Oops. We forgot to say we retired for good.

Thanks for reading, the three of you, for all those wonderfully jaded years.

We're still voting for Obama but, well, we have a small crush on Sarah Palin, except when she talks or stumps for her running mate. Yikes.

Bush: Economy Is Getting Better

OMS: No's'not.

But we thought America "wasn't" "ready."

Couple things, pre-best-Labor Day Weekend EH EH EH EH EHVERRRRRRRR.

1. Alright with the chanting. Let the man speak. General rule of thumb: 46 consecutive "Thank-Yous" means, "Alright y'all b*tches, please shut the f*ck up."

2. We won't lie. We laughed when our hopefully-next President took the stage last night pre-music cue, and then we laughed more when we thought, "How great would it be if he grabbed the mic and said, 'Yeah. So no thanks. I heard America wasn't ready for a black president. Go eff yourselves.' "

3. How cute are Obama and Michelle's daughters?

4. Joe Biden scares us because Scranton scares us. But we're onboard nonetheless.

5. Democrats need to understand this "Applause Breaks" When the presidential candidate (we still can't believe it, either -- how great is this?) is sharing a story about Iraq War vets (And when did "Operation Freedom" become "Operation Alright Already with the War and the Sending Good People Back Way Too Many Times and Seriously, We're Better Off Now?")?

Anyway, when the presidential candidate is telling bad stories, not so much with the clapping and the YAY! BAD THINGS! Wait 'til he says, "We are better than this." Then lose your effing minds with the clapping and the chanting.

6. And oh with the chanting. What is it with America's obsession with catchphrases and chanting? We blame The Rock. But that's just because we have a weird yet friendly obsession and knowledge of all things professional wrestling. If you smell what the Ol' Man is cookin'.

7. OLD MAN IS COOKIN'! OLD MAN IS COOKIN'! OLD MAN IS COOKIN'! OLD MAN IS COOKIN'!OLD MAN IS COOKIN'!OLD MAN IS COOKIN'!OLD MAN IS COOKIN'!

8. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. So... Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

9. Vote on Nov. 4.

10. We still believe. Catchphrases and all.

YAY!

Wake up at 12:46 a.m., after almost three hours of sleep and a nightmare about monthly calendars? Check.

Wake up again at 5:46 a.m., after five more hours of sleep and a nightmare about walking into the wrong class, late? Check.

Linger at the laptop trying to figure out who the killer was from the nightmare the other day? Check.

Issues? What issues?

We say it's hilarious, this nightmaring!

Again with the articles...

Page 20 of this month's edition, the one with Anna Faris on the cover: "Australian demographers have coined the term 'freemale' to describe an unattached professional woman who behaves like a carefree bachelor. Freemales live for today, have casual sex" blah blah blah and blah blah blah.

Somehow, we don't think this new term will stick. Although we would like to get our freemale on. Now wait. No. What? No. We didn't say, "Shemale on."

What. Too soon nothin'?

Coke Kelly Rehabbed!

First off, y'all know that *we've* been doing these 90210 recaps looooooong before the 902102008 campaign blitzes started, right? Y'all know we probably are to blame for the show coming back, updated! With Tristan Wilds and Kelly *and* Brenda!

So yeah, we learned today that the Soap Net is running a 90210 marathon starting Labor Day at midnight. Hilarity shall doth ensue in these here parts! It's like Old Man Snap's ultimate dream, this blogging 90210 from the very beginning! Maybe we'll get a contract to be funny all the time and not just in our heads!

(And we know we're especially with the exclamation points this morning. Yay! Hungover as Operation Sobriety begins!).

Now, then:

OMG we haven't seen the 90210 in far too long with the working and the softballing and the running and the actual doing things with our life on Saturday mornings but HOLY ESS Kelly just got out of rehab and damnit we missed the ultrahot Coke Kelly phase with the black eyeliner and fingercuffs and all of these things and Steve is all IT'S MY BIRTHDAY and the KEG guys are all, no Steve's weirdly-cast brothers, you can't underage imbibe even though we *so* did in Season Five and the weirdly-cast brothers are all whatevs we're stealing alcohol from party-goers and Party-Goer #1 is all, "HEY! Someone stole my beer!" (and thinking, "Sh*t, *this* is my big Hollywoods break?") and speaking of goers, Donna is all, no hunky quarterback I won't dance with you because my last boyfriend totally launched me down the stairs but had a great hit with The Heights and hunky quarterback is all, whatevs, my career will skyrocket after this ridiculously overdramatic piece of Americana and Hollywoods is all, "No, not really, hunky quarterback, you might as well go try out for Brazzers or some sh*t" and Valerie is all, I think it's a great idea to bring Cokehead Colin to the party so Kelly can awkwardly kiss him on the cheek in hopes of licking one last hit from his pores and Brandon is all, Christ, it was so much more fun when *I* got to hit that.

Man, we missed this.

HAIKULYMPICS!

Li'l Shawn Johnson
Hop Hop Flip hop hop flip hop
We believe in you!

Li'l Shawn Johnson
One gold medal? Really? Wait.
Alicia Silverstone sucks.

Misty May! Kerri!
Oh with the white in the rain
Can you hug again?

Softball lost what now?
To whom now? Japan? But wait.
We won war. Ooooh burn!

Kobe! King! Redeem!
While we don't like the nickname
We do like the game.

Just how old are they
these little bouncing babies
Gold medal our ass.

USA! US!
A! USA! USA! USA!
US! USA!

RIP, LeRoi Moore

And now back to, "Next."

"I'm divorced now for 6 years. My daughters 7," she says in her profile. And then: "Im not looking for a friend on this. I know you need to be friends before anything else, I'm not wasting my time if its not their."

Were not evan nexting because of the math issue. Were more with the nexting because of the, well, apostrophe consistency issues. Although we mix up the their-type words all the damn time, mainly because we like caffeine and our mind moves pretty, um, quickly.

WAIT. She had more on her profile!

"... and yes I mis spell, I know... Ah u know what none of this matters, you see the pix if u can meet u meet. My pix suck but their in the last month. If ur pix a yr old def get newer ones."

She's talking to us. Creepy, that one.

Blame the Californication marathon.

So yeah, we consider ourself a writer. More with the talking the last few years, but yeah, writing. Good times. So in honor of the Californication marathon we just embraced, we decided to dust off some of our old musings. First of three parts. Somewhat safe for work, if it's OK to have the word "titties" on your screens.

Part 1, Quiet
He's tired, really.

Work went late, as usual. He was supposed to see a show with his friend, but the decision came down like a lightning bolt. Yes, it was Friday at 5:30. But no, no one could leave until the work was done. No debate necessary. Bail on your friend. Get a sandwich and a Diet Coke and stick it out.

So he does, even when it means coming in on Saturday at 7:30 in the morning to finish things up because there was no telling what time the project would be done the night before.

He leaves work at 9:30 p.m. and trudges, his favorite word, to the local dance club. He pays the eight bucks cover charge and pauses for a moment. Outside or inside? And then he sees her. Blonde pigtails. Enticing hazel eyes. Boisterous. Sexy. She's tending bar inside.

The decision a no-brainer, he sits down at her bar and orders a Vodka Tonic. His olive suit shines in the neon light. She makes it extra strong and called him "Honey." He melts with her words, and in the heat of the beer sign above.

He sits down and watches women's softball on the TV above -- anything to forget about work: the uncertainty, the stress, the doing too much and not getting enough back. He hears two young Latina voices next to him and offers his seat so they can sit together at the bar. They thank him and keep up the incessant chatter.

