CHop BuGR

I've got Reeses troubles. As is well known, it's difficult to top the taste and eating experience of Reeses Cups. They pretty much have nailed the perfect chocolate to peanut butter ratio.

Reeses did try to one up themselves with the "Big Cup," and I'll admit, at first I thought Big Cups were the next step in the evolution of Man's innovation. However, it didn't take long to discover--relearn, actually--that the Big Cups violated the Chocolate/Peanut Butter Golden Ratio (ChoP BuGR).

Lost in that whole equation is the Reeses chocoloate peanut butter egg. It's large and it holds perfectly to the ChoP BuGR.

Not even the Reeses chocolate covered peanut butter tree nor the Reeses chocolate covered peanut butter hammer and sickle (to celebrate May Day) come close.

Go to any break room in any hospital and you'll find nurses crowded around tables, at Easter time, that are full of Reeses Chocolate covered Peanut Butter Eggs. The nurses, like anyone would, guard these peanut butter and chocolate treasures with their lives. All's not creamy and peanut buttery in Denmark though.

I claim that Reeses has been ever so slightly decreasing the size of their peanut butter eggs every year for at least the past 10 years. I believe that rigorous scientific analysis will support my claims. I have witnessed first hand the effects of slightly smaller peanut butter eggs on nursing staff (a group that is the perfect sample group by which to measure long and short term effects of peanut butter/chocolate short changement). There have been scattered reports of violence breaking out at some hospitals as rogue bands of nurses ranged hospital units in search of additional chocolate peanut butter eggs to meet the nurses' more pressing needs.

At one hospital, where I stayed, it was said that a nurse, "Princess Cocoa" (identifiable by the dragon tattoo on her back) led a band of RN pirates on late night raids, stealing peanut butter and chocolate products from patients. It's claimed that at times, Princess Cocoa's band of ruffians would resort to beating patients with soap filled pillow cases to force patients to divulge their secret chocolate peanut butter egg hiding places.

Now, none of these reported sightings have been verified, and a very precious few patients have been willing to come forward as witnesses. Still, the threat seems all to real. Worse yet, it seems if Reeses chocolate and peanut butter eggs aren't quickly restored to their original size, lives could be lost. It's certain that right now lives hang in the balance.

Write to your congressman, imploring him or her to pass the Reeses Chocolate Covered Peanut Butter Egg Size Normalization Act. Live's depend on it.

Ah, the Sweet Taste of Justice

I've been thinking a lot about Scott Roeder, one of our home grown vigilantes, here in the US. See, Mr. Roeder was all afluster because of docs being allowed to perform abortions, so He took it upon himself to shoot to death one of said docs. He did it one Sunday, in the Doc's church, right in front of the Doc's family. Roeder was found guilty and will have to spend at least 50 years behind bars (he's 52), a virtual life sentence for him. I've thought long hand hard about what real justice Roeder will face, and finally I've arrived at an answer that gives me solace. It came in the form of a song by Sublime. The real justice comes a bit late in the song, but it's worth the wait.

Alarm Clock

I was called this morn with a tale about how the 10 y.o.--that's the best estimate that carbon dating has given--female Jack Russell terrier threw-up on my daughter's face as my daughter slept. Is there a worse way to wake up? I think the only thing worse would be having your cell mate wake you up so that you could perform your wifely duties on him. The story brought back a foul memory of my own.

When I was working in the Emergency Room of one particular hospital one night, a patient came in who'd tried to kill himself by taking a bottle of his mom's heart meds (It was a particularly good plan, but he lost his nerve and decided to submit to whatever modern medicine would do to him in order for him to stay alive). One of the first things done in almost every overdose was an insertion of a Lavacuator in the patient's stomach via one of the two holes in his/her face above their mouth. Now, the Lavacuator wasn't an everyday, garden variety NG (nasogastric) tube, all dainty and polite. Nope: a Lavacuator was a hose, was roughly the diameter of the patient's pinkies, and was very impolite upon insertion. I imagine it was a lot like inserting John Holmes--a legendary actor-- through your nose.

