NEVER EVER WASTE A GREAT SIGHT GAG!!!!!!!!28 March 2009
Escorts A La Parrilla (Grilled Escorts)
An arsonist is targeting green Ford Escorts, approximately fifteen years old, in Medford, Oregon.
That Arsonist is a long way from being "right," starting with nascent pyromania and ending with his choice of target.
The Ford Escort of the nineties was a good kind of cheap, like a bologna sandwich made from name brand fixings. It was a great bologna sandwich on wheels, but that's all it ever would be. The engines had useful horsepower, and they were decent handlers on good tires, but it was purpose-built for transparency, universally adequate and uninspiring. The GT models charmed with 40 extra horsepower elicited the passion reserved for nude photos of Meryl Streep. (I'll look, but I doubt that I will become aroused.)
It was not bad, but it left the driver with the sense of being transported passively, much as if one had used public transit. It was cheap, dull, and until the recent unpleasantness, disposable.
Family members would give Escorts away until the point where nine-year-olds would curse about the potential cost of disposing of yet another Ford Escort. The well-meaning relative would be attempting to impress a kid and inspire a lifelong automotive enthusiasm. The nine-year-old would be lamenting the lack of a cash offering to be leveraged into the purchase of a bootleg copy of Grand Theft Auto:Peach City, featuring an even more phallic doppelganger for Atlanta's Westin Peachtree Plaza hotel.
This led to the employ of the first strategic abandonment technique: Enlist a tallish 12-to-15-year-old sibling, that young'un with the fever for getting behind the wheel of anything, and some of the ability to do something about it. Drive the Escort to a rough neighborhood, and leave it with the keys in the switch, the title on the driver's seat, with the windows open.
That would be how the police would find the Escort, often with the keys to hot-list luxury imports under the windshield wiper. These Escorts would find their way back to their rightful owners who had to lose another five bucks worth of GTA:PC savings on gas to try and dump the thing again.
In the nearly twenty year history of Escort-dumping this technique only worked once, at the home of one Austin Morris, in the Happy Holiday Acres Manufactured Home Plaza (nee Mobile Home Park), Emerson, Georgia. Mr. Austin Morris is a good friend and somewhat computer literate, promising to raise your Wandering Gentile's readership percentage by double digits...someday. He did quite well scavenging useful bits from abandoned Escorts and keeping his pricipal Escort in as-new condition.
On 12 May, 2005, while visiting his mother in Decatur, a freak windstorm removed Mr. Morris' Zayre Garden Storage Shed, featuring enough mechanical components to assemble up to six complete Escorts, given an adequate supply of bodies. Rumors of Escort parts raining in Hinesville, nearly 300 miles away, have been so viciously denied by authorities in Liberty County and on Fort Stewart that we are forced to believe that the rumors are true.
Mr. Morris, lacking the desire to continue using his wrench set, or collect his parts in Southeast Georgia, became a Toyota man, and hasn't had to fix squat since. And this has nothing to do with an individual torching Escorts 3000 miles away in Oregon. Yet.
The other Escort disposal technique was a much more successful codicil in the NAFTA treaty. Escorts are required to be towed out of the country as a condition of registering a Ford or Nissan pickup from the United States in Mexico. Of the 17 million Escorts manufactured between 1981 and 2001, fully 14 million have been expatriated/repatriated to Mexico. That makes them ubiquitous, just not as ubiquitous as before, except on I-35 in Texas.
Owing to the recent economic unpleasantness, some debate exists as to whether the nation's fleet should be repurposed abroad, with a goal of restarting manufacture. It is entirely possible that a person or persons unknown are acting in Medford out of the suspicion that these Escorts have been employed in the thwarting of immigration enactments, knowing how many Escorts have been repurposed to Mexico.
Does anyone know the whereabouts of Lou Dobbs on the nights of the fires?
That Arsonist is a long way from being "right," starting with nascent pyromania and ending with his choice of target.
The Ford Escort of the nineties was a good kind of cheap, like a bologna sandwich made from name brand fixings. It was a great bologna sandwich on wheels, but that's all it ever would be. The engines had useful horsepower, and they were decent handlers on good tires, but it was purpose-built for transparency, universally adequate and uninspiring. The GT models charmed with 40 extra horsepower elicited the passion reserved for nude photos of Meryl Streep. (I'll look, but I doubt that I will become aroused.)
It was not bad, but it left the driver with the sense of being transported passively, much as if one had used public transit. It was cheap, dull, and until the recent unpleasantness, disposable.
