John McCain wants to privitize social security.
Can you imagine what would happen to this world if the wizards on Wall Street created a private social-security company and then pulled a Fannie, Merrill or Lehman?
Gosh. That would be...bad.
Monday, September 15, 2008
In Which I Get Arrested.
I would like to believe that when most people think of me, they don’t imagine a man who runs into problems with the law. (Right?) Well, for the most part, that's true. Except for this one thing...
It was a cold Sunday evening in February and I was on my way to a Christmas party. You see, for those of us in the restaurant industry, we don’t celebrate Christmas—we work it. And when it comes to any type of work function to celebrate the season, it’s not for weeks until after holidays are over that we actually get together to kick back our feet and drink a few too many beers.
So once arriving at my destination, a bar in the Arena District, I reached for my ID and realized I left my wallet at my house. Silly me! I fortunately only lived a few streetlights away, so I hopped back into my car and drove back to find it.
As I was dialing my best friend Tonia to let her know I was going to be late, I suddenly saw lights flashing in my rear view mirror. I hadn’t been speeding, I certainly hadn’t been drinking, and I could think of no reason I was being pulled over—well, except that I didn’t have a license on me.
“Tonia, shit, I’m getting pulled over.” And I hung up.
The police officer, a tall, younger man with short shaved hair, strolled up to my car and lightly tapped on my window. “License, registration and proof of insurance, please.” He spoke nonchalantly, chomping on some gum and not even looking me in the eye. He had that slight twang in his voice; not a southern dipthong, but more along the lines of a boy who grew up in Grove City, Ohio.
“Sure, officer, but may I ask why I am being pulled over?”, meanwhile trying to figure out how I was going to explain to him why I didn’t have my license.
“Your tags. They’re expired.”
“But that’s impossible, I got them just over a year ago!”
“Yeah, exactly. They’re only good for one year.”
My eyes stared dumbfounded back at him. I had only been in Ohio for a year, and back home in Maryland you only had to register your tags every two years. In all sincerity I had no idea.
I explained to him the situation, which he understood. “Still, I need to see your license, registration and proof of insurance.”
“Ok, well, officer, that’s the thing—I’m on my way now to get my license. I left my entire wallet at home. But I only live up the street!”
“Sir, it’s no big deal. What about your insurance?”
“Officer, honestly, my Geico ID card is in my wallet.”
“God, it’s not your day, is it?” The officer said, smirking and finally looking me in the eye. “Let me just see your registration and I’ll let you be on your way.”
I reached into the glove compartment and found the registration, which I handed to him. He walked back to his car and sat for a few minutes. I rested there relatively smoothly, knowing that when he returned to my car I’d be allowed to get back on the road, grab my wallet and return to the party.
Distinctly, I remember the way he walked back to my car: the frivolity was gone; the smirk he wore had disappeared. Now, he walked stern, fast, angered. Instead of a light tap on my window, it was a pound.
“Sir, state to me your name and social security number.” The officer yelled, Grove City drawl gone.
“Chris Hooker! Nine-two-nine-seven…”
“Sir, step out of the car.”
“Excuse me?”
“IT WILL BE IN YOUR BEST INTEREST TO DO AS I SAY.”
I jumped out of the car, only to be thrown against the door I had just shut. “Sir, you are under arrest.”
“Officer, what did I do?”
“Operation of a stolen vehicle, false identity…”
“Stolen? What? I own this car!”
The officer said nothing further as he clamped the cuffs around my wrists. He had them so tight I felt a sharp sting against my skin. The blood was losing circulation to my hands. It was not just merely uncomfortable; it hurt enough to shut me up.
He roughly dragged me back to his cop car and threw me into the back seat. “Officer, what is going on?”
“Sir, this vehicle you are driving is not registered to a Chris Hooker, nor to the social security number you provided. You have expired tags, you do not have a license, nor do you have proof of insurance. And, though this is not as important, you’re missing a front headlight.”