Ok, back to the man with mommie's pills in his gut. We--my friend Paul the Nurse, and I--set about working to shove the Lavacuator into the man's nose and down into his stomach. Alas, one of the most popular responses to having a Lavacuator do a deep mining probe via your nose is to puke. It's here I have to tell you that Paul the Nurse was born with and lived by a code of a very sadistic, sick humor. That's one reason why we worked so well together. As the hose was run into his nose and down past his Gag Zone, the patient started to visualize the errors he'd swallowed, before we'd finished. Paul the Nurse, always quick on his feet and always ready to seize the moment for what would most entertain him, saw the the patient's stomach contents--a very cheap macaroni salad--start spraying out the end of the Lavacuator. Paul the Nurse quickly and accurately pointed the open end of the Lavacuator at me. I swear Fucker the Nurse moved the Lavacuator back and forth so as to maximize coverage of me......and he succeeded.

I had cheap, partially digested, discount grocery bought macaroni salad and bile in my hair, all over my scrubs, inside my scrub shirt, between my glasses and my eyeballs, in my pants, in my underwear, under my watch band, and in my shoes.....and a bit inside my nose for added comic relief. Of course it weren't just chunks decorating my visage. No, there was a warm, foul liquid dripping down my face and off my chin. Paul the Nurse responded as you'd expect any medical professional to, that is to say he laughed so hard as to cry and called for other nurses to come in and view my marinated state. That the patient was apologetic really didn't help much.

In all honesty, I can't really blame Paul the Nurse, as he was likely following what he'd been taught. I imagine it was a lot like what we paramedics were taught: when a patient started to throw up, we were to preferentially turn said patient's head toward a nurse--if one was available. If there was no nurse, said patient's head would be turned toward the nearest EMT, and failing that, toward your partner.

Some scientists claim that hydrogen, because it is so plentiful, is the basic building block of the universe. I dispute that. I say there is more stupidity than hydrogen, and that is the basic building block of the universe. Frank Zappa.

If you need proof, get thee to The Creation Museum, in Petersburg, Kentucky, USA. There the ratio of stupidity to hydrogen is so high that comparatively the mass of hydrogen is virtually zero.

Now, don't be so foolish as to think this museum is all about Creationism. No, no, no. This museum is all about objective analysis, science, and cold, hard reasoning, i.e. Creation Science, aka Intelligent Design. Physics, in its various forms, is often considered the most difficult of the sciences, but the difficulty of understanding Physics is far outweighed by the resolve and dedication required to become a Creation Scientist. See, Creation Science doesn't rest on the wobbly foundation of objectivity and scientific method. No, Creation Science is governed by a much more rigorous set of tenets:

1. If you don't understand something, then that something must be guided by the hand of your preferred god(s). Evolution, the origins of the Universe, quantum mechanics, and the disquieting appearance of New Zealanders are all explained by this.
2. If non-Creation Science--physics, cosmology, biology, chemistry, and the like--can't explain something or find an answer for why something is the way it is, that proves that the Universe and life were Yahweh sponsored and managed projects. For instance, traditional science has been unable to explain how and why Hipsters and skinny jeans came into existence. Obviously, this happened because it was in the Supreme Being's blueprints.
3. Creation Science is the only true science as it's the only science that can be taught in Sunday school.
4. To be a credible science, said science has to be approved by the Texas Board of Education.
5. Evidence is only empirical if it can be vetted by passages from the Bible.

It's only intensely disturbing that there are not so small numbers of people that buy into this stuff. How strong can a person's faith be if they feel their faith is being threatened by a bit of information obtained from the use of scientific method and a bit of elbow grease? Isn't it just a wee bit scary to rely on school boards to define what is scientific and what isn't? How in the world did Isaac Newton manage to get his science past his local school board?

Why does faith suddenly need a made-up science to justify itself? I thought that faith, by its definition, needed no proof whatsoever. Silly me.

Tossing the salad

On my other more august site I have done something similar to this before, but because this flabby load of codswallop needs some life I'll do it again, but a more accurate rendering of the ravings.

