Send in the JV team

Welcome to today’s WTF from right here in sunny New Jersey, land of 1000 toxic waste sites.
I’m going to take a break from my recent rablings and grumblings about the personal relationships we’re all forming with the Islamofascists, and flip back over to my other biggest peeve – our uninvited guests.
I’m not a xenophobe – I don’t fear them. After all – they’re just people. Of course, these are people that are sucking our systems and fundings dry. We cater to this crowd, a lot like we do to the Islamos as the dhimmi we are, and it kills me.
And then, just when I think I’ve slammed enough Seagram’s product and Clydesdales to get past the reminders that the Brotherman posts, I stumble across this gem of an article.
I’m not going to badmouth Joe Vas. I’m no democrat, and I don’t live in Puerto Amboy, and I don’t recall ever having a conversation with him. But, if what the dude in the article said is true, the Vas Deferens is gonna have some explaining to do.
I will not accept any rational explanation to do this outside of the same logic used down in Tennessee to license the crack dealers. Essentially – the TN folk decided to hand out stamps to those that wanted to deal the crack. Here’s the instant tip-off to the law enforcement community of who is distributing (and absolutely dumb enough to do the lemming thing and get in line). If the Vas had this in mind to get the illegals to line up and try to get a license – if only for the purpose of rounding them up for immediate deportation to say, ANYWHERE ELSE – then maybe – MAYBE – I can cut him some slack.
But like I said, I’m not going to bad mouth JV here. I’ll paint the picture for you and let’s see if you come up with the same verdict I have. It doesn’t matter what office JV holds, the basic facts are this: he’s a politician in New Jersey. The politicians in New Jersey make the stereotypical politico seem noble. Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be patting the Vas on the back for this action any time soon.

Sarandipity

There is nothing in this world that can take the place of plastic wrap. I realize this piece of news may come as odd or surprising to the common folk, but indeed, this is pure wisdom as passed to me by my hero of youth, SandwichMan.
Where my fellow classmates would pull from brown bags and trademarked boxes their PBJs and bourgeois cheese slices between bread slices, I would shock and amaze the other gradeschoolers with edible constructs that redefined what should truly be a sandwich. This art of sandwich should come as no surprise, as I have writ this topic in the past. In this case, the sandwich is nothing more than a vehicle for the topic du jour.
How often have we given a gift to a young one, only to have the toy left idle and the tot immersed in the imaginative playland courtesy of the box or packaging the gift came in? The same principle applies to the wondrous sandwiches of my youth. Where the other lunchroom denizens released their fare from zip-locked baggies or garish Tupperware squares, I unpeeled my delicacies from the taut clear grasps of plastic wrap.
This just wasn’t any kind of plastic film, mind you. No, it wasn’t the gaudy colored variety we find in stores today, and it wasn’t the large industrial kitchen sized roll either. Most importantly – it wasn’t the brand name Saran. It was Shop-Rite plastic wrap.
In short, and affectionately called “plassic.”
Decades have come and gone, and I have used the great plassic for any and every kind of wrapping and sealing there is. All kinds of foodstuffs, including uses in the preparation of said foods, were subject to the plassic. And in all this time – the Shop-Rite brand reigned. Until now.
I have just recently come to use a different manufacturer’s roll of wrap, and I find it stronger, easier to rend sizable sheets from the roll, much more manipulative, and best of all – it clings better.
“Heresy! Blasphemy! How can you make such claims?” ah, but I am the Son of SandwichMan, and I know the secrets. And I say – this is a foretold sign of the end of times, as the brand that has beaten our champion is none other than A&P’s America’s Choice. The Four Horsemen ride, and their lunches were wrapped in America’s Choice plassic.
GASP
Indeed. I am a converted true believer in that which is plassic and now from A&P. Much like Paul had his personal revelation on the way to Rome, I have become enlightened with the ultimate Pravda in plassic. Try it yourself. Become one with the plassic. Do not use in cribs or as a toy for children under 3 years of age.

I'm not (un)dead... yet.

Ok, it’s official. I spend a lot of time in front of a PC. Therefore, I’m staring if not clicking in some browser, bouncing around the interweb. I’m selling an email product, I take classes online, and I’m sucking at some online fantasy sports leagues.
But – in the spare moments when nobody’s looking – I kill zombies.
Yup – I stumbled on this low-tech, no real mission online role-playing game by the name of Urban Dead. I just started, and I got my bro Ed into it. Since we’re just starting, we may get a few others involved and try to defend our little virtual suburb of all zombie infestation.
Why? Because I for one do not welcome my new zombie overlords, and it’s a kick. Check the link to the right, sign up, and look for DCzski in the game. I might start posting updates to my character’s survival and progress. Wahoo!