I had no idea what to say, because everything he said was true—except that I owned the car. This was just a terrible misunderstanding, one that even I had not understood.
“Officer, what is the social security number?”
“Two-seven-four…”
I recognized the number, but I had no idea why. My parents had not co-signed my car, but for some reason I thought it could have been their social. I sat their in silence, maybe uttering a “umm” or two. “Officer, I think that is, umm, my step-father’s…”
“Huh? You think?”
“Well, it just sounds like it.”
“So what do you want me to do about it?”
“Call him. Ask him his social.”
The officer adjusted his mirror to look at me in the reflection. He let out a deep breathe and said, “Fine, kid, you get one call. If he doesn’t pick up, I’m driving off.”
Those few seconds were probably the most stressful moments of my life. I have never had so much staking on my step-father picking up his phone. And, considering my step-father is the kind that frequently turns off his cell-phone for no reason at all, I was thoroughly terrified.
He picked up.
“This is Stan.”
“Hi there Stan, this is Officer McBride. I have your son.”
“Oh Lord, what has he done?”
“Before I answer that, tell me your social.”
If I hadn’t been cuffed, I would have been biting my nails. The agony was culminating to this very second. If I was wrong, and that was not his social security number, it was off to jail for me.
“Two-seven-four…”
“Well, I’ll be damned…” The officer said. It was exactly my step-father’s social.
After a few more minutes of talk, we discovered what had happened. When I registered the tags, I presented my military ID, since my step-father was retired navy. That ID card presents two social security numbers—my step-father’s, since he was the actual retiree, and me, the dependent. When they registered my vehicle, they must have accidently misread the ID card and typed in the wrong social security number.
The officer got off the phone with my step-father and then turned around to speak to me, “So, son, you’re kind of lucky today. Except for one major problem—how can you prove any of this?”
Fuck. I wanted to scream it.
“I mean, kid, you have no proof of anything and then you give me some number to call in which some guy magically knows the right numbers…and you expect me to believe it?”
Fuck. I almost screamed it.
“On top of that, your license isn’t even coming up in Ohio. I found a 19-year-old Chris Hooker in Maryland, but that license was registered years ago. If that’s you, and you’ve been living here in Ohio for at least a year, that is another punishable offense. You are required by law to change IDs within three months of moving. In a court of law they can fine you $3000 and make you spend up to 3 months in prison.”
I didn’t know what to say. Everything he was saying was true—but it came from sheer ignorance, not from flippant indolence. I truthfully had insurance, a valid license (in my mind), valid tags (in my mind) and I certainly owned the car. From his perspective, though, things looked far worse.
“Kid, let me ask you something—where were you going?”
“A work Christmas party.”
He arched his neck back around and gave me a bewildering and confused look. “A Christmas party in February? You’ve got to be making this shit up.”
“No, no, really! It’s a restaurant thing.” I said, hoping that maybe if he got to know even a little about me he’d realize I wasn’t the type to steal a car—much less one that had invalid tags!
“So, where do you work then?”
“The Ocean Club at Easton. I also work at Cheesecake Factory.”
That’s when he slouched a bit and that smirk popped back onto his face.
“Oh, boy. I bet that’s a fun job.” He said, chuckling all the while. “Do a lot of those coloreds come in?”
If it were possible, I think my eyes would have fallen out of my head. I could not believe that a cop just asked me if “coloreds” ate at my restaurant.
“Umm…excuse me?”
“Yeah, you know, I’ve been there. Cheesecake Factory. They’re always there. They just love it. So loud and yelling and shit. Do they always ask for extra shit?”
I was at a loss for words. I had the most racist man I had seen in years just burping out some nonsense to me—yet at the same time, I had an opportunity. One that I knew I had to take. If it was $3000 in fines and 3 months in jail, or the loss of my dignity…well, my dignity was far easier to restore! Like they say, ‘it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission’.