Family members would give Escorts away until the point where nine-year-olds would curse about the potential cost of disposing of yet another Ford Escort. The well-meaning relative would be attempting to impress a kid and inspire a lifelong automotive enthusiasm. The nine-year-old would be lamenting the lack of a cash offering to be leveraged into the purchase of a bootleg copy of Grand Theft Auto:Peach City, featuring an even more phallic doppelganger for Atlanta's Westin Peachtree Plaza hotel.
This led to the employ of the first strategic abandonment technique: Enlist a tallish 12-to-15-year-old sibling, that young'un with the fever for getting behind the wheel of anything, and some of the ability to do something about it. Drive the Escort to a rough neighborhood, and leave it with the keys in the switch, the title on the driver's seat, with the windows open.
That would be how the police would find the Escort, often with the keys to hot-list luxury imports under the windshield wiper. These Escorts would find their way back to their rightful owners who had to lose another five bucks worth of GTA:PC savings on gas to try and dump the thing again.
In the nearly twenty year history of Escort-dumping this technique only worked once, at the home of one Austin Morris, in the Happy Holiday Acres Manufactured Home Plaza (nee Mobile Home Park), Emerson, Georgia. Mr. Austin Morris is a good friend and somewhat computer literate, promising to raise your Wandering Gentile's readership percentage by double digits...someday. He did quite well scavenging useful bits from abandoned Escorts and keeping his pricipal Escort in as-new condition.
On 12 May, 2005, while visiting his mother in Decatur, a freak windstorm removed Mr. Morris' Zayre Garden Storage Shed, featuring enough mechanical components to assemble up to six complete Escorts, given an adequate supply of bodies. Rumors of Escort parts raining in Hinesville, nearly 300 miles away, have been so viciously denied by authorities in Liberty County and on Fort Stewart that we are forced to believe that the rumors are true.
Mr. Morris, lacking the desire to continue using his wrench set, or collect his parts in Southeast Georgia, became a Toyota man, and hasn't had to fix squat since. And this has nothing to do with an individual torching Escorts 3000 miles away in Oregon. Yet.
The other Escort disposal technique was a much more successful codicil in the NAFTA treaty. Escorts are required to be towed out of the country as a condition of registering a Ford or Nissan pickup from the United States in Mexico. Of the 17 million Escorts manufactured between 1981 and 2001, fully 14 million have been expatriated/repatriated to Mexico. That makes them ubiquitous, just not as ubiquitous as before, except on I-35 in Texas.
Owing to the recent economic unpleasantness, some debate exists as to whether the nation's fleet should be repurposed abroad, with a goal of restarting manufacture. It is entirely possible that a person or persons unknown are acting in Medford out of the suspicion that these Escorts have been employed in the thwarting of immigration enactments, knowing how many Escorts have been repurposed to Mexico.
Does anyone know the whereabouts of Lou Dobbs on the nights of the fires?
All The Fits That's News To Print
Obama vs. Special Olympics
Republican National Committee chair Michael Steele expressed his grave displeasure about the quip comparing President Obama's bowling skills to the Special Olympics.
According to Steele "...(we) are a big tent party. While developmental and cognitive disabilities are not prerequisites for membership in the Republican party, those with developmental and cognitive disabilities are welcomed within our numbers. We are proud of our record in helping the mentally impaired, having elected George W. Bush, the first developmentally disabled President of the United States of America.
When asked to elaborate, nationally-syndicated radio host (and noted Hydrocephalic) Sean Hannity responded succinctly, "Urrrrgggghhh!"
Rush Hudson Limbaugh III vs. Human Decency
Joy defined: Rush Limbaugh on the snack aisle of a CVS, with an open OxyContin/Viagra bar. Rush's nickname is "Tiger," not derived from his long game on the links of the Dominican Republic, but from the fact that his little white balls are done with a small hole in four strokes or less.
Charles Grassley vs. AIG
After Senator Grassley (R-IA) suggested that seppuku would be an appropriate demonstration of contrition for bonus-receiving AIG executives, several AIG executives asked the Senator to demonstrate the proper technique.
Dick Cheney vs. Obama
Now, let me see if I get this straight. Dick Cheney is linked to Halliburton, an oil company. He states that President Obama is making the country vulnerable to terrorist attack. If terrorists attack, the price of oil takes off for the moon. Oh, snap, I forgot about lost revenue from no-bid contracts,opposed by the Obama administration. That's why Cheney and his pals are so upset. They would take a pay cut from a killing to a living.
