You sure don't disappoint.

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Or there could be meaning in yarn.

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Seriously dudes, you have to watch this.

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Mr. Business's current Power Point slide in the meeting here in the UK?
The title is: "WILDEST DREAMS???" for his plans for the next 3 fiscal years.
Ha.

During these day-long meetings, I always write words like passion, challenge, fiscal, team, P&L, etc on a piece of paper. Then, each time one of the words is said, it gets scratched off the paper. The fun never stops around here. Well it does stop tomorrow actually...

AHHHHHHHHHH 22 HOURS UNTIL AMERICA!!!

Crazy...

UPDATE: Ah! Bizbot Bingo! Great name. By the way, the 5 words above were already said. I'll start with your list now.

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What a happy kitty!

And this kitty pic is pretty good too, mattiefwighere.

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Bush Nominates First-Trimester Fetus To Supreme Court.

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I'm thinking about corn poopie, can't you tell? More ofoto pics up.

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My buddy Tom and I have this absurd method to sniff out liars. Because we both think poop is hilarious, the method is composed of three simple questions. As anyone who has googled the effects of corn on the digestive system knows,

When we chew corn, the outer coating slips off the inner kernel. This outer yellow coating is almost entirely cellulose, and is indigestible. It passes through the gut untouched, and emerges looking like a whole kernel, although it is mostly just the outer skin. The inside of the kernel is starchy and digestible, and that is the part that we succeed in chewing up.

So have we established that when you eat corn you will see cellulose coating in the form of corn kernels in your poop? Great. The liars we drunkenly attempt to sniff out will deny the, ahem, very thorough scientific fact that people who eat corn will have corn poopie. Eat corn on the cob? Corn poopie. Corn chowder? Corn poopie. Salade niçoise? Bon app mes potes, but still: corn poopie. Ok, you get it. Cows, on the other hand, are digestively superior to us humans. They have I-can’t-even-count-that-high FOUR stomachs. This, of course, means that our corn kernel condoms are not safe. The hydrochloric acid (corndomicide?) of our friendly dairy cow from Stoughton gives the absurd line of questioning its key feature. Unless you are yourself a cow, approximately 12-14 hours after you have eaten corn, you will have corn poopie. I hope we’re all still in agreement here. So to sniff out a liar, you simply have to ask them if they’ve ever eaten corn and not had corn poopie. If they answer yes, they would have to be a corn poopie liar. Right? Right. Except! We have to close the loophole here. Cows can digest corn. Human can't. So you next question, naturally, has to be a cow/not a cow verification question. So it goes like this:

Question 1: Have you ever eaten corn?

Answer 1: No. (This is no longer an interesting conversation. Walk away/get another beer.)
Answer 2: Yes. (Ok good, next question.)

Question 2: Have you ever had corn poopie?

Answer 1: Yes. (This is no longer an interesting conversation. Walk away/get another beer.)
Answer 2: No. (Can i get a loophole closer?)

Question 3: Are you a cow?

Answer 1: Yes. (I keep hoping this scenario will happen but it never has.)
Answer 2: No.

Loophole closed! We have ourselves a Certified Corn Poopie Liar here, team. And that’s the game. After 7 years we’re still not sick of it. So you can imagine my distress upon receiving this upsetting email from Tom today:

To: Annie
From: Tom
Date: September 14^th, 2005 12:59 am
Subject: i may be a cow

from the medical miracle department, i ate corn on sunday and monday and do not remember anything further about said corn. i.e., i never heard from or saw it again. i am scared. am i a cow?

tom

I asked him if I could post this, and he replied:

yes, but mind you, i am not joking. i am totally serious.

Can anyone explain Tom’s troubling digestive miracle? Has anyone else experienced such a phenomenon? Have we evolved to the point where we can reach the digestive Zen of cows?

