Wednesday, December 28, 2005
You'll have your FOUR HORSEMEN OF 2005 as soon as I get back from Wisconsin.
No Joke: Dave Barry Won't Resume Weekly Humor Column by Dave Astor at Editor and Publisher
I am sad. But also, glad for a man who has set me on my mission in life: non-partisan humor. Humor for the people, not humor for the dumb or humor for the intellectual. Humor that everyone can enjoy.
And I should be even more glad that he'll keep giving me bloggings, books, random columns, the Gift Guide, and the Year in Review. He hasn't abandoned me completely.
I can't end this very well, so I'll quote someone else... from Dave's Blog today, user Atticusser: "Now there really is nothing good in the newspaper. First Calvin and Hobbes, now Dave's column. I guess I'll just fade into illiteracy."
Monday, December 26, 2005
The Worst Job Ever
Shouldn't he be keeping track of all his "yes" answers, too?
Sunday, December 25, 2005
A very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all my readers, except the ones offended by those statements and would prefer me to retract those. To them, Happy Legal Holiday.
Please, keep track of our jolly St. Nick tonight. Keep your prayers with him, and the US will keep him escorted when needed. A while ago, he had an escort of F-16s... which I would think would be the best assignment ever.
NORAD Santa Tracker
Last we heard, he was getting close to Chicago.
Bethlehem Sees Largest Turnout Since 2000
Christmas spirit shines through again.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Some call me a romantic. I say I'm a passionate realist with ideals that are seldom, but sometimes, met.
Anyway, I've been thinking a lot about my heritage. One of the most important parts of that heritage is that my grandfather received an Iron Cross from the German army in WWI for his work driving his cart of wounded off the battlefield, and I don't know if I'll ever know what act actually got him this.
I know men can be honorable, in times of war even. They don't have to pick up guns to do it even, as I can imagine my grandfather didn't. That brings us to one of the greatest legends in the history of Western warfare:
The Christmas Truce
In World War I, some of the bloodiest battles with the most heartache and destruction in our history took place. And to make it worse... it was fought over nothing. Men died because they loved their friends, families, and... their countries. Their kings sent them to war, and they suffered in the trenches for it. This article's pretty good about summing it up, but I will mention a few things.
I know there is legend... but there is truth. People were there. People saw it. Men got to see what a common belief did. A common bond amongst enemies brought many together for a brief day. Christmas and its spirit did something good:
The British accepted the invitation and offered some tobacco as a return present. That evening, at the stated time, German heads suddenly popped up and started to sing. Each number ended with a round of applause from both sides.
The Germans then asked the British to join in. At this point, one very mean-spirited Tommy shouted: 'We'd rather die than sing German.' To which a German joked aloud: 'It would kill us if you did'.
And now, to close up this Christmas Eve post... the Royal Guardsmen:
The Baron had Snoopy dead in his sights
He reached for the trigger to pull it up tight
Why he didn't shoot, well, we'll never know
Or was it the bells from the village below.
Christmas bells those Christmas bells
Ringing through the land
Bringing peace to all the world
And good will to man
The Baron made Snoopy fly to the Rhine
And forced him to land behind the enemy lines
Snoopy was certain that this was the end
When the Baron cried out, "Merry Christmas, my friend"
The Baron then offered a holiday toast
And Snoopy, our hero, saluted his host
And then with a roar they were both on their way
Each knowing they'd meet on some other day.
Christmas bells those Christmas bells
Ringing through the land
Bringing peace to all the world
And good will to man.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Sorry for being update crazy today. But this one's not meant to be funny. Look to the other posts from today for funny.
Now I will tell you the story of two furry, bright-eyed creatures that had their lives saved. They were left on the street. In a PetCo box, to die. But someone came along and picked up the curiously clean box. Opening it up, two pairs of those bright eyes stared back at my dad. He brought them home, not a week after my high school graduation.
One was big, one was small. I named each for an ancient warrior king. Yes, I chose the names, and the big mouse would be Beowulf, and the small one would be David. Beo and Dave for short. Two cute little rodents of a type that I swore I'd never have more of: mice break your heart for being such great pets with such short lifespans. But how could I refuse two little refugees as fuzzy? And for the first time, I had two little mice that didn't bite me.
But mortality plays tricks on us all.