He downs his first drink, twirling the straw with the lime and squeezing the plastic cup. "Another Vodka Tonic sweetie?"

"One more," he shrugs. She averts his gaze and adjusts her tube top. He studies the light blonde peach fuzz outlining her chest in the light. She is stunning, yet a bartender in a low rent bar.

He digs this.

He sips his second drink, startled by the man who eases in on the two women beside him, still chatting.

"HI I'M JAYSON," he blurts out, eyes red, goatee weathered, t-shirt tucked in.

"I'm Laura," says the China-doll faced woman with a tattoo on her lower back, showing slightly. "This is Isabella."

"Dominican?" he asks.

"That's offensive to me," Isabella says.

They chat nonetheless. The bartender, perpetually adjusting her top and miniskirt to cover her gentle skin, floats from patron to patron, all the while averting eye contact.

"You come here often?" Jayson asks the women twice, once now and once in about three minutes, as if he never asked at all.

Jayson learns that Isabella is married without a ring, and that her husband is at a "titty bar."

Startled, the quiet man spits out an ice cube into his Vodka Tonic.

"He's where?" he says, recovered.

"At a titty bar," she says with a gentle touch to his shoulder.

Jayson picks himself off the floor and loudly calls for the bartender. Hazel Eyes' partner in his Hawaiian shirt takes care of him, and the two ladies, not yet finished with their drinks.

Jayson then tells the long story of his divorce and new girlfriend, who left him after she flew to Puerto Rico on his dime. He then stares at his Coors Light and slumps to the bar in silence.

Awkwardly quiet for two minutes, he thanks the ladies and slips away to the outside bar.

"That took balls, approaching two beautiful women like that," the man in the olive suit says to the pair, both relieved he'd gone.

"Yeah," Isabella says. "But I don't believe his story."

"Still, he came up, loudly interrupted your conversation and bought you all drinks. Good times."

The three then chat about men approaching women in bars. He shares that he prefers to sit at the bar and watch without a word, "sort of creepy, but not."

"Yeah..." Isabella says.

"Yeah to the creepy or yeah to the not?"

They laugh and sip their pink drinks.

Across the bar, a man with bleach blonde curls, double chin and huge breasts flicks his hair back and lights a Virgina Slim. His friend, with bleach blonde hair and a cross around his neck, sits down. To their right, a man with a 1982 moustache, who had been ogling Hazel, does a double take.

So does he, after downing another vodka tonic.

The man with the Virginia Slim, breasts and a butterfly tattoo on the small of his back, walks away.

"Am I an asshole if I ask if that was a man or a woman?" he asks the two women.

"We were thinking the same thing..." Isabella says.

He hangs a bit longer, ordering another Vodka Tonic from Hazel just to see the tattoo lodged between her miniskirt and tube top, which appears every once in awhile, only when she isn't fidgeting.

The girls inevitably leave and he watches the Austin Croshere highlight show on ESPN. When Hazel vanishes, he does the same and drives home.

But doesn't.

And now back to "Tales from the Class"

She was cute, the classmate, giving her lesson in front of those of us who remained, three-plus hours into watching lesson after lesson, nerves frayed, folks just trying to become better teachers before the school year starts.

This one was adorable, with her lesson on germs and how they travel. She used glitter to demonstrate and wore two li'l furry balls on her head to make her look like a cute li'l fuzzy germ.

She rocked, and the class was very much into her presentation.

When she finished, one of us -- a tall, strapping, confident-these-days anonymous blogger and real looker -- blurted out, "Hey, you gonna take the balls off your head now?"

"Probably not," she said. "My husband likes them."

She then mentioned her kids, again with the husband and back to the kids in the next 12 seconds.

Lady, we weren't hitting on you. We just wanted to say "balls" and "head" in the same sentence. Outloud. In class. Although you are really cute and going to be a really good teacher.

There ain't be no e in it.

From Yahoo! News: Ex-Bush aide sues Grammer, Walt Disney over 'Swing Vote'

First thought to come to mind when we read the above headline on the Yahoo! News? (And no, we don't get our news from the Yahoo! News. We were checking our HEY NOW love horoscope for the weekend and it just happened to catch our eye).

Now, then. First thought?

"Jesus. Someone is suing grammar on behalf of our President. Yikes."

Stop the presses.

Please. No more with the Brett Favre. It's killing us. Look! He's on a plane! Look! He landed locally! Look! That's not him it's his wife! Hey! He's in Cleveland with a #4 jersey! Look! He's growing a beard! Hey! Didn't he win his only Super Bowl of his career because of an outstanding defense led by Reggie White?

Last thing we'll ever say, ever, about the Summer o' Brett Favre: We hope Chad Pennington signs with the Dolphins and we hope the Dolphins beat the Jets on opening day.

(And yes. We know we "retired" in January. But the hopes and dreams of millions of fans weren't riding on this major announcement. Half of you didn't realize we were gone until like March).

Now can ESPN go back to its regular programming of just showing highlights and sports scores without awful catchphrases for every single occassion? Wait. Supercalifragilwhat? ESPN hasn't done that in more than two decades?

Grrrr.

That's what *we* say

So we think it's over, this Office-laden fad of blurting out, "That's what she said" whenever anyone says pretty much, well, anything.

"It's hard to reach it."

THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID.

"I'm full."

THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID.

"We really hope Obama sustains his popularity and comes out on top in November."

THAT'S WHAT -- OK. We get it. See? Used with anything. Used with everything. But oversaturated at this point, no? Sometimes you just have to take a phrase, lay it down gently, stare it deeply in the eyes and give it a nice, long, kiss before burying it.

Um.

Wow. This is harder than we thought.

It's on the tip of our tongue.

Christ. This is so hard.

Sh*t. We so want to do it.

F*ck.

Just one more time?

Hey! You! It's Douche Week!

Safe for work, just turn the volume down or wear stylish headphones. For the record, we love Jersey, home of George Washington's march from Trenton to our stomping grounds, and home of hilarity you can't make up and put on the YouTubes.

"Jewville," says Jen, 21, who then proceeds to, well, you watch! You see!

Yikes. Again. Again with the yikes.

Anyone else want to nominate a Douchebag Line of the Week? We think Jen wins. Big, fake-tanned, gel-laden hands down. Jen wins.

Definition of the Douche Chills

So yeah, the worst we ever did is maybe say, "Are you kidding (us)?" when Wendy the Airport Consultant stood us up like eight years ago and we were hanging up the phone and she totally heard us and our exasperation.

But no. We never did this.

Yikes.

Threefer Friday!

And yeah, we're back on the Twitter now. Check it under Awesomeness.

Stay informed!

Stay alert!

Stay alive!

Quiet time

So without going into lots of detail, we were sitting in the stall yesterday newspaperless and just looking for a timeout from the day. *Sigh* Peace and tranquility in the bath--

"(OMS)! Is that you? I can tell by those funky shoes you wear!"

Would our coworker really ID us in our private time and then proceed to --

"So I was thinkin'... what is your favorite all-time concert? Mine was Bruce at the blah blah blah sold tickets blah blah blah sat in the first row behind the stage blah blah blah..."

"Mmm-hmmm," we said, mouth agape.

He proceeded to talk for the next five minutes straight.

And then he left.

We took a deep breath and prepared to resume our day.

And then he came back.

"I guess I should wash my hands, right?" he said, before launching into a different diatribe about God knows what and wear Manny might end up. At this point, the stall wasn't even remotely fun anymore.

So he left. We washed our hands. And literally seconds later, we passed each other in the hallway. Ew. Awk. Ward. Doesn't even begin to describe the violation we felt.

BATHROOM TIME IS PRIVATE TIME!