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This is right on. The article talks about how most dudes and dudettes with ipods don't fill them up. I'm certainly never going to have 15,000 songs no matter how much the interwebs let me steal music. For one thing, my hard drive is full. Sorry, lappy is currently not accepting new music. For the next thing, I don't like the 60 gig ipod. There. I said it. It's too heavy. I liked the 15 gig four button row + scroll wheel better. And I don't need all the space. I consider myself to be a music "enthusiast" (as we qualify people in the world of selling passion), meaning a noticable amount of my free time is occupied by the hobby. In this sector: trying to find the next sonic thrill. Plus, having so much space dissuades one from organizing playlists and makes searching tedious. I just keep it on shuffle all the time which means I'm not listening to whole albums which means I'm being a lazy listener which I don't like. And I'm blaming it on the 60 gig rather than my child-of-the-interwebs-era attention span. Or I could blame it on Andrew Bird for setting a new standard for how many masterpieces must fill an album to make it worth listening to start to finish. Definitely not the last one-- that would be too unappreciative. I hope Andrew Bird and Neko Case get married. I would steal their baby. (Their solid gold baby.)

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I just wanted to copy that title somewhere. It has nothing to do with the picture and everything to do with the greatest mix CD title of all time I got in the mail last week (thanks brotherg). Seriously, anyone? Better mix CD title? Didn't think so.

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Want some new tunes in your tunebox? Pretty much every post is worth downloading fwighere.

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What's Jay Farrar been up to lately? Spilling the beans, dudes, spilling the beans:

Farrar tells journalist Antony DeCurtis that things started to unravel after he saw Tweedy stroke the hair of his girlfriend of seven years, Monica Groth (now his wife), as she was sleeping. "I found out later that he was telling her stuff, like, he loves her," says Farrar, who attempted to quit the band the next day. Tweedy was devastated."

Well what did you expect him to do?

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I'll be done with my animal phase soon, I promise.



(But if you haven't had enough, read about donkey meat laced with tiger piss fwighere. Hi. I like gross things.)

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Who wants to learn this dance for the next dance party??
Oooh, coordination!

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Christopher Hitchens vs. Jon Stewart

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In June 2004, Walter Maestri, emergency management chief for Jefferson Parish, fretted to The Times-Picayune in New Orleans: "It appears that the money has been moved in the president's budget to handle homeland security and the war in Iraq, and I suppose that's the price we pay. Nobody locally is happy that the levees can't be finished, and we are doing everything we can to make the case that this is a security issue for us."

Hurricanes, skyrocketing gas prices, anger about the war in Iraq, dead Supreme Court chief justice... Are you guys ok over there?

UPDATE: Holy shit, you've got to listen to the audio feature in this article. Wow.

And plus? Babs Bush? Fuck you. The modern Marie Antoinette had this gem to say about the hurricane survivors:

"And so many of the people in the arena here, you
know, were underprivileged anyway, so this--this (she
chuckles slightly) is working very well for them."

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Not to worry about the atmosphere. I would agree.

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Happy Third of September.

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So, I'm moving, right? And since part of my job is logisics I know a few people in the biz. We have a third party logistics company doing our European warehousing and the owner thinks I'm tops because I chose their company when we were changing warehouses earlier this year. When he found out I needed help moving my boxes and my unnecessary-and-annoying-but-sentimentally-valuable purple couch, he offered to bring a couple dudes and do the heavy lifting. Great. Deal. At the same time, my street is being rebuilt so there is jackhammer construction all day every day starting at exactly 6am. There are several cranes so close I could spit on them from my window.
See?



So Sebastian, a friend of Romino's staying for the weekend, came up with the hot idea to ask the construction workers if we couldn't load the couch out the window onto the crane to avoid the extensive project of moving the couch down two sets of supersteep supernarrow supertwisted Dutch staircases. I thought it was brilliant but the pirates of Rotterdam just looked at us like we were crazy and said No Way Jose. A few minutes later, the guys were hauling off boxes on the street below my apartment and, standing in the window two floors up, I wondered aloud what they wanted in exchange for participating in Hot Couch Plan 2005 since pirates are evidently not naturally helpful. All three warehouse guys, people I work with professionally on a daily basis, turned and looked up at the window in disbelief and disapproval when I turned to Seb and said loudly enough for everyone including the construction workers to hear, "Well what do they want, blowjobs all around?"

My hand flew straight to my mouth and I ran away upstairs to type this and I'm not going back down again until they are gone. Not smooth. Not smooth at all. Sometimes I wish I was mute instead of deaf.

The couch is still here. This is maybe not one of my best plans. Also the boys left at least 75 kilos of pot sitting on the coffee table from last night so thank jesu that's legal. Ei ei ei...

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