The Freaker of the Spouse won the South with 0% of precincts reporting. And with that kind of stat I fucking won South Carolina too. Democracy rocks! Just ask k10. If the newt wins, I know where my finger is pointing. Up my asshole cause the sun don't shine up the same dog's asshole every day.
Stephanie got me a $50 iTunes giftcard. I spent about 2-3 hours looking for music and spent a whopping $2.45. I bought "Drink 'Til We're Gone" by Lucero and "Laid" by James. Lucero is the country version of Nirvana or Kasabian.
I came up with a brilliant idea to kill our debt: man maid. Yes, the plan was to advertise my services at cleaning (I'm the cleaning machine... or just have too many OCD tendencies). Do some boxer briefs cleaning for desperate and lazy housewives. But I googled man maids and found out that there's already a company called man maids. So my dream was dashed like the deer my mother in law hit on the way to Jesus watch at the church.
It's raining and has been an overall stay inside and make banana pancakes day.
Evelyn now knows the words alpaca, hobbit, puppy, Frodo, shit (oops), Chip, Bilbo, cookie (oops x2), cracker, dance, elephant, football, touchdown, and many more... including fuck (oops x3). She's known the word monkey for months, but why the hell when I'm talking to my sister in law, say probably 100 words, and the one she picks up is fuck? What the fuck?
One of my students finally found out that a poem I have them to annotate and discuss was, in fact, not a poem, and was a song by Radiohead. This is because I don't put Radiohead on the handout but Thom Yorke instead. I insisted that he was crazy, so he then decided that Radiohead must have covered... their own song. I laughed.
Another student who I have not had came asking about the FBI. I told them I worked for the FBI at some point, forgot I had said I had worked for the FBI, then played the part for a good 20 minutes cause this kid wanted to join the FBI. I ended up telling him I never worked for them, but got a helluva good laugh out of it.
Noel Gallagher's new band is the shit. I want to go to Coachella, but I am not remotely close to California or wearing skinny jeans, so my ass will stay put. But it just goes to show that Liam is garbage without his brother. All the best Oasis songs were written by Noel, all the best vocals were done by Noel, and the band was in fact fucking Noel himself. That doesn't mean I would barter a kidney to see Oasis in concert.
Russel Brand was even in one of his videos. Everyone's all what the hell when it comes to him, but he got what he wanted. Green card, bitch!
Yes, even white people do it...
Cheers.
eddiec is not a looney bin hero#1 reason I could never be an Islamic fundamentalist: I love bacon. Wanna win a cooking game show? Put some bacon in anything you're making. The only thing I didn't get for Christmas that would have set me into nirvanic transformation is a bacon mandle. Taking away bacon is the kind of thing that will make a man strap C4 to his chest.
I love beer, and that is the number two reason I could never be an Islamic fundamentalist. I've had too many good beers this last week and a half. I wish I could install a beer fridge at work. My father in law has one, but he's a doctor and has an office. I work in a classroom. Nothing would make my day better than putting my feet up and popping open a Old Leghumper at 3:01 and discussing Beowulf with a student or two. Beer helps you chill the fuck out. It helped Jesus' followers chill the fuck out. See, religions can learn from one another. Beer summit, bitches. Beer summit.
The third reason I could never be an Islamic fundamentalist is because Cam Newton is God. To start this story, the more I watch the NBA, the less I want to watch the NBA. I watched the first regular season game in years. Dwayne Wade looked at Cam Newton and did the Superman. Before that I was thinking, he's the only cunt I like on that team. But I did read that Steve Young wants to move to Charlotte and buy season tickets to Panthers game. Yes, Steve Young wants to be Cam Newton. So instead of yelling Death to America, I can't help but chant Yes We Cam!
I also still believe in the Saints. Go Drew Brees!
Reason numero four for why I could never be an Islamic fundamentalist: I lack the fundamentals. I like women. In fact, women are better with less clothes than more clothes. What the fuck, Arab world? I find it tickling how a fundamentalist believes everything but. I also read that Egyptian women are no longer subjected to virginity tests when arrested. Welcome to the 13th century!
Seriously though, I don't know how some Arabic men call themselves fathers. Fathers who accept that their daughter can't be themselves. If my daughter wants to be a badass English looking screamer, then damnit, she's gonna be a badass English looking screamer. Scream on, Evelyn!
She kinda looks like Angus Young from AC/DC.