Full disclosure

Women are *not* objects.

But we do love us some Guinness. And therein lies the conflict.

Safe for work, sort of.

So yeah. Fifteen minutes.

No. Not of fame.

Fifteen minutes. It's all we have to do for our lesson plan for our grad school class. In front of the class. A class with a 50-plus-year-old scientist who looks like Bunson Honeydew's long-lost hippie brother, or that guy from the Fraggle Rock. A class with the two adorable twins we crush on a li'l bit. A class with a professor with more than 40 years in public education.

No pressure, though.

We're going to teach ledes. And yes we spelled it right. It's not like we've never done this, and it's not like we haven't, um, performed before. Fifteen minutes. It's like an open mic night without a guitar or forlorn song about destined for doom love. Considering the Nashville Star tryout was 30 *seconds*, this is nothing.

So why are we awake and procrastinating?

We're finding these days that the more we care about something, the more inspired we are, the more awake we are, and the more focused we are. Huh.

Old Man Snap doth matured y'all.

So.

What have we been doing, you ask?

Huh. Well.

1. Not getting enough sleep and having random yet insane sex dreams. The one last night involved our mom -- no, perverts -- almost walking into the spare bedroom in our house, circa 1985-1993, where she almost would have found lots of used, um, domes (we refuse to say "rubbers" or "tubesocks"). Oopsies. We know this is a direct correlation to the wall post Moms left on *Facebook* for us yesterday, but whatevs. We're disturbed.

2. School. Last night, our professor asked us to play a game. "Name five caucasion men, famous or infamous," he said. Then with the naming white women, and black men and women, and then with the Hispanics, and so on down to Native Americans. Granted for "Hispanic Female," we could only think of Selena, but still. It got worse. We were afraid to say, "That Guy Who Shot-Up Virginia Tech" (what, too soon?) for Asian infamous male, and we think the fact that we wrote, "Tonto," for "Native American Male" is ridiculously funny. And no. We don't have the racist.

3. School, part 2. Last night, our professor wasted pretty much two hours of class time with the aforementioned game ("What I'm trying to do here is point out that most of us are ethnocentric..."). He also said at one point, "I'm a little out of touch. I heard recently that Maria Carey has sold more records than Elvis Presley." We didn't have the heart to tell him that although Mariah Carey has sold many, many records, she also went through a random post-911 thing where she'd call Carson Daly on the TRL from the shower. We also didn't have the heart to tell him that TRL Live so isn't the same without Carson Daly.

4. Softball. Seriously. Who plays this much softball?

5. Carson Daly references? (And check out the audience, PS. It's like a who's who of irrelevance, no?).

6. Not drinking. Or trying not to. We had a hiccup on Saturday. But the bartender at La Linea was adorable and liked talking about her tattoos. Bartender + tattoos + cold Stellas = Happy OMS.

7. Not blogging as much. We know. First, we retired in January, sort of like Brett Favre without the tears or fanfare. Then we came back, again sort of like Favre but without the bitching and complaining and the messing with, we don't know, an entire organization, and now with the not blogging as much. Cut us some slack. We're down to 1.6 average daily readers, and we so don't have a job with the tokoni.

8. Running. When we can. What wonderful exercise, especially when listening to Redman's "Time 4 Sum Aksion" and Buckcherry's "Crazy Bitch."

9. Not driving two-and-a-half hours a day anymore, but y'all knew that.

10. Stumping for Obama. Buy the shirts!

God we love this man.

"A World That Stands as One"

As Prepared For Delivery by Barack Obama
Berlin, Germany
July 24, 2008

I come to Berlin as so many of my countrymen have come before. Tonight, I speak to you not as a candidate for President, but as a citizen – a proud citizen of the United States, and a fellow citizen of the world.

I know that I don’t look like the Americans who’ve previously spoken in this great city. The journey that led me here is improbable. My mother was born in the heartland of America, but my father grew up herding goats in Kenya. His father – my grandfather – was a cook, a domestic servant to the British.

At the height of the Cold War, my father decided, like so many others in the forgotten corners of the world, that his yearning – his dream – required the freedom and opportunity promised by the West. And so he wrote letter after letter to universities all across America until somebody, somewhere answered his prayer for a better life.

That is why I’m here. And you are here because you too know that yearning. This city, of all cities, knows the dream of freedom. And you know that the only reason we stand here tonight is because men and women from both of our nations came together to work, and struggle, and sacrifice for that better life.

Ours is a partnership that truly began sixty years ago this summer, on the day when the first American plane touched down at Templehof.

On that day, much of this continent still lay in ruin. The rubble of this city had yet to be built into a wall. The Soviet shadow had swept across Eastern Europe, while in the West, America, Britain, and France took stock of their losses, and pondered how the world might be remade.

This is where the two sides met. And on the twenty-fourth of June, 1948, the Communists chose to blockade the western part of the city. They cut off food and supplies to more than two million Germans in an effort to extinguish the last flame of freedom in Berlin.

The size of our forces was no match for the much larger Soviet Army. And yet retreat would have allowed Communism to march across Europe. Where the last war had ended, another World War could have easily begun. All that stood in the way was Berlin.

And that’s when the airlift began – when the largest and most unlikely rescue in history brought food and hope to the people of this city.

The odds were stacked against success. In the winter, a heavy fog filled the sky above, and many planes were forced to turn back without dropping off the needed supplies. The streets where we stand were filled with hungry families who had no comfort from the cold.

But in the darkest hours, the people of Berlin kept the flame of hope burning. The people of Berlin refused to give up. And on one fall day, hundreds of thousands of Berliners came here, to the Tiergarten, and heard the city’s mayor implore the world not to give up on freedom. “There is only one possibility,” he said. “For us to stand together united until this battle is won…The people of Berlin have spoken. We have done our duty, and we will keep on doing our duty. People of the world: now do your duty…People of the world, look at Berlin!”

People of the world – look at Berlin!

Look at Berlin, where Germans and Americans learned to work together and trust each other less than three years after facing each other on the field of battle.

Look at Berlin, where the determination of a people met the generosity of the Marshall Plan and created a German miracle; where a victory over tyranny gave rise to NATO, the greatest alliance ever formed to defend our common security.

Look at Berlin, where the bullet holes in the buildings and the somber stones and pillars near the Brandenburg Gate insist that we never forget our common humanity.

People of the world – look at Berlin, where a wall came down, a continent came together, and history proved that there is no challenge too great for a world that stands as one.

Sixty years after the airlift, we are called upon again. History has led us to a new crossroad, with new promise and new peril. When you, the German people, tore down that wall – a wall that divided East and West; freedom and tyranny; fear and hope – walls came tumbling down around the world. From Kiev to Cape Town, prison camps were closed, and the doors of democracy were opened. Markets opened too, and the spread of information and technology reduced barriers to opportunity and prosperity. While the 20th century taught us that we share a common destiny, the 21st has revealed a world more intertwined than at any time in human history.

The fall of the Berlin Wall brought new hope. But that very closeness has given rise to new dangers – dangers that cannot be contained within the borders of a country or by the distance of an ocean.

The terrorists of September 11th plotted in Hamburg and trained in Kandahar and Karachi before killing thousands from all over the globe on American soil.

As we speak, cars in Boston and factories in Beijing are melting the ice caps in the Arctic, shrinking coastlines in the Atlantic, and bringing drought to farms from Kansas to Kenya.

Poorly secured nuclear material in the former Soviet Union, or secrets from a scientist in Pakistan could help build a bomb that detonates in Paris. The poppies in Afghanistan become the heroin in Berlin. The poverty and violence in Somalia breeds the terror of tomorrow. The genocide in Darfur shames the conscience of us all.