My dignity was taken and sold at a low-low price, and that’s when I burped out the same drivel right back at him. “Oh, god, you know they love them some extra shit! Extra hot wings with extra blue cheese, extra ranch on their salad with extra bacon, extra bread with extra butter! And, do I get an extra tip for any of this extra shit? Hell no! I'm excited if I even get a tip!"
The cop could not stop snickering. I, on the other hand, could not have felt worse--but I continued on. "They always roll up into Cheesecake and they’ll be like, “Man…I want me a boof’!”
The officer just busted out laughing, even clapping his hand. “’Boof’…ha ha ha, is that for ‘booth’? That’s classic! Did no one teach them grammar when they went to school?”
“School?”, I interjected, “School? You know they never went to school!”
Oh I had him with that one. He just let out a howl as if I was the funniest person he had spoken to in years. “Oh, my…that’s…I can’t even breathe!”
I immediately piped in and told him the true story of when I waited on Lebron James and the fiasco that ensued. ‘The King’ and some other Cleveland Cavaliers went to Easton picking up random girls and decided the best way to woo them over was buying them a free dinner at Cheesecake Factory. There were 16 of them total and they ran me around for Strawberry Lemonade as if I were a homeless man at the last call of an all-you-can-eat buffet. The Cavs who were of drinking age opted out of ordering a bottle of wine—but instead ordered a bottle of Hennessey. No joke. And, I swear to God, they asked for Kool Aid with it.
The cop could not get enough of it. He thought I was the funniest thing since Harold and Kumar. After finishing my story, he looked at me in his mirror, directly in my eye, and said, “You know, kid, you’ve got a lot against you. You have no ID, no real registration, no proof of insurance, you don’t have an Ohio license, your tags are expired and even your front headlight is out. On top of that, the registration you provided me has very conflicting information. Everything I know is saying your stole this car. However, for some odd reason…I believe you. Maybe it’s cause you’re funny as hell, I don’t know, but kid…I’m letting you go this time. You have one week to come to the station and prove to me everything that you are saying is true. If you don’t, I’ll come for you and put you away for a year.”
And just like that he hopped out the car, uncuffed me and let me go on my way. With my dignity diminished, my spirits low, and my mind disillusioned, I pulled myself back into my car. I drove home, shaking, and eventually found my ID. Then, not surprisingly, I took a deep breathe, put my jacket back on...and headed straight back to the bar. Because after a night like that, I think anyone would need a drink, and of course, an audience to listen to the tale.
In Eight Years...
...can you imagine how fugly this face will get?
In a questionable move, photographer Jill Greenberg was hired by The Atlantic magazine to shoot photos for McCain's cover feature. However, unbeknownst to him and the magazine, she deliberately took unflattering photos of him, later posting them on her website with a little photoshop touches added. For example:
But that one is merely the truth. The next one is hardly as subtle.
Hmph. I'm torn. I loathe the guy, but at the same time I don't believe he is a bloodthirsty warmonger. I do believe he loves this country and wants to fix the past eight years. I dislike this almost as much as I dislike the Obama Waffles debacle.
Lastly, I'm a little curious why she would make such a bold and media-covered move, yet make an egregious mistake: she spelled it warmongerer instead of the correct warmonger. It's just one "er", not two.
Am I the only that noticed that?
(Via Joe.My.God)
In a questionable move, photographer Jill Greenberg was hired by The Atlantic magazine to shoot photos for McCain's cover feature. However, unbeknownst to him and the magazine, she deliberately took unflattering photos of him, later posting them on her website with a little photoshop touches added. For example:
But that one is merely the truth. The next one is hardly as subtle.
Hmph. I'm torn. I loathe the guy, but at the same time I don't believe he is a bloodthirsty warmonger. I do believe he loves this country and wants to fix the past eight years. I dislike this almost as much as I dislike the Obama Waffles debacle.
Lastly, I'm a little curious why she would make such a bold and media-covered move, yet make an egregious mistake: she spelled it warmongerer instead of the correct warmonger. It's just one "er", not two.
