The Day After Christmas Craziness

Wow. The day after Christmas and suddenly things are just running amok everywhere. Since I'm still fortified by my holiday egg nog (which, if you cannot read a newspaper through the glass of nog, it's not strong enough), I'll just briefly touch on a few of these rather than throwing a full blown tirade over each one. (For now. There's always tomorrow.)

First up, we have some jackass on Northwest Flight 253 who allegedly (translation: he did it) tried to blow up the plane by attempting to ignite explosives which he had brought onto the plane. Flight 253 was destined for Detroit, having originated in Nigeria, and had 278 passengers and 11 crew members aboard. While this could have been absolutely disastrous had the man succeeded, what struck me as even more amazing was that there were 278 people in Nigeria that wanted to go to Detroit! How does that work, exactly?

According to the account by the huffy folks over at the Huffington Post, the plan was thwarted when "...travelers who smelled smoke and heard what sounded like firecrackers rushed to subdue him." Afterwards "...the suspect was taken to the front of the plane with his pants cut off and his legs burned." (That is known around here as "Friday night".)

Really, all of the circumstances of the whole ordeal are pretty murky, so it's hard to say if this guy was working for ol' Weird Beard over there in Sand Land (Translation: Osama bin Laden in Pakistan) or if he was just a plain ol' lone nutjob. But in the wake of this, you can expect "heightened security" at airports. Just what exactly that means, no one really knows. I'm going to have to guess because they really don't do anything. How were they going to prevent this? They like to tell us (in a ineffective reassuring fashion) that all passengers pass through metal detectors. Yeah, that's not going to help much with the bomb-y folks carry chemicals, now is it? Nope. Not going to help a bit.

And if there isn't better security in these foreign lands, that's not going to help much either. According to the article cited above, in Nigeria "Uniformed federal police officers often focus their time on keeping hagglers and taxi drivers out." Hagglers? Like street vendors? Like hot dog cart dudes? THOSE are the folks that the federal police officers in Nigeria are concerned about?! Tell you what folks? What say you let me fend off the guy trying to get me to buy a poncho or a shawl and you have the federal police officers try and keep nutjobs with bombs off of the planes, all right? All right.

Speaking of nutjobs, some woman managed to jump on or at (it's really not overly clear to me) the Pope just before he was getting ready to do his Christmas Day shout out to his peeps. According to those across the pond at The Daily Mail "Susanna Maiolo, 25, a Swiss-Italian national with psychiatric problems" jumped over a rail as the Pope walked down the aisle. The thing that amazes me is that she tried the same thing last year. (By the way, I really appreciate the Daily Mail folks characterizing her as one with "psychiatric problems". I find that refreshing. Here in the States, that would have read "with an alleged history of possible mental health issues". That's because our media coddles. The media also sucks. Sucks and coddles. Hmm. That's really not a bad name for a band, you know. Whoops. Sorry. I digress. Anyway....)

The Pope wasn't hurt but French Cardinal Roger Etchegaray fell down and broke either his femur or his hip. I've read accounts of both (because the media sucks, that is correct).

Since this woman pulled the same stunt last year, she was known to folks at the Vatican. People really stand up and take note when you jump out at the Pope. And a senior source at the Vatican (aren't they all seniors over there? From what I can tell, the average age is about 92.) said 'The fact this woman is known and was still able to get through security is very, very serious." Has anyone checked to see if she's had recent contact with the Salahis? Just wondering.

The article also mentioned that "All the people who were inside St Peter's had invitations and so would have had to be checked and give their names." Again, Salahis? Anyone? Anyone? But then I saw the photos of the crowd at St. Peter's. You know. That crowd with "invitations"? Behold!

Yeah, right. How do you send out invitations to that many people? How do you verify and/or check that many people and their invitations? I don't think that you can. I'm guessing that you don't. Oh, it's a good line to spew out in cases like this, but I just don't think it's possible. (No offense to the Pope, the Vatican, and/or God.) Then again, I also saw the photo below and have concluded that perhaps in the future, maybe the Vatican doesn't want to employ the court jester as a guard. Behold!