In this new world, such dangerous currents have swept along faster than our efforts to contain them. That is why we cannot afford to be divided. No one nation, no matter how large or powerful, can defeat such challenges alone. None of us can deny these threats, or escape responsibility in meeting them. Yet, in the absence of Soviet tanks and a terrible wall, it has become easy to forget this truth. And if we’re honest with each other, we know that sometimes, on both sides of the Atlantic, we have drifted apart, and forgotten our shared destiny.

In Europe, the view that America is part of what has gone wrong in our world, rather than a force to help make it right, has become all too common. In America, there are voices that deride and deny the importance of Europe’s role in our security and our future. Both views miss the truth – that Europeans today are bearing new burdens and taking more responsibility in critical parts of the world; and that just as American bases built in the last century still help to defend the security of this continent, so does our country still sacrifice greatly for freedom around the globe.

Yes, there have been differences between America and Europe. No doubt, there will be differences in the future. But the burdens of global citizenship continue to bind us together. A change of leadership in Washington will not lift this burden. In this new century, Americans and Europeans alike will be required to do more – not less. Partnership and cooperation among nations is not a choice; it is the one way, the only way, to protect our common security and advance our common humanity.

That is why the greatest danger of all is to allow new walls to divide us from one another. The walls between old allies on either side of the Atlantic cannot stand. The walls between the countries with the most and those with the least cannot stand. The walls between races and tribes; natives and immigrants; Christian and Muslim and Jew cannot stand. These now are the walls we must tear down.

We know they have fallen before. After centuries of strife, the people of Europe have formed a Union of promise and prosperity. Here, at the base of a column built to mark victory in war, we meet in the center of a Europe at peace. Not only have walls come down in Berlin, but they have come down in Belfast, where Protestant and Catholic found a way to live together; in the Balkans, where our Atlantic alliance ended wars and brought savage war criminals to justice; and in South Africa, where the struggle of a courageous people defeated apartheid.

So history reminds us that walls can be torn down. But the task is never easy. True partnership and true progress requires constant work and sustained sacrifice. They require sharing the burdens of development and diplomacy; of progress and peace. They require allies who will listen to each other, learn from each other and, most of all, trust each other.

That is why America cannot turn inward. That is why Europe cannot turn inward. America has no better partner than Europe. Now is the time to build new bridges across the globe as strong as the one that bound us across the Atlantic. Now is the time to join together, through constant cooperation, strong institutions, shared sacrifice, and a global commitment to progress, to meet the challenges of the 21st century. It was this spirit that led airlift planes to appear in the sky above our heads, and people to assemble where we stand today. And this is the moment when our nations – and all nations – must summon that spirit anew.

This is the moment when we must defeat terror and dry up the well of extremism that supports it. This threat is real and we cannot shrink from our responsibility to combat it. If we could create NATO to face down the Soviet Union, we can join in a new and global partnership to dismantle the networks that have struck in Madrid and Amman; in London and Bali; in Washington and New York. If we could win a battle of ideas against the communists, we can stand with the vast majority of Muslims who reject the extremism that leads to hate instead of hope.

This is the moment when we must renew our resolve to rout the terrorists who threaten our security in Afghanistan, and the traffickers who sell drugs on your streets. No one welcomes war. I recognize the enormous difficulties in Afghanistan. But my country and yours have a stake in seeing that NATO’s first mission beyond Europe’s borders is a success. For the people of Afghanistan, and for our shared security, the work must be done. America cannot do this alone. The Afghan people need our troops and your troops; our support and your support to defeat the Taliban and al Qaeda, to develop their economy, and to help them rebuild their nation. We have too much at stake to turn back now.

This is the moment when we must renew the goal of a world without nuclear weapons. The two superpowers that faced each other across the wall of this city came too close too often to destroying all we have built and all that we love. With that wall gone, we need not stand idly by and watch the further spread of the deadly atom. It is time to secure all loose nuclear materials; to stop the spread of nuclear weapons; and to reduce the arsenals from another era. This is the moment to begin the work of seeking the peace of a world without nuclear weapons.

This is the moment when every nation in Europe must have the chance to choose its own tomorrow free from the shadows of yesterday. In this century, we need a strong European Union that deepens the security and prosperity of this continent, while extending a hand abroad. In this century – in this city of all cities – we must reject the Cold War mind-set of the past, and resolve to work with Russia when we can, to stand up for our values when we must, and to seek a partnership that extends across this entire continent.

This is the moment when we must build on the wealth that open markets have created, and share its benefits more equitably. Trade has been a cornerstone of our growth and global development. But we will not be able to sustain this growth if it favors the few, and not the many. Together, we must forge trade that truly rewards the work that creates wealth, with meaningful protections for our people and our planet. This is the moment for trade that is free and fair for all.

This is the moment we must help answer the call for a new dawn in the Middle East. My country must stand with yours and with Europe in sending a direct message to Iran that it must abandon its nuclear ambitions. We must support the Lebanese who have marched and bled for democracy, and the Israelis and Palestinians who seek a secure and lasting peace. And despite past differences, this is the moment when the world should support the millions of Iraqis who seek to rebuild their lives, even as we pass responsibility to the Iraqi government and finally bring this war to a close.

This is the moment when we must come together to save this planet. Let us resolve that we will not leave our children a world where the oceans rise and famine spreads and terrible storms devastate our lands. Let us resolve that all nations – including my own – will act with the same seriousness of purpose as has your nation, and reduce the carbon we send into our atmosphere. This is the moment to give our children back their future. This is the moment to stand as one.

And this is the moment when we must give hope to those left behind in a globalized world. We must remember that the Cold War born in this city was not a battle for land or treasure. Sixty years ago, the planes that flew over Berlin did not drop bombs; instead they delivered food, and coal, and candy to grateful children. And in that show of solidarity, those pilots won more than a military victory. They won hearts and minds; love and loyalty and trust – not just from the people in this city, but from all those who heard the story of what they did here.

Now the world will watch and remember what we do here – what we do with this moment. Will we extend our hand to the people in the forgotten corners of this world who yearn for lives marked by dignity and opportunity; by security and justice? Will we lift the child in Bangladesh from poverty, shelter the refugee in Chad, and banish the scourge of AIDS in our time?

Will we stand for the human rights of the dissident in Burma, the blogger in Iran, or the voter in Zimbabwe? Will we give meaning to the words “never again” in Darfur?

Will we acknowledge that there is no more powerful example than the one each of our nations projects to the world? Will we reject torture and stand for the rule of law? Will we welcome immigrants from different lands, and shun discrimination against those who don’t look like us or worship like we do, and keep the promise of equality and opportunity for all of our people?

People of Berlin – people of the world – this is our moment. This is our time.

I know my country has not perfected itself. At times, we’ve struggled to keep the promise of liberty and equality for all of our people. We’ve made our share of mistakes, and there are times when our actions around the world have not lived up to our best intentions.

But I also know how much I love America. I know that for more than two centuries, we have strived – at great cost and great sacrifice – to form a more perfect union; to seek, with other nations, a more hopeful world. Our allegiance has never been to any particular tribe or kingdom – indeed, every language is spoken in our country; every culture has left its imprint on ours; every point of view is expressed in our public squares. What has always united us – what has always driven our people; what drew my father to America’s shores – is a set of ideals that speak to aspirations shared by all people: that we can live free from fear and free from want; that we can speak our minds and assemble with whomever we choose and worship as we please.