Thus made their mourning the men of Geatland,
for their hero's passing his hearth-companions:
quoth that of all the kings of earth,
of [mice and] men he was mildest and most beloved,
to his kin the kindest, keenest for praise.
To my little warrior: your bright eyes and gentle hop could show anyone what life really should be. Rest, little warrior-king: Beowulf of the race of Mice. We'll miss you, and I think your brother Dave will miss you most.
Beowulf - May 2004 - December 2005
Due to my lack of ambition right now to work on a webpage for this (and since I'm cleaning house anyway on doasis.com, this will be up for your viewing pleasure here.
Welcome to winter, my friends! Of course by now, I’m sure you’ve all noticed the bundle of joy God left on our earth in the form of an icy blanket of death and negative windchill temperatures, killing defenseless flowers and trees. You might say, “But fall’s not over, God!” but God wouldn’t hear you: He’s too busy getting ready to be born, according to our Christian friends’ faith!
That’s where we’re left: Christmas. The only holiday where we feel more stress than from the regular college-level course final—taken in a room filled with sex-crazed parakeets and at least two cougars. Mostly this anxiety is because I have to give gifts back, and so I have to get ready to give them back, but I also worry that I may be giving a gift to someone that didn’t buy one for me, and I damn well can’t go and return the gift at that point, since the recipient must’ve seen it by now… all in all, it would be a crippling neurosis in any culture but our own. It’s a damn shame psychologists haven’t classified this as insurance coverable yet.
There’s a certain strategy to it all. It becomes war when it hits the holidays, and I hope you can sell enough war bonds to pay off those debts later. A single person is given many choices… you have your Christmas cards and your gifts. You could skip all of that and bring food, possibly a nice cake, to your target’s Christmas party, but if you do that, you’re probably an asshole.
Christmas cards are your skirmishers and light infantry. These brave paper scraps are there for when you don’t want to get too far ahead of yourself. The card does work very well those for long-distance friendships and those obscure aunts and uncles who have not seen your child in the past ten years. Whoever you send the card to, they will likely not feel too bad (probably a little guilt, but not untreatable) they didn’t send you a card back. However, cards can lead to a false sense of security. You cannot counter a gift with a card, so if they send you a gift, BAM, you lose. You have to buy that person a New Year’s present.
Gifts are for the frontline. These grunts do most of the work, and they are the most strategically mind-numbing. There are so many different kinds of gifts—ranging from your plastic army men to your jeeps and tanks! Main thing is, you need to match your opponent’s firepower. The ultimate goal of this part of the war is to give a better gift than you receive and to not spend any more than your target. Equal price, cooler gift… got it?
The only exception to this rule is when you are a parent. If you’re seriously asking me whether this applies to your children (ages 21 and under), I will have to say, do you know your children are probably setting fire to the drapes (hopefully without them being wrapped around the dog) right now? Go attend to them, and tell your husband or wife to sign you up for some parenting classes! Oh, and go buy your kids an Xbox. That should keep them occupied and not poking the goldfish with forks.
Use a network of spies (i.e. spouses, children, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, mailmen, etc.) to get the best and most up-to-date information on This is where I remind you that, though it is cheating and unfair, war isn’t fair. Do your own reconnaissance! Make a surprise visit, perhaps when your opponent is at work, and happen upon that closet or backroom you’ve never seen before (twice, the last two Christmases). Valuable recon, as any general can tell you, will save a lot of mistakes and a lot on costly gifts.
In a prime example, the Soviet Union and the United States stopped speaking to each other when the US forgot to send a card in 1946. And every schoolchild knows one of the greatest strategic maneuvers in history was made by the giving of a great wooden horse to the Trojans. What isn’t mentioned in the story is that Troy brought a fruitcake and a bottle of wine to Agamemnon’s Christmas party. Troy was burnt to the ground.
War is hell, and so is gift-giving. So, back to my real message: Merry Christmas to all those in Iraq!
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Sunday, December 18, 2005
There's that holiday cheer!
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Obituary: Pat Morita
God rest ye, Pat Morita. Thank you for the wisdom, sensei.
Obituary: Richard Pryor
God rest ye, Richard Pryor. Thank you for the humor. I know some people will miss you even more than I will.
To two great men who died in the last weeks... goodbye. Join the stars in the Heavens, and keep them laughing and kicking straight.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Forbes just released my kind of list:
Forbes' Fictional Fifteen