Aha!

Hey jukebox guy, our bad.

So we looked in our wallet this morning and *then* we got it. One dolla dolla bill, ya'll. One. We had four when we walked into the bar last night (and no, we didn't need a drink *that* bad, silly).

This is so not a story about desolution and emptiness, because we got an ATM card, b*tches.

Anyway, when we went to the ol' jukebox, we pulled out two dollars, but did we? One must've dropped to the floor. Thus, jukebox guy gave it to us. Sure, he wasn't the best communicator in the world ("Here, fella, you dropped this," would've been nice), but his heart was in the right place.

***
Currently listening to: Birds chirping outside our window. And no, we don't wish they'd shut the f*ck up.

Sadly, does anyone give a sh*t?

So there's this.

To the jukebox guy

We're still confused.

All we wanted to do was eat in peace and maybe work a little bit on our presentation for tomorrow so we can become a teacher and actually go to work, well, happy.

We ordered a porter and our favorite sammich. Then we sauntered over to the ol' jukebox to play, in no particular order: Into the Mystic, Darling Nikki, Tuesday's Gone, Walkaways, Atlantic City, I Still Miss Someone and So Lonely.

And there you were, with your dollar bill and the lingering behind us. As we punched in the numbers for Tuesday's Gone, you put your dollar in the box. Confused, we asked if our second dollar had fallen to the floor. It hadn't.

"It's for you," you said, kind of creepily. "It's yours now."

"No," we said. "(We) mean was that our dollar? Did it fall onto the floor?"

"No," you said again. "It's your dollar now."

And then you walked away.

So we picked Dylan, the Stones and Men At Work, cautiously. Our sammich came a second later, and we continued on with the eating and the planning for the presenting and the enjoying our porter and all of these things.

And not one of our songs came on. Not one.

We're still confused.

Even coworkers get the blues

We'll do this right quick, because we don't really talk about what we really do in these here parts. So we'll do this in metaphor-speak, sort of.

Say you're 8. And when you're 8, you don't feel like going to school. So when you're 8, you wait until your parents leave for work, and then you decide to maybe miss the bus. Then you stay home and you don't tell anybody all morning.

And then maybe your teachers, sh*t, maybe your fellow li'l third-graders, begin to worry so, so the school calls you at home and leaves a message on your answering machine, which we guess people still have.

Anyway, the school maybe leaves a message reminding you that it's a school day and nobody called you in sick. So miraculously, 10 minutes later, your parents call your school to tell your teacher and fellow students that you are indeed sick, and you won't be in school for the day.

Forget that thing you had to do first thing in the morning, that of course one of your fellow students steps in for you, again. Nevermind that school starts everyday at 8:15 and this all happens a li'l before lunch.

Nevermind all of this, really. Because when you're 8 and you do this, this normally means an ol' hammer to the chest, or at least a good talking to so this doesn't happen when you're a grown adult and pulling the same sh*t at work.

Just saying.

***
Currently listening to: Harry Hood (Phish).

To the crunches girl (and this is not a fat joke)

Honest. It's more just a commentary.

Let's say you're at the gym. And let's say you're doing "crunches" at the gym. And let's say you're friend has an impeccable bod, the one pretty much everyone else is jealous of, especially you, and *maybe* OMS.

Let's say you're still trying, though, so there's honor in that. Sound body, sound mind. These things are important in the long run, we hear.

But our issue here isn't how you look or what you're trying to do about it. Our issue here is the lack of honesty.

"I can't do the crunches like that," you said. "I have short arms."

We are *so* using that excuse next time we -- wait. Waitaminute. Our arms don't straighten. You have short arms. We hate crunches, too. Maybe you're right, short-armed crunch complainer.

See? No punchline. No fat joke. We're not losing our edge, we just have an affinity for arms, is all. Or something.

***
Currently listening to: No One is to Blame (Howard Jones).

OMG LIKE WOW YAY SCARLETT!