Am I the only that noticed that?
(Via Joe.My.God)
"Value" Voters Sure Love Their Racism!
"If these represent the values of the “Values Voters”, I know all I need to know about their values." -Rick Wingrove, speaking about the recent Obama Waffles flop.
If you hadn't heard, some whackjob Christians at the Values Voters summit in Washington D.C. put together a marketing campaign, Obama Waffles, which picture Obama as a Muslim with a sign saying, "Point box toward Mecca for Tastier Waffles". It also states, "Best if used before November 4th, 2008". It has a sultry picture of Michelle Obama saying "They're selling like hot cakes!"
The mere assertion of "Values Voters" is beyond me. The implication is that they are above the rest of us; their vote is based on some moral code, while the rest of us are a bunch of heathen non-value voters. We who care that every American has health insurance, are the ones void of values. We who would rather work to improve a criminal instead of just killing them off, are the ones bereft of virtue. And we who want equality for all people, are the godless sinners who care nothing for right or wrong.
And they say they come with humility. What mindless arrogance to boast of yourself as the only voters with values and then simultaneously proclaim that our murdering of innocent Iraqis is just, that our 46 million uninsured Americans is simply a "dip" in the free market, that the poor are just a bunch of lazy fucks and that homosexuals choose their lifestyle and thus don't deserve any type of rights or even representation under the law.
It's a pity there really isn't a hell.
If you hadn't heard, some whackjob Christians at the Values Voters summit in Washington D.C. put together a marketing campaign, Obama Waffles, which picture Obama as a Muslim with a sign saying, "Point box toward Mecca for Tastier Waffles". It also states, "Best if used before November 4th, 2008". It has a sultry picture of Michelle Obama saying "They're selling like hot cakes!"
The mere assertion of "Values Voters" is beyond me. The implication is that they are above the rest of us; their vote is based on some moral code, while the rest of us are a bunch of heathen non-value voters. We who care that every American has health insurance, are the ones void of values. We who would rather work to improve a criminal instead of just killing them off, are the ones bereft of virtue. And we who want equality for all people, are the godless sinners who care nothing for right or wrong.
And they say they come with humility. What mindless arrogance to boast of yourself as the only voters with values and then simultaneously proclaim that our murdering of innocent Iraqis is just, that our 46 million uninsured Americans is simply a "dip" in the free market, that the poor are just a bunch of lazy fucks and that homosexuals choose their lifestyle and thus don't deserve any type of rights or even representation under the law.
It's a pity there really isn't a hell.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Applause to Thomas L. Friedman.
The author of The World is Flat and columnist Thomas L. Friedman has an incredible insight about the current happenings in this election. It is a must read.
And now, I'm off to Chicago.
And now, I'm off to Chicago.
Chi-Town Visit!
I leave for Chicago in less than 5 hours! My bags are packed, my house is cleaned, my trip confirmed...seems like everything is in place!
Well, minus the windstorm that knocked over a tree and thus killed my power.
I'm writing from the SEL (Science and Engineering Library @ Ohio State) and luckily this mammoth of a building is keeping me nice and cozy. However, The Oval is tore up from the winds, trees are uprooted everywhere and also my car almost got trampled by a tree (my car was about five feet from being smashed!).
I'm leaving this evening for Chi-Town via the Megabus. My roundtrip ticket cost me $30! On top of that, I'm trying to have the cheapest yet greatest vacation ever. How much am I bringing? You'll think I'm crazy, but I'm only bringing $100 for four days in Chicago. I'll be living off of Ramen and a flask of Kamchatka, but I don't care. I'd rather be poor and have my bills paid than live lavishly without electricity! And fortunately I'll be staying with my good friend Michelle, where I'll be able to cook my Ramen and pasta-san-sauce, so I'm certain between all the great (free) things to do in Chicago, I'll be quite content.
And lastly, I'll be blogging a lot over the next few days. Why? Oh, because I won't be able to afford anything else!
