In today’s post, Scott said,

the sound of custom car engines is like catnip to hot chicks.

Really, the best part of the post … the part that gave me a gut-wrenching laugh was when he said,

I’d also add the sound of a chainsaw somwhere in the distance, so the woman can imagine her personal lumberjack getting wood for the fire.

You have to read the whole post to really get that 2nd line.

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From Futility Closet:

“Spike Milligan was wearing traditional Scottish garb when a curious onlooker asked, ‘So, is there anything worn under the kilt?’

“‘No’, he answered, ‘it’s all in perfect working order.'”

In former days the circus had freak shows.

Today, we have So You Think You Can Dance.

While perusing the Oregon newslines, I found a sports commentary in which the writer admits that Oregonians have limited capacity and enthusiasm for local sports … which is why they have the Trailblazers and nothing else (except for 2nd rate Pac-10 teams).

Here’s how he spins Oregonians’ narrow support.

When it comes to sports, Oregonians specialize. They care very deeply and passionately about their teams. They hang one flag outside the house. They have one battle cry. They’re monomaniacal with their support and devotion.

They live it, and love it, and own it.

They hang one flag outside their house because they only sell one flag in Oregon and Oregon sports fans lack the brain capacity to cheer on more than one team … which is why they have one and only one team.

On the other hand, I’m sure 8 of 10 Oregon sports fans can name the lumber-jack champion from the past five years.

We had a security guard at the front gate.  She was older and was a roughneck … leathery skin, balding, no teeth, smoked two packs a day, wore glasses thick as my hand.  But she was cheerful.

Every morning when I pulled up … “Geeewed marnin!”

“Hello Lorinda”

For her birthday one year, we all pitched in to buy her a pie.  We sent Peggy to get the pie.  She went the cheap route and bought a pie that was discounted.  We gave it to Lorinda who proceeded to cut into it and partake.  She gave us each a piece too.

Lorinda ate it up like a cow eats hay.  I took a bite and nearly barfed.  The cherries in it had the texture of plastic.  The crust was rubber-like.  I shuffled over to Peggy and leaned into her ear.

“Where the hell did you buy this artifact?”

“The baker said he messed up on it.”

I grabbed the box the pie came in and looked for a date.  It was made a month ago.

I looked up to tell Lorinda to stop eating, but it was too late. She was snarfing down her second piece.

A few days later, Lorinda was unexpectedly admitted to the hospital for kidney failure.  She died shortly after.  Peggy felt horrible.

Good ‘ol Lorinda.

The squids are out of school and enjoying the summer.  One of the summer’s first activities for the kiddos was basketball camp.  We enrolled Little Apollo in the Josh Howard basketball camp back in March.  Little did we know that it would change our son’s life forever.

“How was your first day at basketball camp?”

“Wiiiikeeeed” he calmly replies.

“Are you OK there sport?”

“It’s all good man.  It was high times to sundown baby.”

“C’mere bud.  Lemme see something in your hair.”

I pretend to be taking something out of his hair and then I bend a little closer and take a whiff.  Yup … Mary Jane.

“Hey listen bud, you’re going to go to a basketball camp a little closer to home tomorrow, OK?”

“No problem dad … it’s all good.”

I can’t believe I’ve missed adding The Smoking Gun to my list of links.  There is always something interesting to read over there.

Here is a story from The Smoking Gun about a father and son who share the distinct passion of tattooing their foreheads.  I’m filing this story under Discovery Moment because now that father and son have their faces plastered on The Smoking Gun, perhaps they will take a few moment to reflect on their position in life.  Maybe they will turn their lives around and find a cure for cancer or win the $300M McCain car battery prize.

Of course before that happens, these boys would have to make a few minor course corrections.  Getting a steady job that requires the use of ones brain might be a good start.  I can only imagine how a job interview might go.

“What skills do you possess for maintaining a Unix server environment?”

“I can git-r-dun.”

“Indeed, but specifically, what kind of Unix or any kind of server experience do you have?”

“I can git-r-dun.”

“Thank you for your time Mr. Bebees. You may be excused.”

“Can I take some of that there candy?”

“You may.”