Once Around The Weekend

Posted: September 10, 2011 in Uncategorized

Caturday week/weekend wrap-up.  YOU’RE WELCOME.

Scott Walker’s policies have not only increased teacher retirements, but also made the schools more expensive to run; Heckuva job, Turdwaffle!  Beyond that, his discriminatory and anti-American Voter ID law, is required to provide free IDs for anyone who requests one at a DMV office; however, a DMV administrator issued instructions to all employees that they are not to offer the information that free IDs are available, but only if the customer asks.  Otherwise, it costs 38 dollars, constituting  a de facto poll tax. IANAL, but How is that not unconstitutional and illegal?

When a DMV employee sent an email to all he knew spreading the word and asking them to let everyone know that the IDs were free, he was fired.

So, you know, FUCK YOU TURDWAFFLE. FUCK YOU AND ALL YOUR MINDLESS SOCIOPATHIC GOONS USING THOSE METAL STANCHIONS IN THE DMV QUEUING LINES.

I am almost to the point that I will support a Republican for president if he just moves Imperial Walker into whatever kind of unfathomable horror of an administration he/she/it/Voldemort establishes, just to get the cross-eyed ideological rat-monkey out of the state, like we did with Thompson.

Anyway:

calm the fuck down, Zombie

Ahem.  On to kitteh pictures.

Schrodinger cat gets braver:

what you looking at, two-legs?

And Catsper the Ghost is not very good at climbing her pole, yet:

Last week, a good friend who now lives in Arizona came into town for our party, which was seriously awesome.  And Tuesday night, we went to Linnemann’s to see Sigmund Snopek play.  The show was very casual, Sig uses it to work up material for paying shows, and he played a lot of our old favorites, although the mixing board psychotic episode during “Kali Kala” was a bit disappointing.  After bar time, we went to Sig’s apartment, played with his kitties, and listened to musical sketches of his orchestral piece Laketones, Legends, and Landmarks while following the printed score (which, of course, was next to useless for me):

the score

We got back to our place quite late, or maybe pretty early on Wednesday, and I was not very functional when I got up.  But we got M. off to the Airport, and by Thursday I was feeling better, and even found a check in the office mailbox.

Here’s a picture of Snopek and George doing San Francisco Radio, off the first Snopek band album Thinking Out Loud (one of my favorites, sorry about cropping out the opening section):

And finally,  the Friday Night college drunk crowd were friendly and left us this:

Fucking assholes. Must be Republicans. Destroying the State, one fence at a time if necessary.

I hope their parents are proud of them.

 

While typing this crap, I am watching Dead-Alive, and the guy is now punching out the zombie baby in the park.  While fucking hilarious, I am also appalled at the zombigotry.

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Comments
  1. Mendacious D says:

    How is that not unconstitutional and illegal?

    Duh, he’s a Republican.

  2. vacuumslayer says:

    Wow, whoever did that your fence were huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge assholes. God.

    “Catsper the Ghost”

    That’s awesome.

  3. vacuumslayer says:

    I’m definitely thinking Young Republicans.

  4. M. Bouffant says:

    Load a few shells w/ rock salt, load ’em in your shotgun & wait patiently.

  5. mikey says:

    Looks like some drunken show-off kicked it. Note the way the slat splintered inward near the center. So, hey, just noodling here, but it certainly seems that just about ANYTHING could be screwed/glued/attached to the inside of the gate. One of those cheap stun guns. A pepper spray dispenser. Binary initiated explosive – Potassium Perchlorate and fine Aluminum mesh powder is probably your best choice.

    It seems to me a smart, motivated, college-edumacated Zombie could come up with a little surprise or two to nestle discretely inside the fenceline, waiting patiently.

  6. My inner Beavis says, “YEAH, YEAH, KICK ‘EM IN THE NADS!!!”
    ~

  7. Whale Chowder says:

    Well there goes your hippie cred. “Yeah, hurt the stupid college kids for damaging your cheap fence!” Annoying? Certainly. Is the $2.00 worth of fence slats worth doing damage over? We report, you decide.

    …and that’s your concern troll for the day. To make it up to you, I leave you with this tribute to the society that brings us fellows like Scott Walker.

    • Don’t try to temper your scorn with XTC, Chowder.

      …you have a point though.

      And twenty years ago, when we first bought our house, that’s what we told ourselves when the drunks stole the pink flamingos from our first housewarming party right out of the backyard.

      or when a bottle was thrown through the porch window.

      or when weekend drunks were shouting outside the bedroom windows.

      or when a car parks outside the apartment building with the subwoofer thumping loud enough to rattle dishes inside the house.

      or when someone pisses on the side of our house.

      or when the bottle was thrown through our living room window.

      or any given Sunday, when I walk around the house picking up cups and bottles and pizza boxes and other crap. Once a tire.

      Or when someone rips pickets from the fence and throws them at our house.

      Or when the dorm across the street has another party at 2 AM on the street patios.

      Or when someone is driving the wrong way down our one way street, and doing it fast; our immediate neighbors have three small children just starting into tricycle/ big wheel/ bicycle age.

      Or when furniture is stolen right off the deck.

