It’s always a surprise. I’m lounging in St Paul with an iced tea, browsing the City Pages, the news and arts weekly, and after reading a good article about the recent pharmaceutical debacle with levaquin, I turn the page, and there’s my name. dang, that’s right — I’m expected to perform.
It’s true, and it has been empirically evaluated: Guinness really does taste better in Ireland.
The results of the Guinness-tasting t-test were clear. Pints consumed in Ireland had a mean GOES score of 74, compared with a score of 57 in pubs outside Ireland. While Ireland may not necessarily keep the best stuff to itself, the science is clear: Guinness tastes better over here.
Being a Man of Science myself, of course, I’m not going to simply accept this claim, but will have to engage in some spot-testing and verification next week in Dublin.
…the fear he fosters spreads around the world.
This woman, fearful of the end of the world, took a boxcutter to the throats of her two daughters, and then sliced her own throat. This is what religion encourages: fear based on imaginary terrors.
Here’s a man who committed suicide in Nairobi. Here’s a family torn by parents who gave away everything to Camping; the mother said a daughter would be left behind…at least she didn’t try to cut her throat.
I want to see Harold Camping prosecuted for bilking people out of their money, for destroying lives and families. I want to see his radio empire dismantled and the people who promoted his lies disgraced and ashamed.
It won’t happen.
I’m busy in DC this weekend, so I thought I might just dick with you all by letting Pharyngula go dead for the whole weekend, as if I’d been raptured. But I decided to be nice and at least mention that I’m still earthbound. (Although there was a scary moment on the plane last night, when something went bump-bump-crunch-thumpety-thump over by the right engine at 30,000 feet, and the pilot came on to announce, “Nothing to worry about, folks, we just mumbley-mumbley throttles mumble flanges something or other Jeffries tubes, but don’t fret, we have “procedures” — just fasten your seat belts, please.” And then we landed and didn’t die in a fiery flaming fireball of fire, so I guess it all turned out OK. And there was a fire truck hanging out by the right engine afterwards, which was reassuring.)
Anyway, Roy Zimmerman!
Of course, I could still dick with you by going silent after 6pm Eastern, when the Rapture is supposed to hit the East coast, but since Australia and New Zealand are still there and report nothing has happened, I suppose any joking around has been blunted.
Although…Australasia and Asia and Europe are all full of funny heathens, anyway, so you wouldn’t expect them to notice a Rapture. It’s only when the Republicans get picked up that it will be obvious.
It’s a great lead: Atheists have better sex. Sign me up already.
Put it on billboards, too.
It’s embarrassing. Not only do we have Michele Bachmann, but the last election swept in a gang of know-nothing Rethuglican scum who’ve been trying to turn our state into Texas. Now they’ve invited the notorious evangelical crank Bradlee Dean to give an opening prayer. Dean, for those who don’t know of him, is a kind of Vox Day impersonator—he’s a raving homophobe with a parasitic ministry that targets public school. He puts on school assemblies that are nominally about fighting drugs and promiscuity, but are actually come-to-Jesus sessions. We see his vans tooling about on the highways now and then: “you can run but you can’t hide”, they proclaim.
Dean delivered his prayer, and it was a doozy.
I know this is a non-denominational prayer in this Chamber and it’s not about the Baptists and it’s not about the Catholics alone or the Lutherans or the Wesleyans. Or the Presbyterians the evangelicals or any other denomination but rather the head of the denomination and his name is Jesus. As every President up until 2008 has acknowledged. And we pray it. In Jesus’ name.
It was so offensive that one of the legislators vowed to never let him give a prayer in chambers ever again. How about going one step further and excluding all prayers from the legislature?
The CDC has issued a preparedness warning for the Zombie Apocalypse. I’m stockpiling water and shotgun shells now. Remember, AIM FOR THE HEAD.
He came to Minneapolis to whimper about gay marriage, and he got glittered.
Although the guy at the end who menacingly claims that they [Republicans?] don’t disturb their [gay?] events is rather creepy. I think the fact that they want to police what goes on in the bedroom goes beyond disturbing.
The Endless Thread is showing signs of stress and fatigue. I know, it wants to keep working, and it would probably willingly continue to sit there at its desk, scribbling madly, until it had a heart attack and keeled over, but as a kindly taskmasker hoping to wring a few more years of cheap labor out of it, I had to do something.
So I cashed in my frequent flyer miles and am sending the Thread to an exotic tropical island for a month.
Just imagine the Thread lying contentedly in a hammock on a sunny beach, with beautiful bikini-clad women and topless buff men bringing it sweet drinks in a coconut (with an umbrella!) all day long. It’s under orders to not say a word, to not even write a postcard back. Then, after days of languorous idleness beneath blue skies and nights of sweet romance and heedless dreams, it will come back refreshed and cheerful, ready to talk about nothing but fun and joy, and to embrace old friends once again.
I wish I were going now.
Perhaps you want to say goodbye and get in a few last words before departure, but no…I know how these prolonged farewells can drag on and on, so I’ve whisked the thread away under cover of night. You’ll have to content yourself with many alohas when it returns in June.
Bon voyage!
Everyone go say Happy Birthday to Larry Moran!