But the statement that indicated that this sort of thing is likely to happen again was when that senior Vatican source said, "This woman was able to get through these checks as well as the airport style metal detectors." Um, sir? Pope co-worker man? Yeah, see, when you're attacking someone, you don't need any metal. I can be metal free and jump on anyone who walks by me. A metal detector isn't going to change that. I appreciate the effort, but that was really weak.

And finally, we learn from the Washington Post that while President Barry and the family went to Hawaii for the holidays, Bo the dog did not accompany them on their vacation. The reason being is that, "Hawaii is rabies-free. Hawaii's quarantine law is designed to protect residents and pets from potentially serious health problems associated with the introduction and spread of rabies." Now, while I understand all of that, they sure do take it rather seriously. (I know that there are rabid animals on the mainland, but are they problematic? Sure, we'd like there to not be rabid animals, but is it such a big deal that is why Hawaii has these seemingly overly stringent rules on animals coming over for a little fun in the sun?)

Basically, if your animal is under 10 months old, there's no way that the animal can be brought to the islands and released to you (as animals usually are) without being quarantined for 120 days. That's right. Animals coming into Hawaii, if they haven't met a boatload of requirements, must be quarantined for 120 days. Wow. Now, while I can understand why the islanders would want to keep the islands "rabies free" how many people are really taking their potentially rabid dog to Hawaii with them? I'm guessing not many. I'm guessing not many at all. And 120 days seems rather excessive. Then again, those folks live in Hawaii. I can't imagine that they're in much of a rush to do anything really.

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Grundle v. Hanes

I'd like to welcome back to the blog our old friend, the penis. Hi, penis! (Admit it. Penis is a funny word. I wouldn't have to do these stories if it wasn't so funny sounding and if it wasn't so ridiculous looking. I still have no idea how you guys walk around with those things.)

This account of a grundle wronged comes to us from the website Above The Law (a highly entertaining and simultaneously informative website which I highly recommend) and the courts of Escambia County in Florida. It would seem that a one Albert Freed was given some Hanes tightie whities by his wife to wear for their trip to Hawaii. Mr Freed, being a man of larger stature, subsequently ended up suing Hanes because of said briefs. It would seem that Mr. Freed claimed that the undergarment did not contain his genitals the way that they are intended to be contained (that is to say, inside the underwear) and as a result, his unit was somewhat exposed. Mr. Freed claimed that due to said unit exposure, coupled with a Hawaiian condition known as "the sand", his penis was unnecessarily chafed and rubbed raw. Wait. Ow. Wait. Ow. What now? Ow.

Look, I don't even have a penis, but having a raw one seems like it would really hurt. Now, mind you, they were in Hawaii for three weeks. He claims that he knew his manhood hurt, but he never looked at it to see why it hurt. Um, wait. He never...looked? At it? Yes, that is correct. It would seem that Mr. Freed is SO large that he is unable to gaze lovingly at his own genitalia. That's right. He's lost his own penis on his own body due to an overly substantial bodily girth (and not in a good way).

I know I've mentioned this before, but even though I don't have a penis, I would think that if I DID have one, I wouldn't lose track of it. I'd think I'd want to know where it is and what it's doing at all times! How do you not know what's going on with your own penis? I don't understand that at all.

Now, Mr. Freed would have countered my bewilderment with the argument that he used in court which was that he is a "belly man" and his weight prevents him from looking down and seeing his own penis. He also would contend that he didn't stand in front of a mirror or some other type of reflective device to inspect said raw unit because that's "just not something that he would do". He also would claim that he didn't ask his wife to look at it because "she he would never do such a thing". Really?

They're in Hawaii and he's not going to involve his penis in this trip at any point in time? He's not going to want to involve his penis at any point in time? I find that amazing. The last time I went to Hawaii, there was fornication before we even unpacked! This guy is there for three weeks and not only does he not see his penis, neither does his wife. Odd.