These are the aspirations that joined the fates of all nations in this city. These aspirations are bigger than anything that drives us apart. It is because of these aspirations that the airlift began. It is because of these aspirations that all free people – everywhere – became citizens of Berlin. It is in pursuit of these aspirations that a new generation – our generation – must make our mark on the world.

People of Berlin – and people of the world – the scale of our challenge is great. The road ahead will be long. But I come before you to say that we are heirs to a struggle for freedom. We are a people of improbable hope. With an eye toward the future, with resolve in our hearts, let us remember this history, and answer our destiny, and remake the world once again.

And now back to scenes from the dugout...

Granted, they were all in their 50s, but still.

Overheard in the beer-swillin', chops-bustin' dugout last night:

Guy 1: "Man I'd so do Faye Dunaway."

Guy 2: "You know who was hot back in the day? I'll give initials: M. O."

Guy 3: "Maureen O'Hara?"

Guy 2: "Yup."

Guy 4: "Quiet Man was awesome and she was hot in it."

Guy 2: "I'd need only 20 seconds with Goldie Hawn. In fact, I'd give my left nut just for the chance."

Guy 1: "Susan Sarandon is hot, too."

Wait. We've seen her before. Huh. Wait. She looks really familiar. Don't tell us. Don't tell us.

Wait. Seriously. We got this. Just give us a second.

Ha! She's that girl from the Dairy Queen in Cape May we saw that one time! No. Wait. She's the girl we saw bartending at Red that one time! Huh. No. That's not it. Oh yeah. She's the girl who fell off her stool at that bar during that Yankee game that one time!

No?

Huh. Totally stumped. No clue who she -- and her myriad untranslatable tattoos -- is. She seems so, um, Jersey Shorish, though.

We sometimes wish we had one.

So yeah. The Sneetches. This is our favorite book.

We were talking about it last night. We even mentioned our character motivation for the voice of Sylvester McMonkey McBean, who does kind of sound like Morgan Freeman + over-acting Jimmy Stewart + Larry the Cable Guy or maybe Boss Hogg.

But what a sweet story of redemption and morals. There's no such thing as "better" than someone else based on look, or culture, alone. There's no such thing as entitlement. So what if we spent sophomore year of college, um, experimenting and studying the pictures for "hidden meaning" ("Look! What does that candle holder *really* look like?").

Dr. Seuss had game, yo.

Um.

"Vaseline?" she asked. "What's the Vaseline for?"

"Oh," we said. "Sometimes we get dry hands in the wintertime."

Oh with the Hamlet

So yeah, some of you know how we're all with the teaching now. Like, seriously. Obsessed with becoming OMG the best teacher ever, us. And we will be. Totally.

So Thursday, while observing a teacher and his summer school class, we learned something very valuable. In the oldern days of Shakespeare, the word "Gis" was short for "Jesus Christ" and the word "Cock" was used in place of God.

You write your own joke.

And while we're at it...

That Brett Favre fella needs to go away, no?

Blame the coffee and a good night's sleep

It's THREEFER TUESDAY in these here parts...

Dear Sarah,

We know you were f*cking Matt Damon, and we know Kimmel has the hilarious, but you should check out our Match profile. It's really all you need to know about us. We have fun pictures of ourselves and our dashing, extra-on-the-set looks, and we totally OMG brrrrinnngggg the funny. Ahem. Haaaa-hem. To wit:

I'm a fan of complete sentences and grammar. I'm not a fan of hahahhaaa extraaaa lettersssss and ridiculous typos in emails. I love me some alliteration, as well.

I'm a fan of having music on constantly. All music. All genres. All the time. And I'm a fan of my guitars. I'm a fan of living room sets. The music kind, not the Ashley Furniture kind.

I'm a huge fan of people watching.

I'm a fan of the right side of the bed.

I'm a fan of compromise, though, so the whole right side thing isn't a deal breaker.

I'm a fan of Philly, Jersey, people who go for it, and any time Amy Ryan is onscreen. I'm not a fan of Living Lohan.

I stop whatever it is I'm doing whenever The Wire or Six Feet Under is on the On Demand. But not so much with anything remotely Sex and the City. No. I will not see this movie with you.

So yeah. Sarah. Babe. Ring us on our mobile or wink at us on the Match. Don't just sing it, Sweetie, bring it.

Flip this.

Now check the Engaged Guy, unless you're him and you're the only one reading. Because that'd be f*cked up. A gatrillion interwebs readers and sites, and the one guy reading our hysterically awesome original and jzish blog is the same guy we owe $30 for paintball and not shooting him during the whole shoot the bachelor thing because we were flanking left when everyone else flanked right.

We *heart* Chase Utley

"Boo? F*ck you."

So utterly not Chase, but come on, is this a big deal?

We think not. We think it's also ridiculous that he had to apologize. But also note how quickly he did. Chase is the man and maybe our favorite Phillie of all time, which says a lot, given the whole Schmidt, Trillo, Kruk and Ashburn thing.

So we're dating.

We'd spent a lot of time over the last year specifically not dating. We'd like to think it was because we were refueling, so to speak. Refueling for what, though, we have no clue.

So we're dating.

Y'all know about the match. We are a magnet for the women in their late 30s on the match who "don't want games" and "just want someone respectful to converse with." Oh with the winking, these very nice women with even nicer, um, personalities. We'd like to think we're still in our *early* 30s, because we are, and while we are respectful and a master conversationalist, we'd also like to think we have some of the dirty.

So we're dating.

We don't know how we feel about this, yet. It's way stressful. Can one date plural people? When one communicates this to his present paramour, does one risk a slapping? What if one *enjoys* this slapping? And why are we already thinking about having this conversation with said paramour? Why are we calling her a paramour? Is having the dirty a problem? Slapping?

So we're dating.

Which means we, um, groom ourselves more and clean our bathroom *and* the shelves in the fridge and actually, you know, wash our sheets. It also means we blurt things out like, "Yeah, we quit the porn" over dinner.

So yeah, we're dating.

Old Man Sap

Moms, to Pops, the other day at dinner: "Why didn't you ask for a pinch runner?"

Pops, back to Moms: "Because you were there."

Moms: "You didn't want a runner because I was there?"

Pops: "Yes."

So yes, maybe we do believe in love afterall.

Why men cheat in August.

Stupid engagement to dumb Ryan Reynolds. Whatevs, SJo.

Whateffingevs.

And now back to we say/they say on the Match

Us, in our profile...

"I'm a fan of complete sentences and grammar. I'm not a fan of hahahhaaa extraaaa lettersssss and ridiculous typos in emails. I love me some alliteration, as well."

And...

Favorite Things: In the summer? Sitting on my porch with a guitar and beer. Oh. And long romantic walks in the park, hand-in-hand with my paramour talking about the wonderfully well-behaved yet strangely issue-laden Ivy Leaguers we'll certainly have one day.

And now the responses:

1. "Thoroughly enjoyed your profile, it actually made me laugh aloud. Course the clincher was you are quite the wordsmith and entertained me. Congratulations! I mean that in the most least snotty way of course."

2. "Could I be more of a fan of your writing? I doubt it. I am quite impressed, however I must tell you I am a horrible speller. Hopefully, we can work past that."

3. "Hey grammar freak..."

Ah, the Match. Cheaper than the other online hobby and quite the summer distraction.

Lesson Learned

"Oh no," she said, "you can't make your students do things like clean the chalkboard or sweep the floor in your classroom."

For the record, we then made a hammer joke that may or may not have invoked the word, "Dad." Man these kids these days with their cannot be punished for any reason.

Rant? No. But we are very close to raising a generation of big moist, well, you get it.

And now back to things we would have said at the roast if not for the overwhelming feeling that *we'd* be the one who bombs.