Geithner and Obama vs. AIG
It's not about the bonuses. It's the fact that the new ownership of an enterprise has the right to reset compensation as they see fit. Ask anyone who works/worked for a company that merged, if they're still employed. Republicans only balked when they figured out that legislative leverage may be brought to bear in cases of tax benefits or corporate subsidies, a/k/a corporate welfare.
Sneaky damn Democrats! They almost got Republicans to require that Capitalists use Capitalism!
Bill Maher vs. Ann Coulter
In their male-appendage measuring contest, Mr. Maher lost.
Ms. Coulter is also uncircumcised.
Miami vs. West Palm Beach
Miami and West Palm Beach, two distinct media markets with individual urban centers have been merged into the same metropolitan area. Meanwhile, LA/Ventura/Riverside and San Francisco-Oakland/San Jose are considered to be separate metro areas despite being much more closely linked than Miami and West Palm.
Great, if having overlapping suburbs is a qualifier, let's merge Boston-Providence, Baltimore-Washington, San Antonio-Austin, Tampa-Orlando, and New York-Philadelphia. One is certain that the people in the smaller market will not mind losing their identity and character to the larger. Just ask Fort Worth.
Ann Coulter vs. Meghan McCain
For crying out loud, Ann Coulter has to run around in the shower to get wet. The woman doubles her weight by eating a Quarter-Pounder. In her world Nicole Richie and the anorexic Olsen Twin are buxom. Boobies are something to be envied, pertpetually inaccessible without surgical intervention.
Were a physical confrontation to occur, the well-endowed Miss McCain could swing one breast and knock Coulter into the next solar system. Hopefully, the other breast would send fascist runt Michelle Malkin into the next Galaxy.
My goodness, that last sentence almost works as rhyming slang.
The Wandering Gentile vs. Kim Kardashian's big ol' thick booty and awesome unibrow.
A man can dream, can't he?
Republican National Committee chair Michael Steele expressed his grave displeasure about the quip comparing President Obama's bowling skills to the Special Olympics.
According to Steele "...(we) are a big tent party. While developmental and cognitive disabilities are not prerequisites for membership in the Republican party, those with developmental and cognitive disabilities are welcomed within our numbers. We are proud of our record in helping the mentally impaired, having elected George W. Bush, the first developmentally disabled President of the United States of America.
When asked to elaborate, nationally-syndicated radio host (and noted Hydrocephalic) Sean Hannity responded succinctly, "Urrrrgggghhh!"
Rush Hudson Limbaugh III vs. Human Decency
Joy defined: Rush Limbaugh on the snack aisle of a CVS, with an open OxyContin/Viagra bar. Rush's nickname is "Tiger," not derived from his long game on the links of the Dominican Republic, but from the fact that his little white balls are done with a small hole in four strokes or less.
Charles Grassley vs. AIG
After Senator Grassley (R-IA) suggested that seppuku would be an appropriate demonstration of contrition for bonus-receiving AIG executives, several AIG executives asked the Senator to demonstrate the proper technique.
Dick Cheney vs. Obama
Now, let me see if I get this straight. Dick Cheney is linked to Halliburton, an oil company. He states that President Obama is making the country vulnerable to terrorist attack. If terrorists attack, the price of oil takes off for the moon. Oh, snap, I forgot about lost revenue from no-bid contracts,opposed by the Obama administration. That's why Cheney and his pals are so upset. They would take a pay cut from a killing to a living.
Geithner and Obama vs. AIG
It's not about the bonuses. It's the fact that the new ownership of an enterprise has the right to reset compensation as they see fit. Ask anyone who works/worked for a company that merged, if they're still employed. Republicans only balked when they figured out that legislative leverage may be brought to bear in cases of tax benefits or corporate subsidies, a/k/a corporate welfare.
Sneaky damn Democrats! They almost got Republicans to require that Capitalists use Capitalism!
Bill Maher vs. Ann Coulter
In their male-appendage measuring contest, Mr. Maher lost.
Ms. Coulter is also uncircumcised.
Miami vs. West Palm Beach
Miami and West Palm Beach, two distinct media markets with individual urban centers have been merged into the same metropolitan area. Meanwhile, LA/Ventura/Riverside and San Francisco-Oakland/San Jose are considered to be separate metro areas despite being much more closely linked than Miami and West Palm.
Great, if having overlapping suburbs is a qualifier, let's merge Boston-Providence, Baltimore-Washington, San Antonio-Austin, Tampa-Orlando, and New York-Philadelphia. One is certain that the people in the smaller market will not mind losing their identity and character to the larger. Just ask Fort Worth.