Final reason I could never be an Islamic fundamentalist: I love English musicians (and I won't have my head chopped off if I flaunt it). I looked at a list of the best music of 2011. I puked on my boots. So I decided to float around the internets and found a bunch of new music that didn't want to make me puke again on my already heavy boots. Two words. Frank Turner.
This song gives me hope for humanity. I still believe in bacon, beer, false idols, and glittering the shit out of cookies. I also believe that the music can still save your ass.
I fucking love harmonicas.
There's nothing better than challenging students' hearts and minds at 8 in the morning.
From Yahoo! News:
Christopher Hitchens, the author, writer and Vanity Fair contributing editor, has died, the magazine announced late Thursday. He was 62.
Hitchens, who had been battling esophageal cancer since early 2010, died at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, surrounded by friends, Vanity Fair said.
"There will never be another like Christopher," Vanity Fair editor-in-chief Graydon Carter said in a statement. "A man of ferocious intellect, who was as vibrant on the page as he was at the bar. Those who read him felt they knew him, and those who knew him were profoundly fortunate souls."
The brash, combative and provocative Hitchens was an "incomparable critic, masterful rhetorician, fiery wit, and fearless bon vivant," Vanity Fair's Juli Weiner wrote in one of what will assuredly be many testimonials and appreciations to come.
His own memoir, "Hitch-22," was published shortly before his diagnosis, forcing him to cancel a book tour.
"I have been advised by my physician that I must undergo a course of chemotherapy on my esophagus," Hitchens wrote then. "This advice seems persuasive to me. I regret having had to cancel so many engagements at such short notice."
Yet he continued to write about his fight with cancer--among other weighty topics--in the months that followed.
"Cancer victimhood contains a permanent temptation to be self-centered and even solipsistic," he wrote in Vanity Fair last year.
In June 2011, he observed: "My chief consolation in this year of living dyingly has been the presence of friends."
Hitchens is survived by his wife, Carol Blue, their daughter, Antonia, and two children from a previous marriage, Alexander and Sophia.
We'll post selections of remembrances from some of those friends, and obituaries, below. Check back here for updates.
The New Yorker's Christopher Buckley:
We were friends for more than thirty years, which is a long time but, now that he is gone, seems not nearly long enough. I was rather nervous when I first met him, one night in London in 1977, along with his great friend Martin Amis. I had read his journalism and was already in awe of his brilliance and wit and couldn't think what on earth I could bring to his table. I don't know if he sensed the diffidence on my part—no, of course he did; he never missed anything—but he set me instantly at ease, and so began one of the great friendships and benisons of my life. It occurs to me that "benison" is a word I first learned from Christopher, along with so much else.
The Guardian's Richard Lea:
A resolution to spend time at least once a year in "a country less fortunate than [his] own" spurred him to witness the stirrings of revolution in Portugal and Poland, as well as counter-revolution in Argentina. His mother's death in Athens, killing herself in a suicide pact with her lover, saw him reporting on the overthrow of the Greek junta in 1973.
NPR's David Folkenflik:
Hitchens confronted his disease in part by writing, bringing the same unsparing insight to his mortality that he had directed at so many other subjects. Over the years, Hitchens' caustic attention was directed at a broad range of subjects, including Henry Kissinger, Prince Charles, Bob Hope, Michael Moore, the Dalai Lama and Mother Teresa.
The Associated Press' Hillel Italie:
Eloquent and intemperate, bawdy and urbane, he was an acknowledged contrarian and contradiction—half-Christian, half-Jewish and fully non-believing; a native of England who settled in America; a former Trotskyite who backed the Iraq war and supported George W. Bush. ... He was a militant humanist who believed in pluralism and racial justice and freedom of speech, big cities and fine art and the willingness to stand the consequences. He was smacked in the rear by then-British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and beaten up in Beirut. He once submitted to waterboarding to prove that it was indeed torture.
The New York Times' William Grimes:
[A] slashing polemicist in the tradition of Thomas Paine and George Orwell who trained his sights on targets as various as Henry Kissinger, the British monarchy and Mother Teresa, wrote a best-seller attacking religious belief, and dismayed his former comrades on the left by enthusiastically supporting the American-led war in Iraq.
The Telegraph's Nicholas Shakespeare:
He was, in the parlance of his old party, our maximum journalist. As his profession goes through Lord Leveson's wringer, the death of Christopher Hitchens at the age of 62, is a reminder that journalism can be a noble calling and that, in answering its call, it is not necessary for its finest practitioners to hack into your telephone.
