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I was recently moved to read a little piece of moral turpentine entitled “Dr. Tiller: Who will mourn your casualties?” So moved in fact, that I have humbly undertaken to pen a tribute. It is, with characteristic restraint, entitled:

Dr. Washington, What Would Minnie Think?

Characters

• Socrates, a Greek
• Dr. Ellis Washington, professor of law and political science at Savannah State University
• God, a god (mute part)
• Ghost of Stephen Douglass, a ghost (mute part)

~ Dialog ~

Socrates: Welcome, professor Washington. We are gathered here today to examine your life, and find out whether you feel remorse for what you have done.

Dr. Washington: {confident} I believe that I have done nothing to feel remorse for.

Socrates: Did you not write a dramatic dialog in which you put words into the mouth of a dead person? Words which any child knows he obviously would not have said?

Dr. Washington: Yes, I did.

Socrates: Do you feel no remorse for so cheap a rhetorical gimmick?

Dr. Washington: {remorsefully} Yes, I feel profoundly remorseful. It was the disputative equivalent of finding a picture of the man, and drawing on a Hitler mustache.

Socrates: Do you have anything to say in your defense?

Dr. Washington: {defensively} I often gratify myself sexually with a stuffed Mickey Mouse doll, to which I have attached a dildo.

God: {raises eyebrows}

Dr. Washington: Well I say a dildo, but it’s really more a kind of an arrangement of dildos. Its construction was quite involved.

Socrates: Let’s stick to the rhetorical issues. Pretty grade-school, isn’t it? Putting words into the mouths of those you disagree with and then responding?

Dr. Washington: {weeping} Oh, God! I’m sorry, so very, very sorry. Is there no redemption for me!?

God: {examines fingernails of left hand}

Socrates: Let you now submit to your judgment.

Ghost of Stephen Douglass: {teabags Washington vigorously}

Dr. Washington: It may a bit late to bring this up, but perhaps I should mention that I also gratify myself sexually by having short men put their…

Socrates: Thank you Dr. Washington, I think we’re finished.

Dr. Washington: {resignation, utter despair, profound silence, facial expression belying douchebaggishness}

FIN

One is practically driven to lament: O tempora o mores! (Oh Times, oh Daily Mirror!)

Today while I was shutting down my computer and getting ready to leave work I happened to hear a shared printer start to print off several sheets.

I had thought I was the last one in the office, so out of curiosity I went over to the printer to see who was printing. It turned out to not be anyone from my office at all. Instead I found that someone had decided to allow their middle-school daughter to use their laptop and VPN connection in order to finish a book report.

The report was a retrospective of how they felt Martin Luther King day has influenced them and their friends. It was actually quite an interesting read, since it included phrases such as “People are still broken into cliques and groups such as sluts, dweebs, goths, cheerleaders, bandos, wannabes, douchebags..” etc.

Well, seeing as how I was the last one in the office I grabbed a red pen and I graded the paper. I was not kind… I corrected lots of spelling/usage errors and wrote the question “Do members of these groups self-identify with the groups you placed them in?”

My fun almost complete, I tried to figure out what to do with the paper so I could teach the entire office a good lesson about letting others use their laptops. I was considering putting it on the copier glass, or perhaps hanging it on the bulletin board in the break room.

Then I read the last name of the student again. This was a high ranking person in my office, and I suddenly realized that public humiliation of this person would be very, very bad for me. So I marked the paper as a “B+” and put it in the Vice President’s mailbox. At least someone will appreciate my anonymous effort.

Its time for masturbatory roleplaying! The game where I take other people’s stories (told in confidence) and spin them around so they’re even more embarrassing!

Imagine you’re a 15 year old boy. You’re living in the Midwest in 1991 with too much time on your hands. Good internet porn is years away, and your dogeared Penthouse magazine is getting so worn that you end up having to imagine the naughty bits.

Anyway… like others your age you also have an overactive masturbation habit. At some point you have decided that the best way to disguise this habit is by purchasing a video game console! Your logic on this decision goes like this: You dont like your parents pounding on your door telling you that you’re going to Hell. If you have a game console you figure they’ll pound on your door to tell you you’re rotting your brain instead! Much less embarrassing!

Regardless of your reasoning, you pick up a job delivering newspapers in order to save up enough money for a Super Nintendo Entertainment System. This thing is state of the fucking art man, it just came out this year!

Unfortunately the ‘real’ paper delivery jobs seem too hard and require you to get up at 5am every morning. Thankfully, salvation appears in the form of the Country Shop Weekly! Yes! This is a paper that comes out once a week and only old ladies actually look forward to getting. There is no news inside… instead it is full of auction notices, postings for semi-permanent garage sales, and the occasional coupon. Perfect!

But you soon realize the error of your ways. A paperboy only has to deliver to houses that subscribe to the paper… but the Country Shop Weekly boy has to place a copy of the paper in every single mailbox in the neighborhood. Its tedious and takes up half of a Saturday!