To the host: "Hey, here's a napkin. You have the flop sweat on your brow."

What. Nothin'?

No seriously. We would've probably said, "What. Nothin'?"

To the bachelor: "Thanks so much for unasking (us) to sing at your wedding."

To the bachelor, again: "Sorry. What. Too soon?"

To the room: "Wow. So *this* is what a NAMBLA conference is like."

And that's what it's like to be Old Man Snap. Weeks to prepare material. Don't prepare material. Choke by over-laughing at the roast to make up for said lack of material. Beat self up about not bringing the funny material.

Think of good material. The next morning. Tell it on the drive home alone and laugh hysterically. Repeat. Then blog about it three days later because you're still thinking about it.

Yay! Issues!

Again with the dreams...

Nevermind that we woke up this morning, nine-plus hours later and very, very refreshed, with this song in our head.

And nevermind that we had a nightmare about being pulled from a softball game in the first inning because we were misplaying *everything* hit to us.

We're sure they're not even remotely connected.

And again with the freaking low disk space. All we're doing is "streaming" Heart videos on the Interwebs.

Where we'll be on Aug. 7

From the Star-Ledger: Pearl Jam frontman Eddie Vedder is embarking on a rare solo tour next month, and he is coming to Newark.

He will appear at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center on Aug. 7.

Tickets, $65 to $75, go on sale at 1 p.m. July 11. Call (888) 466-5722 or visit njpac.org.

Vedder will also perform at the United Palace theater in New York, on Aug. 4-5. Tickets, $75, also go on sale at 1 p.m. July 11. Call (201) 507-8900 or visit ticketmaster.com.

Liam Finn will open the shows. For pre-sale information, visit pearljam.com.

Vedder released his first solo album, the soundtrack for the movie "Into the Wild," in September, and toured as a solo artist for the first time in April, on the West Coast. His upcoming tour runs from Aug. 1, in Boston, to Aug. 22, in Chicago.

And then we were inspired...

We think it's hysterical that on one softball team -- yes, we said *soft* *ball* -- we get lambasted with talk of having the gay because, well, we're unique. Yet then tonight, when on a different team, one of the guys went around the dugout and tried to get all up in everyone else's bizznatch with the ass-smacking and the saying to relax, no one said a word. Huh.

Go for anal in the dugout and one isn't accused of having the gay. But be a li'l flamboyant and always matching the high socks with the Phillies cap, and one is. Interesting. Frankly, it's a compliment anyway. Right?

Speaking of all up in everyone else's bizznatch and not having the gay, here's Audrina!

We think we have the mono.

OK. We so don't, but boy oh boy it's been hard to get motivated and moving this week. Are we the only ones? Sheesh. We were ridiculously motivated last night with the Journey listening and the dishwashing and the picking outfits and all of these things, but this morning? More with the coffee and less with the funny riffs, we know.

Carlin died. No blog. Imus in trouble and Al Sharpton (*Al* *Sharpton*) deciding whether he will "take action"? No blog. Hung out with a prostitute Saturday night? No blog.

Wait. What?

Yes. Cadence had to be an escort, what with *that* name, her lack of any ID and her boobs doing her talking for her. Nice girl, though. Just graduated college. From Michigan. No. We didn't go all the Spitzer on her. We just tried, valiantly, to get her to admit she sold her body for money while she sat there, alone in a bar in Center City, and avoided question after question from us.

Russert would've been proud.

What. Too soon?

"Michelle, you look good tonight, baby."

"KEVIN!" she screamed. "What does 'Top of the world' feel like?"

Oh no she didn't.

Meanwhile, how great is Kevin Garnett asking Bill Russell where he should go later to get his celebration on?

1. Kevin Garnett: MVP interviewee.
2. Michelle TaFoya: Not so much.
3. Bill Russell: Still a playa.

Holly's bat sh*t crizazy. No one cares.

So we remember the days of yesteryear, when the folks were working and Playboys were easy to come by, just as long as one would clean them for fingerprints and put them *exactly* back where they belonged.

One would sometimes have to make sure one's footprints were erased from the fun rug that one could spell his name in in the folks' bedroom.

But one digresses.

We realized this morning that ever since new job, we haven't been on the TMZ. At all. We've been more with the regular news cycle sites and, gasp, things like local newspaper online comment sections.

So this morning, we checked out the TMZ and learned all about this.

If the E! producers had any balls, they'd let that sh*t implode. On camera. Everyone loves a good plastic meltdown, and Holly is so going to lose her mind.

GO TEAM KENDRA/BRIDGET!

There. We feel better now, and we shall go back to reading the Poynter and caring about things that matter, like the world on its slow burn to destruction and Obama's presidential run and updating our match profile and all of these things.

Question

So we're old, right?

We get that.

We're also a li'l shy sometimes, and always with the thinking. Always.

So when one finishes a four-hour date of pretty awesome conversation and lots o' hearty laughter (her, not us -- we were killing), and one walks said date to her car, when just happens to be parked next to us (FATE! Interceding!), and one doesn't kiss date good night, this is OK, right?

"(We're) a hugger," we said. As we said it, we realized, too late, that she was in prime kiss position. And we caught her off-guard.

"You're a hugger?" she asked.

"Yes," we replied. "We like to hug. Plus, it takes the momentum out of ridiculously awkward moments like we could've just had. So I hug. I like hugging."

"Oh," she said. And again with the laughter.

Oh with the thought of the day

Gee. We sure wish our hairstylist was 5'3" with blonde hair and boobs while he runs his delicate fingers through our hair while washing it with perfect-temperature water.

And now back to what makes us maybe cry...

"Dare to Dream: The Story of U.S. Women's Soccer."

Everytime. Always with the tears. Especially when they show the penalty kicks.

Something about fingers and aftermaths

So deep down inside, in places we don't talk about, we're happy we never have any comments. Thrilled, even. Commenters can be mean, y'all.

(Although you figure out which line we think is *hilarious*, and it's not the one where the commenter makes fun of those less fortunate).

Don't Mess with the OldMan

So yeah, Kung Fu Panda (Kung. Fu. Panda.) beat out Adam Sandler's latest hilarity this weekend at the ol' box office. And Mike Myers with The Love Guru opens soon! (He's a midget! They shot him into the net like a puck! Because he's a midget!).

So this rounds out the whole "Movies We Won't See this Summer, Not Even on a Match Date" Monday morning blog that everyone forgets is back on the air:

1. Sex and the City, although we did hear Charlotte goes topless, which is always good times.
2. The funny panda movie.
3. The funny Sandler movie.
4. The funny Myers movie.
5. Indiana Jones and the wait, how old is he, again?

We will see the Batman for the first time since the original because, you know, Heath Ledger died. But more because he was a pretty good actor who allegedly nailed the part of a psychopath. And we love us some psychopath.

PANDAS! HA! That's too much! We can't stop Laughing! Out! Loud!

We feel older than we normally do.

Now, then. We don't get the Rolling Stone anymore, mainly because it, like most things these days, isn't what it used to be. But at the doctor's office the other day, we mentioned that we're all about the singing and the songwriting and the strumming, so the overly talkative, not so much with the eye contact receptionist handed us the June issue with Mayer, Buddy Guy, Eddie Van Halen and others on the cover.

"Here," she said. "You'll like this."

So one of our favorite things from when we did get the Rolling Stone is on the back page: From the Fault Top 10 Singles. This issue presented the Top 10 from June 10, 1993. This was the day of our dinner dance/prom. This was also two days before we got in our "Lush Mobile," a 1977 Chevy Caprice *Classic* and sped around Newtown, Pa. with Van Halen's "Top of the World" cranked.