se7en

Man, that was quick. It’s amazing how fast seven years can go by. You see, seven years ago today, the Wife™ finally and after much effort and an extreme amount of controlled substances pushed out our first born, pictured above at present age.
It was, at very limited description, an amazing experience, even not doing the actual pushing or carrying or whatever the womynly terms are nowadays, but down at the Johnny Bench position – things were surreal.
The precious wisdom gained from this experience was doled out to others, and some may even attest to the greatness of that wisdom, such as – if and when the doctor says, “hey, take a look up there,” you decline that offer. Especially when your diet in the previous 24 hours consisted of coffee and M&M’s.
But I digress from the present, when I’m not holding a baby, MY baby for the very first time, but I’m with a little girl that I can converse and reason and laugh and joke and read and plot and play and learn with. She’s my walking talking experiment, as she represents every parental thing I’ve tried out for the first time (this may be argued, as not all kids are the same, stay tuned for another birthday type post in April where I know I’ll really delve into different) and can easily be called special. What first born isn’t? I know I am.
So the point here is that this kid has notched her seventh rotation around our middle sized star today. According to her, this is her day, and expects calls of congratulations and cheer, cakes and sweets, songs of praise, parties of honor, and generally big time attention. Cue spotlight, warm up the amps for the microphone, testing one, two, three.
Dara’s on stage today. She is everyday, but it’s like she has an excuse for doing it today, so like Prometheus unbound, she’s running amok full of fire.
So sit back and enjoy the show. Clink a glass and say it. HBD.

D-Man thought: today also marks seven years of the Wife™ and I playing parents. Not exactly surprising of a thought when you consider what the Wife™ brings to the table, but I have enough character witnesses that still show amazement if not fear that I am responsible for the care and upbringing of a child, nay THREE children. That I’ve kept this going somewhat well for SEVEN years – well, I know I’m surprised.

Mo' Better

Kids – no lie, the good folks at Fark have beaten me to it. I’ve been brainstorming a good Prophet Mohammed comic thing, and what do I come across? A whole photoshop thread of hysterical instances of using Mohammed in a sitcom.
Not to say that this is stifling my comic strip idea – if anything it’s fueled it nicely. I think I may use PS or GIMP to make a South Park-type of image for the comic.
Check back soon and look to the right for new links. I will probably create a whole different blog site dedicated to the strip. I just need a catchy title, like “I’d Like Some Mo’ P-Mo!” or “Jihad To Be You.”

HBD

My boy turns three today. Not even the Islamofascists can get me down. This little man is everything, and it’s his day today.
When I say everything – I mean it. He is single handedly a pirate (Cap’n Hook, but smaller), a train, a strongman, a Space Ranger, a cowboy, a dancin’ fool, a singer, an artist, a demolitionist, a Casanova, a brother, and a big momma’s boy.
I see myself living quite vicariously through him in the years to come. But for now – it’s just awesome like it is.
He’s three – and so am I.

Say it.
HBD

Mohammed - modern day Jester

So the Prophet Mohammed walks into a bar. He glides up to the bartender, and proclaims in a grand voice, “Proprietor! I would like a Molotov Cocktail!”
The bartender looks all confused and a little worried, and responds, “And what in the Hell are you gonna do with that?”
So Mohammed jumps the bar and strangles the bartender. As the last breath escapes the man, Mohammed says, “I find your lack of faith disturbing…”

Ok, maybe it’s not so funny. But guess what? I don’t care. The joke is just about on level with the latest “outrage” by all those folks of the “Religion of Peace.” If I had the time I would have made my own Curious Mohammed comic strip, and that I can guarantee you would have been funnier than the Monkey Heist. Seriously, I am farking nuts over this. It is obviously the sign of the end of times, because I actually agreed with the French. No shit – fucking FRANCE has the right view on this one and has actually stopped eating cheese for the few seconds in time to stand up to the Islamofascism du jour.

Here’s another try:
The Prophet Mohammed walks into a bar with a frog on his head.
The bartender says, “What’s that?”
The frog quickly replies, “Well, it started as a wart on my ass and then THIS happened.”

I’m getting there. Meanwhile, because I’m posting outright blasphemous Mohammedisms, some head-wrapped nutjob is composing his latest death threat because of the above content. To which I have this reply:
“Hey Sandy – if you want your people to be treated as equals to and by the Western world, welcome to Free Speech 101. I’ll be your guide, if not your human alarm clock to wake you up after centuries of ignorance. It’s the 21st century, and we drive cars, not camels. You should know this of course, because most of our money goes to a few of your caliphs that own the land you hold so sacred yet dusty. Lastly, bad news: heaven has run out of virgins, so don’t bother with the bomb. Get a job. Rebuild the reception hall your brother just blew up.”

If it ain’t the illegals getting me crazy, it’s the Islamofascists. Grr.

Get Phil

This one is for the Brotherman, because tomorrow is his most favorite holiday. I thought of creating the above pic since he has me all cranked up about our unwanted guests.
So here’s hoping that Phil doesn’t see his shadow, or at least escape the domo-kun.

EDIT: The 'hog (the TRUE 'hog, Paux Phil) saw his shadow. We've got six more weeks of the cold stuff. Happy Anniversary Col. Potter.