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Wednesday
Feb202008

Fun With Fallopian Tubes

For the past three days, I have been suffering from a Female Complaint. I am not providing details about it on the assumption that some of you are like Country The Brother-In-Law, who is easily cleared from any room at so much as the mention of the female reproductive system. He once rose from the dinner table when I mentioned that a classmate is studying to be an OB-GYN, and should he and my sister ever produce a girl-child, I imagine he will move out altogether the instant she attains puberty.

Normally, Female Complaints are nothing but terrible for everyone and everything within a 400 mile radius, but it also provided Josh the Pilot with the opportunity to earn several husband gold stars: He went, all by himself, to the Female Complaint Aisle of CVS to make a purchase on my behalf. And then he didn't even buffer it with beer or a Snickers or a pair of corn pads. No, this was not covered during the Hundred Dollar Lunch, and he was certainly aware that there wasn't going to be any physical reward on the other side of it, not with Female Complaint in town.

Such things were never mentioned in the Sweet Valley High books or other shapers of female romantic notions, but they totally should have been.

finding it fairly significant that there is no Male Complaint Aisle at: mbe@drinktothelasses.com

Tuesday
Feb192008

Dropped Into the Fish Bowl

I am, at the moment, witnessing a You Can't Do That on Television! sketch writ live: It's a television show... of nothing but commercials. There hasn't been a commercial break from the commercials. I am eager for this to happen, as I'd like to see how it's justified. The entire premise is disturbing, but not as disturbing as the fact that I've not yet changed the channel.

Josh The Pilot has to advertise, too, about his The Pilot services, so he has a new business card. It makes him look Important, almost like a cubicle person. He is one BlackBerry away from complaining at family parties about TPS reports. There is a picture on the card, just in case people don't quite understand what it is, exactly, a pilot does:

airplane-in-sky-10004568-cb.jpg

 

I approve of the picture, if only because it is slightly more friendly than what he originally picked out:

 

eagle


Because when people want a pilot, they think: "What we need is a large, screechy bird of prey that regurgitates masses of mucus and indigestible substances!" I like eagles, in general, as long as they are pecking out the eyes of the enemies of the United States of America. Otherwise, I wouldn't want one working for me. Eagles always look pissed off. I don't need that at 8 AM. Besides, this one needs hair gel.

At least the eagle was somewhat appropriate, given that it is the mascot of the University of Airplanes and it, you know, flies, I guess. Josh also had these images to choose from:

tool-time-10000119-cb.jpg

 

May I suggest this as a calling card for people who meet in bars.

 

Bars with names like "The Manhole Cover" and "Shakers."

 

raging-fire-10007186-cb.jpg

 

This is an excellent choice for a contract pilot, as the image of roaring, out-of-control flames is the very one to cement the confidence of potential passengers.

 

outline-of-body-10008735-cb.jpg

 

"When you think horrible, violent homicides, please do think of Joshua L. Hunter, CFI."

 

boneyard-10044453-cb.jpg

 

Who in the world... who. in. the. world... would non-ironically choose this as a business card? Goth bands? Pirates? Larry King?

 

jesus-on-the-cross-10018062-cb.jpg

 

"Have some Jesus. Because we're goin' down, man."

 

lightening-in-the-sky-10008972-cb.jpg

 

This card offers a blank reverse, which is this is the perfect place to mention that statistically, every single airliner in the United States is hit by lightning once a year. See you on the tarmac!

 

playing with the upload-and-insert-images function at: mbe@drinktothelasses.com
Tuesday
Feb192008

Chad, Where Is Thy Punch?

Several of you have requested a larger font. Official Administrator Answer: I hear you, but WordPress, in an odd show of non-awesomeness, does not. There's no way to enlarge the font without paying for a CSS upgrade, which 1) I can't afford and 2) have no idea how to run anyway. It's like my marriage in blog contract form. The best I can tell you is to hold down the control key and hit the plus key a couple times, which will size everything right up. Apple users? You are, as always, screwed.

Now that the moving dust has settled, we may celebrate the many highlights of the Ginger Double Primary:

Worst SAT Flashback: Optical scanning machine. In an attempt to avoid under-or-overvote issues due to a cumbersome, arcane 1960's chad-based system, Virginia has switched to a zippy, first-rate 1970's scan-based system involving a piece of paper and a Sharpie. I put the Sharpies in the voting booths, because, as the only holder of a political science degree in the room, I was the sole person thus qualified.