Cheesy, yes. But so undeniably hip, as well. So we'll give you the Top 5...

1. Janet Jackson's "That's the Way Love Goes." Remember when Janet was toned and abs and moving her hips to what amounts to the ultimate foreplay song? Yeah. We don't. Mainly because not so much with the foreplay when we were 18 with mushroom 90s hair.


2. Silk's "Freak Me." Let us lick you up and down. 'Til you say stop. We loved this song back then.


3. H-Town's "Knockin' Da Boots." Perhaps our all-time favorite high school memory song, right up there with "Rumpshaker." Right about now we on the information tip, so ladies go get your towels... Pure lyrical genius, the H-Town.


4. SWV's "Weak." Who doesn't love the S, double-double-u to the V?


5. Robin S's "Show Me Love." If there was ever a 90210 go-to artist, oh with the Robin S.


We might know every word to every song listed. We don't know how we feel about this, though.

And then we registered as a "Democrat."

See? Blame "Jersey Joe" Pennacchio, he of nearly 97 signs lining the road next to our homestead and the two many consonants in his name. Why with the signs, Joe? And why with the nickname? We knew today was the primary, and we knew we *were* registered Independent anyway, but boy did you ever make our decision easy. Seriously with the freaking signs already.

And did Hillary concede yet? Grrrrr. Always with the grrrrr.

So regardless of how we feel about Queen Hills over there, we registered as a "Democrat" when we hit up the primary today. And boy did we ever give the poor election lady sh*t by asking her, as soon as we voted, if we could redeclare Independent right then and there, mainly because conformity eats a fat one.

There.

When we run for office someday, we dare you -- and you know who you are -- to add the "eats a fat one" line to the file labeled "Inappropriate Content" you keep on us. And yes, we cleaned up the Facebooks and MySpaces.

Oh with these dames on the Match

"I don't drink alcohol," she says on her profile.

And then with the arrowbacking to find someone who does.

Damn you, Scarlett.

See? We were soooo over you after the whole senseless Ryan Reynolds engagement thing. We thought you'd wait for us. Seriously. We sing. We play geetar. We have that whole confident yet wicked shy thing going on. We have, dare we say, *swagger*.

So we were soooo over you. We even joined the Match.com, which we are now obsessed with for no reason other than it's fun to see Communism at its worst, to prove that we are sooooo over you.

And then the Egotastic! posts pictures of you naked in a pool.

And we're back to drinking and blogging and crying and listening to Rhianna radio on the Pandorae. And thinking of you.

Grrrr.

Steeeeeerike One!

"i (sic) am looking for my male counterpart," she says. "I know my strengths as well as my weaknesses. It would be great to meet a guy who has a similar balance and who understands that "perfection" is more about the actual connection or chemistry between two people, rather then someone who meets specific requirements."

OK. She has a point with the whole perfection thing. But really? All we want is someone who capitalizes the pronoun "I" properly. We'd also like someone who gives us good, um, back scratches and rhymes with chor-- well, nevermind.

CONGRATULATIONS!

"You've just subscribed to Match.com. Your new love life awaits."

*Sigh*

The Way We Are

So all we wanted to do, really, was run to Timbaland's not-so-new hot joint, "The We You Are." Nevermind the grammar, you. We just wanted to run.

Then our iPod wouldn't update. Then with the low disk space. Then with the breaking down and flatout deleting Kate Frost (Google it -- as Sarah Silverman says, "It'll be a great later joke"). OK. Don't Google Kate Frost. Lord knows what you'll find.

Anyway, our iTunes done disappeared after multiple attempts to sync last night. Then again with the low disk space and maybe we should defrag but we can't because oh with the goddamn low disk space and we deleted Isabella Soprano too (just sayin': addiction is sooooo 2005) and then with the downloading new versions of iTunes and can't because, you guessed it, *poof* low disk space.

Dell's suck, by the way. We might invest in these new "Mac" "Books."

But wait. Voila. The iTunes suddenly loaded and then with the syncing. And now we have the Weezer and a fantastic run mix that we can't use until 12 hours from now. The Dell Gods suck, too.

So yeah, aren't you glad we're back blogging not so subtley about deleting large files that we really shouldn't be wasting anymore time staring at?

So...

Gossip Girl isn't that bad.

And now back to sh*t we never watch

Seriously with the Three Men and a Little Lady and the Beethoven's 2nd and why the f*ck is 90210 not on the SoapNet and Jesus with no The Wire or Flight of the Conchords on the On Demands and wait, isn't it a beautiful day and huh, when was the last time we just sat and played Dead Flowers on our porch and wait.

Sex and the City? We've seen one episode of this Sex and the City and we want to be full-on prepared to tell the masses why this movie, like the Indiana Jones, isn't one we're rushing to the theaters to see. Why?

Where to begin...

1. Carrie. We get it. You're young/old, oof, 35, and looking for love and hey! What's the guy from Office Space doing stealing our look with the "beard" and the jeans and the courdoroy jacket and all of these things and why do you, Carrie, type so flawlessly with no visible typos?

2. Charlotte. Christ. Always with the bra on during sex, that one.

3. Samantha. She made a tranny joke in the season 6 premiere and we *maybe* laughed. And then we wondered if we'll actually, you know, cougar. Yes. We just made it a verb.

4. Miranda. Still hot, all lawyer-MILFY with intellect and fantastic hair.

Now, then. If Miranda made a moviefilm, we'd be all over that sh*t. But we'll keep our $12.50 to see the Harold and Kumar and maybe any movie with Amy Smart that comes out this summer. In the meantime, back to the geetar.

The Kink

Just a Memorial Day gift from us to all of you:

Spiderwebs? Oof. We thought we enjoyed a li'l dirty dirty, but we got nothin' on this creep.

What, now?

You know how the iTunes Store sometimes recommends music you'd like?

Yeah.

Um.

We don't like the Hanson.

So we get these email mailings

And they say things like this:

(OMS) --

The polls are closed in Kentucky and votes are being counted in Oregon, and it's clear that tonight we have reached a major milestone on this journey.

We have won an absolute majority of all the delegates chosen by the people in this Democratic primary process.

From the beginning, this journey wasn't about me or the other candidates. It was about a simple choice -- will we continue down the same road with the same leadership that has failed us for so long, or will we take a different path?

Too many of us have been disappointed by politics and politicians more times than you can count. We've seen promises broken and good ideas drowned in a sea of influence, point-scoring, and petty bickering that has consumed Washington.

Yet, in spite of all the doubt and disappointment -- or perhaps because of it -- people have stood for change.

Unfortunately, our opponents in the other party continue to embrace yesterday's policies and they will continue to employ yesterday's tactics -- they will try to change the subject, and they will play on fears and divisions to distract us from what matters to you and your future.

But those tactics will not work in this election.

They won't work because you won't let them.

Not this time. Not this year.

We still have work to do to in the remaining states, where we will compete for every delegate available.

But tonight, I want to thank you for everything you have done to take us this far -- farther than anyone predicted, expected, or even believed possible.

And I want to remind you that you will make all the difference in the epic challenge ahead.

Thank you,

Barack Obama

We do love us some horoscopes

Quickie: The universe is finally giving you the green light to proceed with your plans -- go!

Um. That's what she, well, nevermind.

Yay for the universe!

True story from within the car

So some of you -- well, the four of you who know we're back -- know we've been commuting unGodly amounts of hours for an unGodly amount of time this decade. A side effect of said commute is the ability to randomly kick sweet dance moves in the car to pretty much everything.

Yesterday, it was the Backstreet Boys.