Well, minus the windstorm that knocked over a tree and thus killed my power.
I'm writing from the SEL (Science and Engineering Library @ Ohio State) and luckily this mammoth of a building is keeping me nice and cozy. However, The Oval is tore up from the winds, trees are uprooted everywhere and also my car almost got trampled by a tree (my car was about five feet from being smashed!).
I'm leaving this evening for Chi-Town via the Megabus. My roundtrip ticket cost me $30! On top of that, I'm trying to have the cheapest yet greatest vacation ever. How much am I bringing? You'll think I'm crazy, but I'm only bringing $100 for four days in Chicago. I'll be living off of Ramen and a flask of Kamchatka, but I don't care. I'd rather be poor and have my bills paid than live lavishly without electricity! And fortunately I'll be staying with my good friend Michelle, where I'll be able to cook my Ramen and pasta-san-sauce, so I'm certain between all the great (free) things to do in Chicago, I'll be quite content.
And lastly, I'll be blogging a lot over the next few days. Why? Oh, because I won't be able to afford anything else!
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Whoopi--WILL YOU MARRY ME?!
Whoopi Goldberg has long been my hero. Ever since Sister Act she has been my absolute favorite person in Hollywood. And yesterday on The View, she absolutely blew me away. When John McCain said he would overturn Roe vs. Wade, calling it a "bad decision", Whoopi interjected, "Should I be worried about returning to being a slave?"
Whoopi Goldberg, I'd like to put it out there--will you marry me? No, seriously, will you? I'll drop out of school, quit my job and we can run off to anywhere you want. I'll cook your breakfast and make your coffee. I'm not very good at folding or ironing, but I'm sure I can learn. And I'm witty! I've got wit for days. I'm sure that's enough to bring to the table...right?
Whoopi Goldberg, I'd like to put it out there--will you marry me? No, seriously, will you? I'll drop out of school, quit my job and we can run off to anywhere you want. I'll cook your breakfast and make your coffee. I'm not very good at folding or ironing, but I'm sure I can learn. And I'm witty! I've got wit for days. I'm sure that's enough to bring to the table...right?
Friday, September 12, 2008
Sarah Palin: I'm Clueless!
If you had any hope that Sarah Palin knew a shred about what's going on in the world, you might want to kiss that hope goodbye. When asked about her stance on "The Bush Doctrine", Sarah replied, "In what respect, Charlie?", as in, "Charlie, what's that?"
I'm a 23 year-old student slash part-time blogger and I knew what the bush doctrine was. She is a possible future leader of this nation and she doesn't even know simple CNN-esque vernacular? Yet again her lack of preparation for the presidency absolutely terrifies me.
I'm a 23 year-old student slash part-time blogger and I knew what the bush doctrine was. She is a possible future leader of this nation and she doesn't even know simple CNN-esque vernacular? Yet again her lack of preparation for the presidency absolutely terrifies me.
I'm Calling BULLSHIT.
Forbes has produced yet another list, but this time it is their list of the country's greatest universities--and I'm calling it bullshit. Their methodology involves ranking the Universities by number of rhodes scholars or nobel prize winners, number of alumnus on the Who's Who List of Americans, and also percentage of students who graduate within four years. I know you're thinking it, too--WTF?!
They have The Ohio State University, an internationally recognized research institution, ranked at #292. Although we are the flagship University of the state of Ohio and a member of the revered Big Ten, they put tiny and unknown all-male Wabash College way ahead of us. They ranked it #12.
Speaking of the Big Ten, University of Minnesota, the fourth largest school in the country, was ranked at #524, and University of Wisconsin-Madison, a beacon of prestige, was ranked at #335. Honestly, this is outrageous. They even have the historically significant Howard University ranked at #560!
I'm amazed that they even published this list. Not only because of my Buckeye Pride, but because this list could not be any more bogus. It's insulting to see the well-respected University of Maryland at College Park at #410 and then never-heard-of Occidental College almost 200 places above it at #233. Ridiculous!