The following is a typical email dialogue between two sentient beings, myself and Jorge the Pestilent. I have edited a couple of minor details and removed our email addresses, but otherwise it's a reasonable conversation between two grown men about handlebar tape. Parental and spousal warning, some of this content is not for delicate eyes and may be mildly disturbing and may result in my being banned from your house or you being allowed to fratenize with me in future.

It started with Jorge emailing me with a picture of some handlebars and tape, he wanted my stamp of approval.

-----Original Message----- From:Jorge To: His Lord and Master Sent: Tuesday, 15 September, 2009 8:29:46 AM Subject: upgrade Me likey them handlebars. Me also likey the tape....a lot: it's pretty damned shock absorbent as well being a perfect shade of black. It should prove to be durable, much like Helen Mirren.

-----Original Message----- From: The Dark Lord Sent: Monday, September 14, 2009 4:07 PM To: Jorge the Groveler Subject: Re: upgrade My tape of choice recently is the Fizik Dual. I got styley Black and Grey and it's a bit heavier than the regular Fizik, it's a shitload harder to wrap. Doesn't have any stretch, as I found out it's handed, left and right hand, but only after I'd tried wrapping one side. Finally installed, it is a fine hand caresser.

-----Original Message----- From:Obsequious Jorge To: The Font of all knowledge Sent: Tuesday, 15 September, 2009 11:18:24 AM Subject: RE: upgrade I've always wondered about the stretchiness of that stuff. I'd go crazy trying to maintain perfect spacing on each wrap.

-----Original Message----- From: Mr Sir Sent: Monday, September 14, 2009 4:24 PM To: Jorge the Peon Subject: Re: upgrade It just about broke me, I'd rate myself as a reasonably good bar wrapper and I like my spacing even. This was a good hour of fiddling to get it right, and there are still places that annoy me. I'll take some pics and show you.

-----Original Message----- From: Jorge Junior To: Ubermensch Sent: Tuesday, 15 September, 2009 11:26:01 AM Subject: RE: upgrade Almost broke you, eh? Given how quickly my anger can devolve into violence, I'm going to stay far away from that stuff.

-----Original Message----- From: Superior Being Sent: Mon 9/14/2009 16:55 To: Jorge the pitiful Subject: Re: upgrade If you are a tool thrower avoid it. Speaking of tool throwing, I'd like to throw my 6lb sledge at Pez, he's just a sack full of excrement. That posting of his in lugged vs mono on WW where he showed his stable was one of the more obvious displays of a lack of good taste that I've seen in a while, to add insult to injury he did it so that some other dropped pie would feel the need to tongue him and lick him while he stroked his own pole. I think WW has become so populated by the uninformed, but opinionated that there is little of any real value to be read there, and responding to all the stupidity would be a full time job. The list of culprits is lengthy, but their output is like a troop of baboons with typewriters.

-----Original Message----- From: Jorge the Grateful To: Sir Prancalot Sent: Tuesday, 15 September, 2009 2:18:06 PM Subject: RE: upgrade I am a tool thrower extraordinaire. I saw the Pez post, and thought, "What a self-congratulatory turd." As you so rightly noticed, the faux man has the antithesis of taste. He's the taste anti-Christ. It is pathetically sad that he needs to find self-affirmation in an internet forum. His bike post is the male analogue of a cheerleader asking, "Am I pretty?" Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if in the next few months he actually asks, "Am I pretty?" He thinks he's Mr. Tech, the Einstein of bike rag tech columnists. About 2/3 of what he says is wrong, and everything that he says is moldy bull shit. Reading the shit on WW is like watching 4 year olds discussing quantum theory (the Copenhagen interpretation, not the other two interpretations.). I get more intellectual insight from watching my dog shit, than I do reading WW. Ha! I did 30 miles today, and I don't feel half-bad. Upwards we go.

-----Original Message----- From: Strangely Normal Sent: Mon 9/14/2009 20:57 To: Jorge the Just in the bottom quartile Subject: Re: upgrade 48kms, that's a good improvement, the trend is in the right direction. I will post about my Sunday ride tonight on DF, it's worth posting about... 65kms, with about 1300m of ascending, it's an out and back, just up down, up down, it's a brilliant piece of hilly misery with a couple of absolute knee tremblers thrown in. What makes it additionally special is that the views are plus some. I reckon Pez has a full length mirror wall, and rides his bikes naked in front of it.