Coolest Moment: A black gentleman, born in 1941, when his mother would have to enter a segregated bathroom in order to change his diaper, cast a vote for Obama.

Most Important Job: Mine. I was manning the touch-screen voting booth, which also, the second I stepped near it, ceased to function. And the touch-screen booth was near the door, which meant that I was in charge of the "I VOTED" stickers. The stickers were very important, especially when people found out that we didn't have any. Any candidate could have cleaned up the day, had he stood outside the door guaranteeing a each American a sticker if elected. We finally sent one of the workers out to headquarters to get a roll, lest a riot begin.

Thanks Loads, 24 Hour News Cycle Award: I cannot tell you how many people wished to discuss who they were voting for, and why, or were wild to emphasize that in the event they were taking the ballot of the opposite party, this wasn't how they usually voted. Here's a tip, People of Ginger: We were making $6.25 an hour, and we didn't care. When a nation looks to Don King, Al Franken, and Toby Keith as political commentators, this is what it gets.

Most Bulimic Voting Machine: My precinct. We had a single scanner machine, and I was Vote #1, because I was the newest Virginian and the newest worker and we had to figure out if the machine worked or not. It sucked my vote in with a satisfying whoosh, and... spit it right back out again with a very angry RRRRRRRRRRR! This happened at least seventy percent of the time. It was the Mary-Kate Olsen of voting machines.

Best Arguments for Voter IQ Test: When the voters approached the sign-in table, we were required by Ginger law to ask them whether they wished to vote in the Democratic or Republican primary. Following are actual answers from actual people:

"Yes."

"Both."

"Hillary."

"That's a very personal question, young lady."

This last was my favorite. I had before me this person's date of birth, home address, driver's license, gender, and the same information for each member of the household, and they were upset over which Binder of Democracy received a little checkmark for the day. Dude: It doesn't matter which way you vote. The telemarketing robocall people will find you.

"I Am Old" Award: The college student who skipped up to the table, announced that this was her very very first time to vote! and produced her driver's license, which confirmed that she was born in...1989.

Worst Voting Station Ambiance: My precinct. We were holed away on the stage of a high school gym, which was painted black and hadn't been cleaned or swept or de-loused since the chads ran the town. People left the sunshine and walked through a heavy stage door, only to face rows and rows of empty theater seats, three surly people at a long table, and the very heart of darkness. It was like voting from the inside of a diesel engine, or some sort of low-rent American Idol audition : "That vote was rubbish! Absolute rubbish!"

Finger Directly in the Eyeball of Identity Politics Award: Young black man who voted for Mike Huckabee.

Mistiest Moment: Opening the machines and hearing the precinct captain read back the total votes for the candidates.

Second-Mistiest Moment: Two minutes later, when he handed me a certification form and #2 lead pencil and told me to add up the totals and fill everything out in triplicate.

obama 93, hillary 81, bill richardson 0 at: mbe@drinktothelasses.com

Monday
Feb182008

Unpacking

After clicking around a bit and destroying many enemies, I hereby declare that WordPress is precisely one hillion jillion times more awesome than Blogger. It is highly anti-troll. Everybody's IP address is displayed (I can seeeeeee you!) and it comes complete with in-page Entire Day Wasting System (a real-time count of all page hits.) When I click on stuff, it turns pretty colors, and really, that is all I ask for in a blogging platform.

In other important news, you should know that Michael J. Nelson continues to be my BFF at the RiffTrax site. Yesterday I commented on his post (see #5), and he totally commented back, because, as I said-- BFF's.

You will notice that I posted as "Queen Bee," because that is the nickname given to me by none other than Bill Corbett himself (should you doubt his ability to do so, he has also dubbed Josh The Pilot as "Spatula," "The Spatster" on informal occasions.) Thus do I mix with my peers, as long as you define peers as "actually famous and in-demand humor writers who are stalked by a person easily mesmerized by blog color fades."

There's a word count function, too.

195 at: mbe@drinktothelasses.com

Sunday
Feb172008

New Cellar

Ah. You found me amidst the wreckage.

I grasp your hand just before you slip beneath the freezing electronic waters, for you and I and Celine Dion and this cyber-slab of wall paneling shall sail towards a new, DiCaprio-free day!

Welcome to our new cellar, fellow refugees. We are all going to need some alcohol after the trauma of moving, but for the moment, I'm thrilled that you clicked over from the old site as it crumbled around us over the weekend. If you're looking for the original BlondeChampagne, behold.


figuring out where to put the futon and the shot glasses at: mbe@drinktothelasses.com

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