state giving support to despots while backhanding democratic allies and treating elected officials (and their wives) like royalty. But that seems to be where we are headed.

Everything will still be there tomorrow, but I’m sick to death of all of it, today.

Fr. Mabura knows.

It was a dark and stormy night: Thank goodness I had The Bulwer-Lytton Contest Winners for 2009 to keep me distracted from the creaking of the beams and the scurrying of frightened mice who would creep and then shiver, ducking before hopping and then creeping some more across the creaking beams in particular fright, since the beams were creaking; they made a sound (the beams, not the mice) like a violin being stepped on – not a violin made by Stradivarius, which might yet be tuneful, but a violin made by some French-Canuck luthier who had not allowed his green wood to properly age, because he was poor and toothless, and needed quick cash for his ailing father, who had accidentally chopped off his foot while opening a beer can with an axe. So, the beams sounded like a wet-wood violin being stepped on – not at the neck, but on the body – with a pair of wooden clogs, because what else would a poor French-and-toothless-Canuck luthier wear but wooden clogs…not green ones, though, because only the Dutch would dare…and the sound was a sound of crrruush and boink, and soggy hopelessness, and the sound made the mice scurry, and scurry they did into the waiting mouth of an alligator which little Billy had brought back from a family trip to Florida and never told his mother about. Had he told her, she would have stopped looking for his little sister, Tawdry, many years earlier.

Wow…writing that poorly is not easy. Give it a shot in the comments section!

Boxing? It works!

Anti-Semites: GM takes them to cleaners

Check out Deacon Greg’s post: he’s got Bill Bailey doing the moonwalk (and dancing en pointe), long before Michael Jackson was a twinkle in his mother’s eye, or (as DCThornton says, a dollar sign in his father’s.