Better late than never with this already old news.

But we gotta tell ya, Scarlett, we knew you had it in you. We have a feeling about you. We expect big things in the future. You. You are a shining star among us. You've got something we like to call it.

You go on with your bad self.

(Photo by Lester Cohen, WireImage).
***
Currently listening to: Glory and Consequence (Ben Harper).

Leave a message and (we'll) call you back

Are we the only one who thinks every time we kill a li'l harmless spider that some huge double-our-size motherf*cker with fangs will come up behind us and, well, whoop that OMS?

Didn't think so.

He didn't, this fanged motherf*cker double our size. But we did look. Quickly and in American Self-Defense blue belt karate fighting stance, as soon as we heard the li'l fella squish.

We're hoping karma doesn't count for spiders. Ever.

(Yes. Blue belt. We got skillz).

No pressure

Daily Extended Forecast for March 27, 2006
You're set up to have one of those days the rest of us here on planet number three would pay big bucks for -- and you're about to have it bestowed upon you for free. Don't take it for granted, but don't get too carried away being grateful, either. You can enjoy it without feeling indebted to whoever gets the show on the road for you. Remember, what goes around comes around, so if what's come your way is delightful, it's simply because it's your turn.

Um. We're getting the opening gig for you-know-who? Awesome. We're ready.
***
Currently listening to: Pet Sounds. All of it. Again.

We're so screwed

So Duke and Gonzaga lost.

We're left with UConn as our final final four pick. This means yes, we picked 'Nova to lose to Boston College tonight because, well, we're from Philly and everyone -- every single one -- always loses.

(And no, we're not going with a BOOOO! joke or anything about Santa Claus. Amateurs.).

So on with the ol' Heroez and No so much with the Heroez for the week that was. Ya'll know the drill.

Heroez...
Poor fella.

We love us some CHICKS. Definition of absurdity, when you really *think* about it.

Firefighters try. And this is in the ol' neck of the woods. (AKA, holy sh*t, this is why we check three times to make sure we turned off the coffee pot).

Be. Aggressive. B-E aggressive. B-e-a-g-g-r-e-s-s-i-v-e. B...E Aggressive. YEAH!

Matt and Trey are perfect.

Not so much...
Oof. So not Ms. She'll-be-doing-porn-in-a-year.

Wow. And our folks let us sleep in the car back in the day. Oh how the times they are a-changin', ya know?

This is still a story? Why, now?

Overheard at our favorite breakfast stop

"Blah blah I'm an anchor for Fox 5 and I'm pretty blah blah blah bad joke blah blah blah (hers not ours) blah blah blah I'm still pretty and you're jealous of me blah blah blah and in other news, people are going like gangbusters..."

Gangbusters?

Were they? Blah blah blah you're an ass anchor lady blah blah blah yet you are somewhat MILFy blah blah blah please don't ever say gangbusters again, unless you're standing next to Ice-T and ready shoot Nino Brown so bad your blah blah blah is hard.

The best kind of showers

Ahhhhhh.

We stepped into the shower this morning earlier than we thought. We like to call this the domino effect, when something of this magnitude happens. We woke up at 6:10, 50 minutes earlier than we had scheduled. We ate our Frosted Cheerios at 6:20, 45 minutes earlier than we had planned. See? Like dominoes.

So we had time for one of those good showers. You know, the ones where one can clean every nook and cranny (yeah, we just threw up in our mouths a li'l, too. Who says *cranny*?).

That sh*t was perfect hot, too. Not scalding. Not lukewarm. Awake-worthy hot.

It was too good to be true.

Two minutes in, the pleasant shower experience turned on us. A sneak attack, even. What did we do? Why was the water treating us this way? Our smile turned to scowl when the water turned to steam.

That sh*t was hot, yo. Like, so *not* perfect hot. More like really hot. Like holy sh*t burn victim hot. Our defense?