-----Original Message----- From: Jorge just jorge To: Straight to hell Sent: Tuesday, 15 September, 2009 4:19:00 PM Subject: RE: upgrade I could have gone farther, but I didn't wanna push things. It did feel good, though. And people made comments. One guy said, "you look really good with those handlebars, unlike the neanderthal throwbacks that use deep drops. Knuckle draggers shouldn't ride bikes." Honest. When Pez is standing in front of the mirror, he really likes the way he looks with the cucumber in his underwear. I'll bet he watches himself deep-throat his seatposts. Fuck nut. It makes you wonder what kind of idiot would hire him. I'd also like to pound a barn spike through J-Nice's forehead....either that or a log splitting wedge. My helmet's officially dead. The shell is delaminating, and I found a crack all the way through the foam in the forehead. There'll be no waiting for a MET helmet. I guess I'll see if the Deranged Bovine can front me a Bell Volt. Me no like the naked feeling I have now with the helmet on. I do like, however, the naked feeling I have when my purple helmet is on. I know Mme. Jovovich would like to spend a few weeks worshipping my purple helmet with her orifices. That is a scientific fact.

-----Original Message----- From: Superior in Everyway Sent: Mon 9/14/2009 21:36 To: Jorge the flawed Subject: Re: upgrade Only real men, and by implication men who Milla J or Jennifer Connelly would let place their throbbing gristle in their warm, wet mouths, ride deep bars. All other bars are for men who share a preference for anal sex with telegraph cucumbers to vaginal intercourse. That was the recent result of a survey by What Tasteful Hot Woman Want, additionally this research quoted a certain Dr Pez who stated he liked caressing his cucumber and shallow drop bars at the same time, it made him wet. J-Nice TP DJCo-wiener Stats Rich-Ti Legs 11 All deserve to be tied together and then sprayed with white phosphorus. Currie in a hurry was another who infuriated me, but he's gone on to join the English equivalent of Nambla. I'm looking at getting a new helmet, mine's getting on in age and I'm mindful that my toxic sweat won't be loving it.


-----Original Message----- From: Jorge the missing link To: Sapiens Homo Sent: Tuesday, 15 September, 2009 4:52:11 PM Subject: RE: upgrade Willy Pete is great because it's the gift that keeps on giving and giving and giving until there's nothing left to which to give. Quite uncomfortable, or so I hear. A bit worse than a bee sting. Before setting 'em ablaze with white phosphorus, I think it be most important to superglue all of their appendages to one another, that way they could all writhe together, perhaps in some rhythm of some sort.....you know: something you could set to music. See, it's not real men that Mila, Zoey D., and Natalie Portman want. No, what they want is real twisted men, i.e. me.

-----Original Message----- From: Sir Bow Before To: Jorge always obedient Sent: Tuesday, 15 September, 2009 4:52:11 PM Subject: RE: upgrade I'm thinking the soundtrack to The White Phosphorus Dance could be Altered Images "I could be happy" And, no you are incorrect, those women, and hundreds of others, want merely to be glanced at by me, then undress each other for my benefit, before engaging in some fine carpet munching. Of course, they won't leave me out of the action.

-----Original Message----- From: Jorge the insipid Before To: Almighty Sent: Tuesday, 15 September, 2009 4:52:11 PM Subject: RE: upgrade And the only reason those fine, delectable women want you to glance at them is so that they can ID you for the police. And the truth of the matter is that once the coppers haul you off for the crime of felonious indecency as a human being, the womynz want to know which of their asses I like scrogging the most and which girl looks the hottest eating pussy. That's what 9 out of 10 doctors say. They all want to take me away to deserted island so that they can spend the next year raping me without distraction.

Psalm Two

"I am become death, the destroyer of worlds"
What a quote to be remembered by.

Me, it will be something like "Tea is the creation of Satan". But I guess I'm not able to master the inner workings of smashing little things together to make bright lights and loud noises.

Here's something cheery to contemplate.

It's ours

We own this space, now take note and leave.

As an opener.