They have The Ohio State University, an internationally recognized research institution, ranked at #292. Although we are the flagship University of the state of Ohio and a member of the revered Big Ten, they put tiny and unknown all-male Wabash College way ahead of us. They ranked it #12.
Speaking of the Big Ten, University of Minnesota, the fourth largest school in the country, was ranked at #524, and University of Wisconsin-Madison, a beacon of prestige, was ranked at #335. Honestly, this is outrageous. They even have the historically significant Howard University ranked at #560!
I'm amazed that they even published this list. Not only because of my Buckeye Pride, but because this list could not be any more bogus. It's insulting to see the well-respected University of Maryland at College Park at #410 and then never-heard-of Occidental College almost 200 places above it at #233. Ridiculous!
Biker Hits Bear.
No, that didn't read, "Biker hits on bear"; a cyclist in Montana ran into a bear.
A middle school teacher suffered some bruising and a big scratch on his back after he struck a bear while riding his bicycle to school.Oh, this was so close to being a great candidate for The Darwin Awards!Jim Litz said he was traveling about 25 mph Monday morning when he came upon a rise and spotted a black bear about 10 feet in front of him. He didn't have time to stop and T-boned the bruin.
He tumbled over the handlebars, his helmet hit the bear's back and the two went cartwheeling down the road.
The bear rolled over Litz's head, cracking his helmet, and scratched his back before scampering up a hill above the road.
Can a Cake Be Offensive?
So help me out on this one--is this cake irreverent? I can understand that the pastry chef was trying to offer some form of compassion to those lost on 9/11, but at the same time...can anyone honestly eat a bite of the World Trade Center? Comment and let me know what you think--offensive or apropos?
Oh, and let's really hope they didn't put candles on it.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
So THAT'S Why They're Wild!
Growing up, my favorite book was "Where the Wild Things Are". As if the Whitney Houston albums and Cat Woman Halloween costumes weren't enough, turns out that even my favorite book should have been a sign that I was gay--the author Maurice Sendak just came out!
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
The Reason I Don't Believe in God.
Sometimes I'm asked why I don't believe in God. People are just absolutely dumbfounded that I do not believe in any form of higher power. I do not believe in some esoteric form of energy, not some external observer, not a man in the clouds...nothing. I do not believe in any supernatural being whatsoever.
And so people drill me and ask me how I could live without God, how I can look around me and see so much beauty in the Universe and still not see what they see. They ask me to name one reason why I don't believe in God, and my answer is always simple.
Onions. That's right. I do not believe in God because of Onions.
You see, Onions are the oldest vegetable known to man. They are ubiquitous in nearly every culture, therefore finding themselves nestled into every form of indigenous food preparations: they are diced in Mexican salsa, tossed in Asian pan-fried noodles, form the base of Indian curry, are used in nearly all Italian sauces and basically are found the world over. Yet if a God did design onions, the oldest and most widely used vegetable humanity has ever known, why did he do so in such a poor manner? Consider that when you slice an onion, the cells release a toxic gas that forms sulphenic acid. The spontaneous and erratic behavior of this volatile gas eventually strikes the human eye and causes a dampened source of sulfuric acid boiling your eyes away. The nerve endings in the back of your eyes start to burn, and your tear glands react in order to dilute the acid in your eyes. Is this the "ultimate" design of God? Is this the best he can do? I mean, if he really is all-powerful and all-knowing, he should have thought that one out. How could God create an imperative design flaw for the most widely used vegetable in the world?
And then I begin thinking about other vegetables and fruits. Take coconuts. Have you ever tried to cut one? I've used a hammer and a baseball ball yet I still can't figure out how to open one of the damned things. How did God expect his creations to utilize coconuts 5,000 years ago with the limited knowledge they had then? And even if they could cut one of the annoying little brats open, do you see what little substance they provide? They're nearly entirely hollow and are pretty much useless, unless you feel two hours of banging a coconut is worth an ounce of coconut milk.