"Seriously?" we said. "Again with the hot and then the cold and then the hot?"

So yeah, our big defense, other than the aforementioned battle cry and maybe hopping out of the way and into the wall, was to turn the hot water down to a respectable level, i.e. lukewarm. This of course was followed by the ice cold balance the shower water came back at us with.

So we cranked the hot water again, and the water backed off. Compromise, reached. No need for more bloodshed.

Our shower thoroughly ruined, we turned the water off. We say bah to thee, evil shower water warrior. Bah to thee. You won the battle this time. But we will win the war.

Wow man, (we) think the clock is slow

Remember former middle school teacher Debra Lafave? Florida prosecutors decided Tuesday to drop charges against her.

She was accused of having sex with a 14-year-old middle school student. (AP BJPOV Photo by Steve Nesius).

When we were 14, we blamed the phone sex line we called on our birthday on our bestest friend Isaac. We think we've told this story here. Yup. That's about as good as it got for Ol' Young Pudge.

Sure, we were *convinced* we'd be World Champ, and that every single f*cking girl that came our way wanted up in our bidness, but come on, we took *ceramics* and *bulged* out of our too-short basketball shorts.

And we so don't mean the good bulge.

But, alas, phone sex lines were our Debra Lafave. Well, that and discovering the scrambled stations, but ya'll knew that, too.

***
Currently listening to: Big Empty (STP).

Something we think

If we could have turned off the lights and lit a candle, we would've. But then we wouldn't have been able to effectively grade papers. But that's beside the point. All we're saying is The Band's The Last Waltz, from start to finish, is a brilliant musical journey.

If we could have turned off the lights and lit a candle, maybe three, and really listened, we would have been pretty much as content as a jaded human being with a perpetual sinus headache (seriously? Piercing pain above our left eye all week?) can be.

As it were (and we *hate* that saying), listening to The Band straight through and grading papers equals a pretty sweet night. It's just one of those things we should all do from time to time, you know? Take a moment and, well, as Humpty say, doowutchyalike.

***
Currently listening to: Forever Young (Dylan and The Band).

We also bought Lactaid Milk

Because everyone should be in control, you know?

(And for the record, the mouth guard is fantastic. We slept better last night than we had in *weeks*. We're a fan, is all).

***
Currently listening to: uh, yeah, Imus, uh.

We got a mouth guard

It'sph one of thosph thingsth that one getsth when one getsth older, right? Turnsth out, we grind our teeth at night. It'sth making our head hurt aily. It'sth no fun whatsthoeveh. It sucksth. Really.

And now we're a bigger geek than uthual. And we think that'sth pretty valiant, actually. Real (old) men wear mouth guardth. And we're OK withat.

***
Currently listening to: Make Yourthelf (Incubuth).

Currently listening to...

Just a note. We're going to do this from time to time at the end of our entries.

Because music is soul goodness, right? Plus, ya'll need more Old Man Snap insight. And what we listen to kind of makes us tick.

So there's that. Right now, we're still listening to Miller's Angels. It's a Counting Crows song. Adam is whining for everyone to leave him alone. Standard. Brilliant. But standard.

The next song will be Nirvana's Where Did You Sleep Last Night? Creepy eerie songs right before bed are key. Remember Kurt's performance on MTV Unplugged when you can almost see the life exhale out of him when he ended the show with this song? Those eyes. Oh those eyes.

According to iTunes, the next two songs will be Pac's I Get Around ("Conversations on the phone 'til the break of dawn now we all alone why the lights on?") and The Dead's I Know You Rider ("March winds will blow all my troubles away").

See? Insight.

Sometimes.

To the deli guys

Thank you.

For once, we had a little more faith in humanity. Not only did ya'll hustle, but you also gave us an extra li'l slice of ham. And then you laughed when the old lady next to you said she could help you with our cheese. And then you both argued, nicely, about who would wrap it.

And then you both wished us a nice day.