You are suddenly resentful about the time you are missing out on while you’re delivering all of these papers. So, as time goes one you start to deliver less and less of them. Finally, after about two months, you are only delivering to a few neighbors and a couple of cranky old ladies.

You’ve got it made. Only 10 papers to deliver and 190 to hide every weekend. Wait… 190 to hide? FUCK! OK. OK. No problem. You can deal with this. You just have to keep calm man… Right. Now, time to stash the papers.

You get rid of about 10 to 15 with every garbage bag you take out. You ‘pretend you were given too many’ and shove 20 in the trash as soon as they’re delivered. You line your sock drawer with papers. You hide them under your bed. You hide them in your closet. You get desperate and start to shove some under your mattress and behind your dresser.

Then… in the final act of laziness, you start to hide them in your father’s workshop. “He’s hardly ever in here” you think. “He’ll just think they’re old newspapers” you think. But believe it or not, your dad is smarter than that. After only a few weeks he notices the growing pile of Country Shop Weekly papers in his workshop and comes into your room to speak to you about it.

He sits on your bed and… Well. No lessons were learned. He made you quit your job, but he didn’t make you admit to fraud or give the money back. You still got your Nintendo and you still get an allowance.

In fact, your allowance money is enough to refresh your porn stash. Now, if only you can get the Senior that buys the magazines for you to stop picking up Playgirl…

On the bright side, he was set for double coupon days.

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I’ve recently had some issues with my Microsoft mouse driver on an HP laptop running Windows Vista.

Details (and a resolution) here, if you’re interested.

Funny, it just works on my Ubuntu laptop.

I recently took a break from downloading Sarah Palin ‘look-alike’ pornography in order to go out to dinner with some friends. Unfortunately our first few restaurant choices had extremely long wait times, so we ended up at a kind of seedy joint that I had eaten at a few times in the past.

I had high hopes though. Not only were we seated immediately when every restaurant nearby was busy, but the waitress gave the six of us a single menu to share amongst us. I remember thinking to myself “How much more perfect can this place get?”

That’s when it happened… that’s when a woman left the kitchen and started to clean a booth nearby.

She was a vision, sashaying around in blue hair and support hose. This beauty couldn’t have been a day over 95. After teasing us all by bending over the table and ineffectually wiping parts of it off, she looked over her shoulder and her eyes caught mine. She lifted her face up to the ceiling and said in a husky voice that reached the ceiling tiles “We have Pepsi products” before knocking a piece of lettuce to the floor and moving on to the next booth. Off in the distance, tomorrow’s special barked.

I was smitten. I knew at that moment that I was in love with Pepsi. This woman proclaiming that her establishment was not only carrying Pepsi products, but doing so exclusively, well that only drove my desire that much more.

Suddenly one of my companions turned to me and asked me what was wrong. My reply was simple: “How can anything be wrong? We have Pepsi products”.

What a perfect day.

Apparently Marilyn chambers died today.

My mother called me today to chat, and happened to bring up this little tidbit. She then subjected me to a tale about accompanying my father to a showing of Behind the Green Door “In a real theater, not in a booth or from VCR”

When I failed to act shocked she told the story again, emphasizing that it was in 1973. Finally she told me that she would have to subject my sister to the same story soon because she would be completely scandalized. I encouraged her to go ahead and do that right away, since I really didn’t want to hear the story again.

The thought of my parents going to an adult theater (one year before they were married) does not shock or scandalize me. It just kind of creeps me out and makes me want to find a teddy bear to hug while I drink away the memory of the conversation.

Stories like that are similar to videos of old and saggy people fucking… once it has been seen it can not be unseen.

Still, Marilyn Chambers death fills me with sadness. I haven’t been this sad since Linda Lovelace died in April of 2002. Although, mentioning that does give me yet another chance to resurrect this old picture…

RIP, Marilyn. Here’s hoping that somewhere up there you’re getting a seven gun salute that would sell millions in Japan.

I’ve posted before about the dangers of allowing television and internet time to overlap.

I come to you with a fresh warning:
Do not watch the Disney channel immediately after viewing a large quantity internet pornography.

Kim Possible and The Emporer’s New School may take on subtexts that get kind of creepy. Its even creepier than a 30 year old man watching them to begin with…

I’d make an excuse about the remote being across the room, but I’d be lying. That shit is engrossing.

I always hear the stories of people proposing over Twitter. I’ve even read a few of the ‘tweets’ myself when someone has pointed them out to me.

My question is this: Has anyone that was proposed to over Twitter actually accepted?

Related: How many homicides have occurred thanks to Twitter marriage proposals?

So apparently $50 million in bailout bonuses have been recovered from AIG executives.

Another 30 million dollars may yet be recovered as the shame campaign works its way through the AIG ranks.

However, there is still no word on who authorized the payments to begin with and why they aren’t part of this shame campaign.

Kudos to those that returned the cash, though. Thank you for saving us from another two weeks of watching congress try to get the pigs back in the pen.