Slate's June Thomas:
Editing Christopher Hitchens ... was the easiest job in journalism. He never filed late—in fact, he was usually early, even when he was clearly very sick—and he managed to make his work seem like a great lark. His weekly e-mails always read the same jaunty way: "Herewith. Hope it serves, As always, Christopher."
The Washington Post's Matt Schudel:
Hitchens [was] a sharp-witted provocateur who used his formidable learning, biting wit and muscular prose style to skewer what he considered high-placed hypocrites, craven lackeys of the right and left, "Islamic fascists" and religious faith of any kind.
ABC News' Joel Siegel:
Hitchens became the public face of atheism. Critics assumed his cancer diagnosis, in 2010, would lead Hitchens to relent and embrace God. But he remained a proud non-believer to the very end, as he made clear in an early October 2011 speech at the annual Atheist Alliance of America convention in Houston, as he accepted the Freethinker of the Year Award. His body gaunt from the ravages of cancer, Hitchens said, "We have the same job we always had: to say that there are no final solutions; there is no absolute truth; there is no supreme leader; there is no totalitarian solution that says if you would just give up your freedom of inquiry, if you would just give up, if you would simply abandon your critical faculties, the world of idiotic bliss can be yours."
Hitchens was a throwback to the Norman Maileresque vision of the writer as macho, brilliant, argumentative [and], critically, hard-living.
Slate's Jacob Weisberg:
For an aspiring journalist in Washington, nothing could be headier than Christopher's boozy instruction in radical politics and contemporary literature.
Slate's Anne Applebaum:
Anyone who believes in the power of words will miss Hitchens.
The Atlantic's Nicholas Jackson:
He's the only writer that I've ever written a fan letter to.
Time's James Poniewozik:
To read him was to be deeply impressed—envious, if you were a writer yourself—and at some point to have been deeply pissed off by him.
The Wall Street Journal's Christopher John Farley:
For a contrarian, Christopher Hitchens could be a terrific conversationalist.
The New Stateman's Richard Dawkins:
Hitchens [was the] finest orator of our time, fellow horseman, valiant fighter against all tyrants including God.
Vanity Fair's Weiner:
At the end, Hitchens was more engaged, relentless, hilarious, observant, and intelligent than just about everyone else—just as he had been for the last four decades.
by Mark Colone
I don't care for UNC's success. They seem to capture everyone and every moment in the state. We fight like crazy for just a bit of the spotlight. Now, they get to share it, too. As great a season as the 49ers have had, they are called Cinderella. They will certainly be called that again today. That is not a deserving moniker. This team is really good, resilient and five layers into the title game. They are deserving and already a champion.
It's for super fan Don "The Mayor" Stout, who battled cancer until his death in July - he should be here to see this. He spent so much time with so many coaches volunteering so many hours to drive the team vans, cheer his beloved and adopted 49ers and even raise money through the Charlotte Soccer Foundation he established with former coach Bob Warming and Rich and Karen Schwartz.
It's for Rick Zuber, who was the student's choice as the best economics professor the school had for 30 years, and who served as assistant to three coaches - always a volunteer, never paid a dime. He's in Hoover. Wouldn't miss it for anything.
It's for the letter winners who still gather at his house each year for "Zube's Super Bowl Party" and who remember all the "what if" and "so close" moments.
It's for the 1989 Charlotte team that won at North Carolina and then learned that the series was canceled.
It's for the first 49ers' soccer team to ever play an NCAA tournament game in 1991, and had to do so at UNC only to drop a tough 1-0 overtime loss.
It's for all the fans and letter winners who haven't had a chance to play this stellar UNC program but twice since 1991.
And, it's for coaches Ike Gardner, Steve Parker, Bob Warming, Frank Kohlenstein, John Tart and now the unnerving Jeremy Gunn, who always pushes the right buttons.
Warming took the vagabond program to the front of campus. There were no stands, no press box, no lights until 1988 and no fans outside of players' families and girlfriends. But, the students took breaks from intramural football to watch as the 49ers of Kohlenstein's program grew to a national power in the 1990s.
More than anything, though, this is our chance to do something no program has done in Mecklenburg County - win a national championship. So close in 1977 at the NCAA Final Four. So close with golf's third-place finish this decade.
Now, a chance for it all.
Play well.