Now, then, to the lady on her cell phone in the veggie aisle, can you just not be on your cell while grocery shopping? Do you really need to jabber away and block the f*cking tomatoes? Do ya? Sh*t you pissed us off.

Luckily, we hit the deli right after we *almost* hit you. With Wheat Thins.

Because hitting you with anything else would be violent and arrest-worthy. And we're so not getting arrested for punching the cell phone lady in the face, though we suspect we could get some sort of award of some sh*t for sparing the grocery world of yet another obnoxious cell abuser in aisle 11.

***
Currently listening to: Miller's Angels.

And by the way

We cried like a li'l baby bitch watching this, too, over the weekend. It's just this thing about dreams we have, man.

And while we're a tad over the song and the fanfare it received at the ol' Oscars, the story was pretty gritty, man. We like us some D-Jay. And don't get us started on Ms. Manning over there, man.

***
Currently listening to: You Remind Me of Home.

Current mood: *yawn*

See, a week didn't kill ya'll did it? Hello? Anyone here? HEY. Where the f*ck did everyone go?
***
So one of the reasons we took a week off was we were sad.

The first open stage we ever did went about as well as a first-time performance can go. We remembered that playing guitar and singing is supposed to be fun. We played our comfort songs. We smirked. We loved it.

The second time, two Fridays ago, not so much.

We didn't know if we'd have a slot, so the OCD kicked in almost immediately. We needed to know we'd be on. We needed to know what time. We needed a setlist, which was still hadn't decided on until we got there.

We went on right after a guy sang a song he wrote about his dead brother.

Our songs seemed trivial.

But we did it anyway.

We opened with Long Black Veil and we forgot how to play the F. It was mind-boggling, this forgetting a simple chord. And it threw us. We growled more the longer the F as in mind-f*ck went on. By the end, we were strumming it lightly and singing louder.

We were *convinced* the audience saw the fraud before them. All we heard were flaws.

Then we played Oh My Sweet Carolina, which we can play in our sleep. It's a good, slow, sweet song. Still no F, but we forged ahead anyway. We ended with Champagne High, which might be our favorite song to play when we're home alone, drunk in our living room.

The entire last verse, we played the wrong chords. Oops. At the time, were furious. But over the last week, we've been slowly... letting... go.

So we got the sh*tty one out of the way, basically. Afterward, a nice folkster asked us to jam with him and a bunch of guys as part of a string jam night every Sunday. We go tonight and would like to get the taste of last week's ass performance out of our mouth.

And we maybe play Wednesday, too, at a different venue. We're thinking So Lonely and Black, but we still have this thing about cutting our heart up and serving it to the audience for a light after-hours snack.

We want that sh*t to taste good, you know?

***
Currently listening to: Ghetto Bastard.

And he's brilliant

Again with the slowly getting back to it. Normally we honor the Heroez and the Not so much with the Heroez for the week that was in these here parts on Fridays.

Today, just one.

And we're drinking it, um, now.

And there'll be more. Oh hells yeah there'll be more.

Getting there

Never fear, loyal fives of readers. We'll be back soon. We've just been lounging near a pool somewhere mentally for a few days, is all.

(Oh you crazy kids photo by the AP's Gregory Bull).

Something about rest and maybe relaxation

OMS is a p*ssy. He called me today and asked me to post this. He didn't ask me to call him a p*ssy but I am because he is. He said he needs to take some mental time to recharge and relax.

I don't get him, really. He walks around all day calling himself "we," and true dat he's a funny motherf*cker, but really, who takes a week off of blogging, for Pete's sake?

I guess I'll bear with him. HAH! Bear with him. Get it? I'm a bear and I'm bearing with him! Huh.

Come to think of it, I think I can handle the work load here on the ol' porch for OMS. I can bring the funny, too. Just because I'm a bear and can maul you if you don't laugh doesn't mean I can't be funny.