So how did he come to the conclusion that it was the Hanes underwear that was causing him to have an irritated wiener? Apparently, the second to the last day before the end of the trip, his wife was not around and he was walking around the condo that they had rented in just his allegedly defective undergarments and walked past a mirror. That's when he noticed that he was slightly protruding from the briefs. All right now.

Now, if this had been going on the entire time (and we're talking almost three weeks, folks) and right at the end this "belly man" happens to wander past a mirror and see his unit poking out, it had to be reminiscent of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer at that point, wouldn't you think? That or an angry turtle poking its head out into the world. Isn't that about the same point where the case would have gone from being called Freed v. Hanes to Fireman's Helmet v. Hanes?

So, this guy is claiming that with the protruding penis and the sand from the water (he was wearing his underwear underneath his swim trunks? That strikes me as odd. Does he not know how swim trunks work? They usually work sans underpants.), the little sides of the pee hole there acted like abrasive sandpaper. Ouchie! Sounds like (if this was actually the case) that he's damn lucky he didn't decapitate the little fellow. Who wears their underwear underneath their swim trunks?

The court decided against this lunatic. Perhaps it was the "expert testimony" (an expert in underwear? Nice profession. Is there a degree for that?) in which they basically said (and I'm paraphrasing here) that any sort of 'yawning' by said briefs would be due to too large of an ass shoved into too small of a pant for underneath. So had Mr. Freed perhaps stepped it up a notch and gotten the 58s instead of the 56s there might have been all of the raw penis that developed. Then again, in Mr. Freed's defense, it was his wife that bought them for him for the trip. Perhaps those are the sorts of gifts that older couples exchange before embarking on a three week journey to the Hawaiian Islands, but again, the last time I went to Hawaii, I think I was given the pre-trip gift of lots of liquor (not to mention the gift of groping I was given on said plane ride to said islands. Ah, Hawaii.). And I don't know how she could have been expected to get the correct size. After all, he doesn't ask her to inspect his penis, remember? That's just not something that he would do. Clearly.

And get this: At the end of the ruling (you know, the part where they said in legalese that the guy was too damn fat for his own underwear and wasn't getting a dime for his raw weenie) the judge writes "ORDERED AND ADJUDGED that plaintiff shall recover nothing from defendant who shall go hence without day." Go hence without day? What does that even mean? Let's break it down. There's "Go". We know what that means. "Hence". That doesn't seem to have anything to do with this at all. "Without" means not with. And then "day". So it seems to mean "don't have a day". Is that right? Did that judge sentence that poor fat man with the super sore schlong to death? Good Lord, Your Honor, isn't that a bit much?! (You know, even if that isn't what it means, I'm going to start saying that. A lot. To everyone.)

What have we learned from this? More than we bargained for, I'll tell you that much. We've learned that it's important to always keep your genitals where you can see them at a moment's notice. We've learned that grundle pain should most likely be investigated the moment it happens. Most importantly I think that we've learned to buy some damned underwear that actually fit and that won't be giving the contents of said underwear a room with a view. Thank you and go hence without day.

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The Minutiae That Is Obama

Good God. Barry isn't even President yet and I'm already SO over hearing about the minutiae of his everyday life. Not only that, could someone please explain to my why the press is acting like Hawaii is some sort of foreign country or far away land that those of us here in the contiguous 48 states have never been to nor heard of? It's bad enough the media thinks that the public in general has an IQ equal to that of a box of hair, but when they start dumbing down the already dumbed down? That's when I start to get a little cranky.

Currently, Barry and the fam are vacationing on Oahu. In case you're new here (and by "here" I mean "this planet"), Oahu is one of the Hawaiian islands. Hawaii (again, in case you're new) is one of the 50 United States of America. Yes! Even though it is all that way across the Pacific Ocean, it really IS one of the United States! Isn't that fas-cinating? The media would seem to think that it is.