We admit it, we have a, um, soft spot for these fellas with the weird facial hair and tough guy tattoos. Wait. Did we just describe ourselves? EFF. But we digress.

"Tell me whyeeeeeeee" is one of our favorite lyrics to sing. You try it. And tell us it's not contagious. Like the Polio or some sh*t.

Oh. And Danny Tanner's not Gay.

HAPPY FRIDAY!

A word about Fingerprint Girl

So she took us early (hey now). She had a nose ring. Always hot. No, she wasn't a cutter. She was artsy and ponytailey and laughed. A lot. She told us to relax and she grabbed our ol' sweaty fingers (seriously? OMS sweats, y'all. Why is this?) and she gently scanned in proof that we have no criminal record.

Now, then, how does one seal the deal with Fingerprint Girl?

It's the same sh*t with German Waitress at the Greek Restaurant Girl and Alexi the Hot Bartender at Kabin Girl and, Christ, Heather the Running Shoe Sales Girl who laughed when we said we look like a muppet when running through town.

Does one just say, "Hey. You hot. (Us) interested. Let's do this"? Or does one keep waiting for Cupid to smack us upside the face and be all, duh, dude, get digits? Either way, Fingerprint Girl was hot.

Just sayin'.

A word about the match.com ad girls

Anytime we log off the MySpace*, oh these dames with their braless typing on their sensual keyboards. They look nothing like the ones posing in Naughty Bookworms** glasses and kissy-fish faces with screen names like Curvy_n_Curly on the actual Match.com.

Just sayin'.

*MySpace was a "social networking" site on the interwebs popular way back in Two Thousand Ought-Four. Once a haven for online creative expression of one's self, it quickly became inundated with pedophiles and, later, reporters doing research on kids who overdosed who always have awesome, character-defining quotes like, "PATRYYYYY (sic) IT UP BICTHESSSSSSS (sic)" on their pages, and now everyone uses it to "check their music pages" even though all the real bands found on the MySpace have actual "Web sites" you can "check."

**You look it up. Just not at work. And good luck overcoming that addiction.

And now back to things we say outloud

"(We'd) tap that even though she's preggers." - Last night, walking through the parking lot.

FORE(TEEN YEARS)!

"I think playing golf during golf during a time of war sends the wrong signal."

Um. So does stuffing a sock in your pants and declaring "MISSION ACCOMPLISHED" like 14 years ago, no? Christ with this guy.

Meanwhile, Hillary's the choice for West Virginians! Why is West Virginia a state? And what's with the peach blazer? Ew. Totally out of style, this chick.

"The White House is won in the swing states," she says.

That sound? Yes. Vomit. In our mouth.

But kids! There's hope!

Note this tidbit from the AP story: "Obama picked up about 30 superdelegates in the last week, altogether a bigger prize than West Virginia offered either candidate in the lopsided primary."

See? Superdelegates! Hillary! Gets-a-steppin'!

See, here's the thing...

Quickie:
The universe can give you whatever you need, but you will have to ask for it first!

Oh with the exclamation points.

So in our time away from the interwebs (and seriously, we had no intention of coming back until, well, we saw the Hillary picture and got, um, inspired), we spent a lot of hours pondering God and the worldly ways of the universe.

We've become firm believers that if one participates in said universe, this ubiquitous universe will use its powers for good. So we've somewhat dropped our whole pessimistic "The other shoe will drop nothing good ever lasts" outlook on life for one that says, simply, "Give to the universe and the universe will give back."

So our horoscope made us happy. We wonder, though, how the universe feels about giving or- wait, nevermind. We just want world peace and a certain candidate to drop out of a certain race yesterday.

Just sayin'.

What. Michael Jordan retired like seven times.

As for this, y'all know Hillary was all kaflooey in the car with the tears and the thinking about "when" she quietly traversed the beaches of Normandy diplomatically or how she valiantly discussed race relations with the Rebs in Gettysburg and how to tell the American public both stories without *lying* and the minute-by-minute convincing of herself that she isn't killing the Democratic party by childishly staying in a race that she can't win.

Whew. That felt good.

Tapping out

Hey y'all,

Thank you for reading over the years. You loyal readers have made this fun. Since October 2005, we've tried to bring ourselves some sanity and you some form of insight -- both into our minds and to how f*cked the world is.

We don't know. We might go work on Obama's campaign or some sh*t. We'll be back. We just don't know when. Always with the uncertainty, we know. It keeps us grounded. Until then, peace.

- OMS

The great washing of the hogs

"Hogwash," he says, a month later and looking a tad disheveled.

And 25 years of a solid reputation? Dude, you threw at Mike Piazza's head and then chucked his broken bat at him. Integrity our ass.

We don't know what gets us most, really. What about Wallace interviewing his friend? Clemens waiting so long to get all his ducks in a row? Clemens saying he doesn't want to spend money on a legal battle to clear his name?

This is why society saddens us.

Goodbye, dreams

PISCES: Right now things are getting a bit stale, and you need to make some room in your life for new ideas and people -- so get cleaning! You know deep down inside that in your heart there are more than a few old exes, forgotten dreams, and outdated philosophies that need to get tossed. Don't worry -- saying goodbye to your dreams now doesn't mean you are saying goodbye forever. It just means you are shifting focus to more productive areas of your life.

Who says goodbye to dreams? Horoscopes be trippin' lately, yo.

When job searches go horribly wrong

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Trapped. Suffocating, even.

Yay for Saturday night job searches! Now what the f*ck do these things mean, anyway?

What You Do

--Develop and implement tactics based on strategies that will ensure delivery of results
--Maintain the standards of quality work product that we’re damn well known for
--Pay meticulous attention to DETAILS
--Work closely with C-levels to own success of your accounts. We want you to succeed.

We want us to succeed, too!

And there's more!

Comedycentral.com is seeking a Community Manager. This Community Manager will be responsible for the development, growth, and ongoing maintenance of the community.
Responsibilities:
Champion and develop ways to integrate/extend current community offerings throughout Comedycentral.com and its verticals.
Monitor community activity and report back on usage trends
Identify opportunities for production teams
Stimulate and provide topics of conversation within communities
Identify key community members and develop reward- and validation- based systems to help stimulate activity amongst users
Organize groups within current communities around our content offerings
Responsible for monitoring of the moderation service of user posts and submission, but hands-on moderation will be required also
Pro-actively seek, analyze, understand and recommend new trends/technologies in the online community space

Look. We have a very good friend who constantly has his eye on the prize because he knows what he wants out of his career, and he has the skills for it. He also comments a lot, but that's beside the point. We also have a very good friend who just quit his job to chase what he actually wants to do -- ah, modicum of desire.

And then there's us. We're a pretty good writer and outstanding talker. Give us something to champion and we'll sell that sh*t, no doubt. But what the f*ck are we supposed to be doing?

It's enough to rejoin the Brazzers. Er. No it's not.

How to win dames and influence broads

"I have a friend I want to set you up with," our friend said.

"Yeah," we replied. "Well..."

"Would you date a 33-year-old?"

"Well," we said, "um..."

"She looks like she's 21, though."

"Um. So. Here's the thing. Relationships. It's just. (We're) not very good at them, nor are we really looking for one. It never ends well, right?"

Christ. We might as well have said, "Everybody dies."

So there endeth the great Wednesday setting-upping.

***
This reminds us.

Line of the night on New Year's Eve/Day?

Seconds after midnight: "Happy New Year! All your hopes and dreams will vanish!"

And no. We didn't say it.

Bastards.

*yaaaaaaaaawn*

So we just slept for about 10 1/2 hours. Yay us.

And, um, we go back to work today.

So yeah, that just about covers that.