I can bearly wait to find out if I can take over daily duties for the ol' bastard. Sweet deal. He doesn't even have to pay me much. Just bearly minimum wage.

HAH! Man I crack myself up.

Nobody makes us wait

So round two is tonight. Wish us luck, will you? There's a chance we won't play because we're an alternate, but it's worth the wait. We figure a little Cash, Ryan and Adam never hurt anyone. Right?

Right?

Right, then. On to the week that was. We keep secretly thinking the world is ending because of the weather and what not, and the whole we're still at war thing, but we must soldier -- oof with the word choice -- on, one and all. Or something.

* For any new readers, and at this point we're bleeding them more than retaining them, wethinks, this is when we honor our Heroez (catchy with a Z) and Not so much with the Heroez (again, Z, catchy) as we look back on the past week. Laugh accordingly.

Heroez
We thought she was graceful. Mostly because she's Jennifer Garner and she is a sweetheart. Don't go pickin' her apart because of a li'l slip. That's all we're saying. Well, she's hot, too. But that's all we're saying. Promise.

Good for him. Seriously.

Faith and Tim. Nice. We dig country questioning country. But just one thing, we ask from our soon-to-be completed home in Canadia: where's the Dixie Chicks backlash this time, eh? Why aren't we talkin' aboot this, eh? That's what we thought. Even from Canadia we can smell the hypocrisy.

Thanks, cube dude. You may regret it, but we like our cube. It reminds us that the future is still bright. We also love us some Doughboy, but that's another story for another day.

Not so much...
Last sentence. Worst punchline ever. Couldn't they at least go with President Bush ain't about the woodfloors and something about a big rug? We're just thinkin' out loud here. Work with us.

Life. Over. Not for nothin' (oh how we hate this term; don't you?), but we once watched Debbie Does Dallas through the scrambled screen. But we were housesitting with nobody home but us and maybe the cat, so it's completely, utterly and totally different. Oh how we long for the days of scrambled screens but not even remotely. Oh how we long for the days when this kid toucher would get punched in the face.

Now where do we even start with this? Back in the day, we watched the Baseball Bunch. We learned how to field grounders and backflip like Ozzie Smith, but not so much with the fat-kid-backflipping. We learned how to breathe from Mike Schmidt. We learned from the whole bunch what team is.

Never once did we learn that taking the ol' steroids will make us better. So this whole Barry Bonds thing has us all kaphlooey on the inside. It's not racism or witch-huntism (although we'd love to see an investigation in to Mark McGwire). Both deny, deny, deny, and one is allowed to ride off into retirement seclusion. But we digress.

Either way, the two reporters nailed this. Where's his denial? His legal threats? His beat-them-to-a-pulp-with-Hanz-und-Franz threats?

Silence. That's what we thought.

Why we miss working with photographers

(Poignant statem-- er, photograph by Larry Downing, Reuters).

Finding number 9

Not to get all preachy whiny overbearing narrative voice on ya'll, but this thing we like to call life really is a game of SuDoku.

We sat down this morning with the ol' puzzle book, still stumped from yesterday. And then we found a nine, and another nine, then a two and a three.

We used to hate puzzles. If it didn't come easy, we had no use. But the more we play this SuDoKu, the calmer we find ourselves, and the more willing we are to look at it from different angles at different times.

And then, voila, we have ourselves a finished puzzle.

Different angles. Different times. Keep picking it back up. Keep doing it until you get it right. Hmmmmm. There's got to be a lesson in there somewhere, but do we really have to spell it out?

(See, we were going to say, "Number it out," but then we realized we would've bombed so bad it would've taken 'til Sunday to recover).

So there's that.

We're gonna make it after all

Dawson. That dude who married Buffy. And a Monkee? That's the best you got? It's on, now. Oh it's so on.

PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20)
You might surprise someone, as you might be filled with so much energy and creativity. You will like what comes up if you just relax with the moment. Your imagination carries you far and long. Let it loose. Tonight: ***** Relish the moment.