Here is one of the photos that seem to be typical of the coverage of Barry in Hawaii. And here is one of the idiotic captions that also seem to be typical. It reads: "US President-elect Barack Obama, in black shirt, waves to a crowd of onlookers after playing golf at Mid Pacific Country Club in Kailua, Hawaii on December 24, 2008." Well, who in the hell else would Barack be in that photo? Any of the folks I've circled there? Probably not. I'm surprised they didn't caption the photo below with: "US President-elect Barack Obama, in White Sox cap, is seen on Wednesday. That's right. Wednesday."

In addition to stating the obvious in photo captions, the media seems to be bent on letting us know way too many details about what Barry is wearing. Well, they don't go as far as 'boxers or briefs', but I can see what the man is wearing. I don't need to read what the man is wearing. But the media seems to think I do need to read about it. " Obama was wearing a casual cream-colored shirt tucked into olive shorts, and sandals." Oh, well, thank God it was tucked in! For cryin' out loud. Frankly, looking at him, reading about him, it doesn't matter which one it is because I don't care what he's wearing. As long as everything that's supposed to be covered up is, I'm good with that. He could give the State of the Union Address wearing a towel and flip-flops for all I care. But if he did, all of the newscasts would be reporting that "President Barack Obama wore a Martha Stewart, olive green, extra fluffy bath sheet around his waist and navy blue flip-flops by Ocean Pacific to address the nation last night. The water he used to take his shower was composed of two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen. Back to you.")

One thing I have learned from the 24/7 Barry coverage is that when this man is finally sworn in as President, they have got to find that man a caddy. Look at this! Carrying six clubs in one hand? Does the man not have a golf bag? Where are the Secret Service guys? Shouldn't they be doing something about that? (I know their job is to protect him, but what if he trips and falls? He could impale himself and five bystanders with all of those clubs there. The Secret Service should be protecting him from himself!

Whilst in Hawaii, there was a power outage that effected the whole island of Oahu. Nearly all 293,000 residents were without power for about 11 hours, from 7 pm Friday to about 6 am on Saturday. Now, we've all lived through power outages, have we not? You'd think that a power outage was breaking news the way it was covered! "Transition officials would not say if generators had been installed, but an aide said no generators were used and the Obamas spent the evening in the dark." Huh. Funny. That's usually how most of my nights are spent....in the dark! When I sleep, it's dark as well! Quick! Stop the presses! It's dark when the Obamas sleep!

But really, the 'shave ice' coverage has got to go. First of all, look, I know it's Hawaii and I know it's hot there. (It's also rather humid.) But these people need to cut back on their "shave ice" consumption a bit. Every other photo I see is of Barry et al eating "shave ice". And maybe this wouldn't bug me so much if every media outlet felt the need to explain what a "shave ice" is with every damn photo of it. In case you've missed it, shave ice is "a local treat made from finely shaved ice and fruit syrup." Yeah, otherwise known over here on the mainland as a freaking Sno-Cone! (Say, instead of telling me what "shave ice" is, how about someone tell me what happened to the "d" at the end of "shaved"! Where did it go and why? When did "shaved ice" become "shave ice"? I did not get that memo.)

Seriously. Here's Barry with some shaved ice from the Koko Marina Shopping Center:

Here's Barry placing his shave ice order at Kokonuts Shave Ice and Snacks.

Here's Barry eating shave ice in August, 2008:

Here, you can see the shave ice actually being spooned into Barry's mouth!

Here's Barry with some green shave ice:

Do you see what I mean? It's ridiculous. (And it's also called a Sno-Cone!!)

This is only going to get worse if someone doesn't put the brakes on it now. When he's actually the President (instead of just doing a really good job of pretending he's the President) we're going to have to hear about every second of every day of every member of his family for the next four, possibly eight, years! From the time that he gets up in the morning (after spending the night sleeping in the dark) to what he has for breakfast, to what he feeds the dog. Oh! The dog! I forgot about the damn dog! There's going to be a dog in the White House and the media just loves a furry domesticated creature. Any kind of domesticated creature, just as long as it's furry as just as long as they can take pictures of the creature being cute with the other creatures; the children.

Maybe instead of all of the useless reporting, perhaps the media could use some of their investigative skills and find out what happened to that "d". Now that would be news I could use!

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