      Or when I am picking up the garbage from teh overturned dumpster for the umpteenth time.

      Or when the downspouts were stolen from the backyard.

      …well, you get the idea.

      All the bars have signs saying “respect our neighbors”. Problem is, we are several blocks from the bars and the admonishment has evaporated by the time they get up here.

      All I would like is a little respect for ourselves and our house. this behavior seems to have gotten worse over the last couple of years. These folks are ostensibly adults, and I don’t think it is too much to ask that they behave a little more like adults; and while mikey’s ideas may have the benefit of immediate gratification, I really do think it is also the responsibility of the colleges to make sure students living in he area understand this.

      Patience only goes so far, WC.

      • Whale Chowder says:

        All I would like is a little respect for ourselves and our house.

        Nah, I get that. That shit would make me crazy.

        I really do think it is also the responsibility of the colleges to make sure students living in he area understand this.

        This. You’ve talked to the college I presume? Have you discussed neighborhood patrols with your neighbors? What do they do?

        And really, what problems can’t be solved with XTC?

  8. herr doktor bimler says:

    ZRM has been defencestrated.

  9. Brando says:

    Next time, wait for them in the bushes and give them a little Dead-Alive lawnmower love. Hard to kick in a fence with no legs!

  10. mikey says:

    Ok, if we’re going there. There’s a rhythm. It was invented by Spetznaz, adopted by the latin American death squads and formalized by the American SpecOps community. Because we’re nothing if we can’t turn an atrocity into a methodology. Codified, documented, repeatable.

    The rhythm is one-two, one. A double tap to center mass to stop and immobilize the target, and then a final shot to the bridge of the nose. Destroying both the frontal brain and the brain stem simultaneously. Spend enough time in the shoot houses, where you train to go in and kill everybody, and that rhythm dominates your brain. It’s how you move, how you think, how you target, how you aim, how you shoot, how you withdraw. One-two, one. PopPop…Pop.

    Oh, it’s universal now. Like light bullets driven at ridiculous velocities and grenade launchers pushed down to the individual soldier level. It’s not just how nuns died in El Salvador, it’s how boys died in Srebrenica and how Afghan families died in the middle of another night. It’s how you ‘master’ the defensive handgun, how you learn that it’s just not enough to put rounds on target, you need to leave nothing but cooling meat behind.

    And yeah, I suppose that’s practical. It’s not like I’ve found a CQB combat doctrine that works better. But ultimately, when you find yourself loading magazines with nine rather than to capacity, because you’ve embraced the most effective methodology for killing at eyeball range and living through the experience, when you kill a gopher at sunrise with a .223 round and part of you feels like you need to send another one downrange, when your heart asks you to look for options and your brain simply responds that it’s not practical to do so, that when you discover you’ve simultaneously lost your humanity and have nothing to contribute until there is nothing else to sustain humanity….

  11. Whale Chowder says:

    But I am supposed to let it go?

    Did I say that?

    I’m just suggesting you have options other than those that will land you in jail/court. I even mentioned a couple.

    Also: “scorn” is too strong a word, by quite a bit. I was thinking more in terms of pointing out the inner conflict between the early comments and the usual gentle humanism to be found here.

    Note: mikey doesn’t qualify as any kind of hippie I’ve ever heard of, so his “double-tap” post is something I’ll just leave alone. In fact, I’ll give it a very wide berth indeed. Bless you, mikey, I truly wish you all the best.

  12. I’m surprised that Lucy isn’t more effective, she projects good ferocity until learning one is an accepted petting-giver.
    ~

  13. tsam says:

    Two words.

    Skunk, leash.

    nuff said.

  14. Whale Chowder says:

    Skunk, leash.

    Are you gonna leash the skunk?

    Also: leashing the skunk

  15. mikey says:

    Hey! It was a pretty good post.

    It had a kind of suffocating darkness, and the kind of cadence that comes from acting aggressively to push down the fear. A kind of meta sense of narrative, where the rhythm of the post reflects the rhythm of the TOPIC of the post.

    The kind of thing I like to write, factual, informative and, ultimately, hopeless. It’s visceral – a moment where just maybe, if I do it right, you can smell the blood and the gunsmoke and feel the clammy sweat and that moment where you just KNOW you have to find a way to make your hands stop shaking and make the shot.

    And then the silence, with the rush of the kill singing in your blood, everything in a series of greyscale snapshots, trying to get back in front of time and figure out what the hell you’re supposed do next.

    Hey, I LOVE that shit…

    • Whale Chowder says:

      It’s visceral

      Dude. You got that right.

      The thing is, I know you’ve been there, or somewhere very near there — way closer than I ever have or will. There’s a veracity to your writing that reaches way deep down inside — visceral. I don’t quite know what to make of it, or you, when you go there because frankly it’s scary as fuck to contemplate what people are capable of.

  16. mikey says:

    Oh.

    And I should mention that I embrace the term ‘hippie’.

    While the rest of the world has blithely and blindly accepted it’s evolution to pejorative, I have always been a hippie, and will almost certainly die one. A coincidence of geography, mindset and Owsley, the tools I use and the interests I pursue are irrelevant to the tribe to which I proudly belong…

Go ahead, tell me how I fucked up this time.

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