Exposing the business

So we had this great punchline worked out in our head.

All we would do, see, is quote a line from one of our favorite songs ("All I needed was the love you gave. All I needed for another day. And all I ever knew, only you"). Then we'd say something like, "Is that all you needed? Really?"

Then the whole thing went to sh*t when we remembered Yanni isn't Yaz. Um, our bad. So no disrespect to the Yaz. We love ya, babe.

The Yanni, not so much.

6

Because a friend asked, the assignment was to provide six weird/things/habits about ourself. So we shall fulfill said assignment. In doing this, we're shocked at the amount of times the word "believe" appears. Strange, this word.

1. We get sad when pro athletes die. Real sad. Well, we get said when anyone dies, especially when we're on the verge of finding out Lisa dies on the Six Feet Under. We get sad because we are petrified of losing the people we love. Doesn't everyone? We just tend to obsess, is all.

2. We say we here because we have this thing about getting all Tyra me me me I I I and we think calling attention to ourselves too much isn't a good thing. Our dear friend Mike once taught us that. Not so much with the Is. A good lesson.

3. We f*cking love hip hop. And because of the XM, we're introducing ourselves to guys like Big Daddy Kane and KRS-One and others, and it's expanding our musical catalog even more, which is always a good thing. Plus, we know a lot of Snoop Dogg lyrics. "So bowdown to the bow-wow and bow-wow yippy-yo you can't steal my flow. My sh*t is dope original now ya know can't no hood f*ck with death rizzow." Word.

4. We also f*cking love country, and we don't know why we're cussing so much, either. We don't mean the country with the I shot my dog 'cause my woman left me for the better lookin' trucker country. We mean country with heart, which much of it has. We discovered Cash this summer -- yes, right around the same time the movie came out. But Cash added something to us. It's hard to explain. Johnny Cash and Old Man Snap. We're kindred spirits.

5. Speaking of, we believe in kindred spirits. We believe, strongly, that things happen for a reason and the people we meet, even the assholes, have a purpose. We believe our current crop of friends are the most incredible people we have ever met. They are writers and lawyers and accountants and teachers and writers and writers and writers and singers and performers and designers and writers. They kick ass.

6. We believe something big is going to happen soon. We're trying not to be arrogant about it, but for the first time in almost 31 years, we feel like we're home. And this terrifies us because we have always -- always -- lived knowing the other shoe drops. Always. But this time, we're a little bit letting it ride, and we're more than OK with that.

* We now return to our regularly scheduled programming and Scarlett references.

Jason Reed gets our vote

(Photo by Jason Reed, Reuters). According to the Yahoo!, President George W. Bush poses with a water buffalo and Yedugiri Sandinti Rajaskhara Reddy (L), Chief Minister of Andhra Pradesh State, during a tour of the Acharya N.G. Ranga Agriculture University in Hyderabad, India this past Friday.

We almost ate a buffalo burger on Saturday. We settled for ostrich, though.

We know. We know. We should've eaten the buffalo burger, because that would have meant one less buffalo roaming the streets and getting all up in the president's bidness, if you will. We can't very well have the buffalo/buffalos/buffalum roaming the streets and getting all up in the president's bidness.

It's disrespectful, you know? Don't buffalo/buffalos/buffalum know any better? We are not to question the big fella, nor are we to sniff his junk. It's what's called unAmerican, b*tches.

Learn that sh*t and fall in line.

Our award-winning coverage only not

Reese deserved it. She plays a terrific tortured and talented woman, drawn to her equally talented and tormented rock star soulmate.

But godd*mn Kiera is a kutie, and ain't alliteration awesome?

(For the record, we find it *hysterical* that an AP reporter got herself the big bucks for writing a blurb on each major star's outfit of choice. "And then Old Man Snap wore a frown...").

(And also, let the record state that we might need to see this Crash.)

Here endeth our award-winning coverage only not.