And then Pineapples! They're all prickly on the outside and they are impossible to open without a knife. Or what about Ginger--have you even seen what a Ginger Root looks like? I'll just throw it out there: PAIN IN THE ASS! Or, Apples--why would God make 4,000 types of Apples? Seems a bit over-the-top, especially since he can't even get Onions right.
Or, he just doesn't exist. I prefer that explanation.
And so people drill me and ask me how I could live without God, how I can look around me and see so much beauty in the Universe and still not see what they see. They ask me to name one reason why I don't believe in God, and my answer is always simple.
Onions. That's right. I do not believe in God because of Onions.
You see, Onions are the oldest vegetable known to man. They are ubiquitous in nearly every culture, therefore finding themselves nestled into every form of indigenous food preparations: they are diced in Mexican salsa, tossed in Asian pan-fried noodles, form the base of Indian curry, are used in nearly all Italian sauces and basically are found the world over. Yet if a God did design onions, the oldest and most widely used vegetable humanity has ever known, why did he do so in such a poor manner? Consider that when you slice an onion, the cells release a toxic gas that forms sulphenic acid. The spontaneous and erratic behavior of this volatile gas eventually strikes the human eye and causes a dampened source of sulfuric acid boiling your eyes away. The nerve endings in the back of your eyes start to burn, and your tear glands react in order to dilute the acid in your eyes. Is this the "ultimate" design of God? Is this the best he can do? I mean, if he really is all-powerful and all-knowing, he should have thought that one out. How could God create an imperative design flaw for the most widely used vegetable in the world?
And then I begin thinking about other vegetables and fruits. Take coconuts. Have you ever tried to cut one? I've used a hammer and a baseball ball yet I still can't figure out how to open one of the damned things. How did God expect his creations to utilize coconuts 5,000 years ago with the limited knowledge they had then? And even if they could cut one of the annoying little brats open, do you see what little substance they provide? They're nearly entirely hollow and are pretty much useless, unless you feel two hours of banging a coconut is worth an ounce of coconut milk.
And then Pineapples! They're all prickly on the outside and they are impossible to open without a knife. Or what about Ginger--have you even seen what a Ginger Root looks like? I'll just throw it out there: PAIN IN THE ASS! Or, Apples--why would God make 4,000 types of Apples? Seems a bit over-the-top, especially since he can't even get Onions right.
Or, he just doesn't exist. I prefer that explanation.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Only a Few Miles From My House...
And you have to ask why I want to leave Ohio?
The sign was meant to be "loving" according to the Pastor of Havens Corner Church, a church in Blacklick, Ohio. However, I'm just curious why they haven't had Church signs that share ALL of the warnings from the Bible? I've made a list of suggestions for next weeks marquee:
- "All-You-Can-Eat Shrimp at Red Lobster. Cost? HELL!" (Lev. 11:9-12)
- "Hanes' Soft Blended Shirts Won't Protect Your From The Flames of HELL!" (Lev 19:19)
- "'Every Kiss Begins with Kay', but Every Girl in Hell Has Gold Melted into Her!" (Timothy 2:9-10)
- "Bootylicious? It's ok, Destiny's Child is a Christian Band."
- "Salvation Drive Next Saturday! Can't Make It? Then Attend Our Local Stoning Next Sunday!" (Deut. 12:2-7)
- "If You Really Loved God You Wouldn't Let Your Cattle Graze Together." (Lev. 19:19)
What Alaskans Say About Sarah Palin.
The LA Progressive is featuring an article written by an active resident of Wasilla, Alaska, Anne Kilkenny. As an avid member of the community where Sarah Palin was mayor, Anne has known Sarah for 17 years. In this letter she lays out the truth--that Sarah Palin could be one of the worst things for The United States of America.
You have to read this article. Whoever you are voting for, make an informed decision. Acknowledge who would be a heartbeat from the Presidency. And then consider if that is someone you really want running this country.
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