Ouch

So, so true.

And we're OK with that

Nothing says Saturday more than sitting on one's couch watching Rudy and crying like a baby b*tch at all the good parts.

"You ain't got nothin' to prove to nobody but yourself." Check.

"All my life people have been telling me I couldn't do it." Check.

"This is for my Dad." Check. (Oof with that one).

"If you had half the heart that Rudy had..." Check.

The li'l bastard sure did try, is all.

NO FAIR!!!

So gay guy gets his and it's all good in the (Holly)wood? Are you f*cking kidding us? Hey Scarlett, we got yer red carpet right here... AND we're sort of from New York. Sort of. So there's that. Call us, sweetie.

Man we better get famous like lickity split.

Tell (us) whyeeeeeeee...

So we begin the Friday fun with yet another reason to dig us some YouTube. We're right there with you, Yao Ming Twins.

On, then, to the Heroez and Not so much with the Heroez for the week that was.

And hey! Somebody turns 31 next week sometime! Somebody's pissed about their cover! Someone's still (mis)leading the country! And today we're gonna party like it's 1999 (with Creed and Kid and, hey, what's Durst up to these days?).

Oh the hilarity.

Heroez...
Two this week. Three tops. And they're about as legit as it gets.

First, A.J. Detwiler. Read this story. The kid is amazing. And he won, too.

And Pistol Pete over there. It's worth watching again and again and again.

And no link for this one, but watching an older lass do the Soduko while waiting for a meeting to start this week, well, it made us appreciate people who have patience and calm and peace and skillz. Thank you, older lass soduko lady.

Not so much...
He really is a horse's patoot, as the Ol' Man's ol' man would say. And the fact that Kid Rock is now in a bitch slap spat with Stapp (HAH! Say that sh*t three times fast!) makes it more gooder.

This MySpace thing is a tad out of control, no?

We figured out pretty quickly she wasn't. Wait. What?

No link for this either, but bagel stealer guy belongs on the list. So we're in our favorite breakfast joint yesterday and four people laughed, out loud, when the president came on the CNN. But we digress. Bagel stealer guy, who didn't laugh, wore a suit and a flag lapel pin and was neatly groomed. He also swooped in and neatly snagged our breakfast when he heard "with tomato." Turns out his everything bagel was a wheat oat bran, thanks to our order. You're welcome, assclown. Hope you enjoyed choking on it while listening to Limbaugh and longing for the ol' hazing frat goat Skulls days.

Speaking of... "Ah. This. Ah. This. This huge storm" is the best you got? Seriously? Someday, we'll write a well-thought out thesis on how the current president is slowly triggering the end of the world. We say slowly meaning by 2009. So we still have a good three years and enough time for a Spice Girls comeback.

Priorities

So we were in for a messy, hellasnowy commute this morning, according to the ol' reports we like to cite. So we woke up at 4:25 this morning thinking it was 6:45 and we scampered to the window to see the winter wonderland.

Nothing.

So we went back to bed. Imus woke us up at 6:45. Again with the window. Again with the nothing.

As we ironed this morning, we realized we were smirking. We were smirking because we looked out the window, saw that there wasn't any white stuff (points to the person who can answer how we feel about the term "white stuff"), and went about our business.

We were smirking because about 98 percent of the people we work with on a daily basis freaked out this morning because it didn't snow. These same people, who tend to not work when they work, were all about the snow planning yesterday. Charts. Graphs. Emergency plans.

Let's make sure to remind everyone on the phone chain who their people are and what they need to say and when. You know, that sort of thing.

So these same people now have to trudge to work, just as all of you do. We love it and we can't wait to say HAPPY THURSDAY to everyone, loud and chippy.

So we say yay to thee, mother nature.

We can't undo the things we say...

AM-BEH-GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

According to the story, this poor lad laughed at "all the funny parts." How, then, is this even an issue?

AHA! We *so* should have been a detective. An inspector, even.