Ann Coulter vs. Meghan McCain
For crying out loud, Ann Coulter has to run around in the shower to get wet. The woman doubles her weight by eating a Quarter-Pounder. In her world Nicole Richie and the anorexic Olsen Twin are buxom. Boobies are something to be envied, pertpetually inaccessible without surgical intervention.
Were a physical confrontation to occur, the well-endowed Miss McCain could swing one breast and knock Coulter into the next solar system. Hopefully, the other breast would send fascist runt Michelle Malkin into the next Galaxy.
My goodness, that last sentence almost works as rhyming slang.
The Wandering Gentile vs. Kim Kardashian's big ol' thick booty and awesome unibrow.
A man can dream, can't he?
05 March 2009
C'mon. Put Your Back Into It.
I regret that the idea of having the earth give way under Mr. Limpbaugh's mass did not occur to me until after the cartoon was inked.
Adolescense Happens
A few days ago adolescense hit the Wandering Gentile household. One of the Hijastras (La Mayor), hovering between the ages of eleven and full-growed hottie, went from being a sweet, kind little girl who loves princess books, to the venom spewing spawn of Ba'al.
One imagines this kind of transformative moment serving to inspire William Peter Blatty's vision of Regan. If the other day was any indication of what is to come, the Devil would merely add cheesy effects; I am not entirely sure Hijastra (La Mayor)'s head did not spin a full 360 at some point. Indeed, the mayhem witnessed made Satan superfluous.
There was little warning, although she had quietly provoked her sister, Hijastra (La Menor), to tears by dinner time. The day before, (La Mayor) inspired (La Menor) to desire her demise in frank and unmistakable terms, while at the dinner table.
The adults at the table, having experienced (individually) the untimely demise of a sibling, did not find such an expression to be necessary, appropriate, or in any way conducive to (La Menor)'s future welfare. This was communicated with brusque inflection, conjoined with adequately draconian conditions as unique recourse for redemption.
Should the Gentle Reader feel it unlikely for a nine-year-old to suggest that adults engage in autohomoeroticism, nonverbally, eschewing long-established had gestures, the Gentle Reader is not well-informed.
Your Wandering Gentile's experience with sibling rivalry has been heretofore limited to brothers. Boys are not a challenge. Most of what is inflicted by boys is limited to flatulence, challenges to gender identity, and the cruel repositioning of the victim's undergarment into a fundamentally uncomfortable position, i.e., a wedgie or a snuggie.
Boys are simply rude and gross. Beavis and Butthead; Adam Sandler; Mike Myers; and John Belushi are all indicative of the masculine predilection for the loud, grotesque, and profane. There is an inclination in the male psyche which holds an appreciation for provoking a friend to expel a red beverage from his nose, thus soiling his shirt with Fruit Punch Gatorade and mucus.
It is not only an appreciation: it is an accomplishment on a scale with the Manhattan Project. We have established dominance over our rival, and fulfilled an atavistic need to demonstrate superior genetic potential by revealing the rival's vulnerability. Men say crap like this to justify wanting to provoke a friend to blow Fruit Punch Gatorade out of his nose, and retain the hope of ever engaging in behavior which may result in procreation.
This is not behavior which would ever occur to girls or possibly a non-threatening boy-band. There are more subtle forms of expression that females engage in. When it comes to undressing with the eyes, females are constantly evaluating rival boobs, butts, and guts.
Men are so uncomfortable with male genitalia that they question the appropriateness of liking their own. Were men as insecure as women, an entire medical industry would be committed to the construction of desensitized, perpetually aroused, 16" (40 cm) penises.
One will also observe women ritualistically asessing automobiles, shoes and handbags. Most men value an object's value in relation to expenditure as opposed to manufacturer's label, unless they are Republican members of congress or belong to exclusive groups where everybody looks like a Republican member of Congress.
A woman sees a twenty year old hatchback and sees a US$500 pile of junk. If it is halfway clean, has oversize tires and wheels, and a louder-than-standard exhaust, men view it as cool, as long as it is also equipped with a manual transmission. The owner has fortitude, the car looks like it's fun to drive, and probably gets kick-ass gas mileage.
As good as this is for men, many women would prefer a glorified station wagon like a RAV4 or a CR-V to the hatchback, or something even cooler like a pre-GM buyout Saab 900 convertible. The glorified station wagon has air, automatic transmission, a vanity mirror, and a Warranty. The Saab has a power top that one has to wrestle to lower.
I can live with Starter shoes from Wal-Mart and the Saab. The Starters were made by the same Vietnamese children as Nikes, out of the same materials, across the hall in the same sweat shop.
I'll wrestle the inoperable power top to not drive the glorified station wagon; which brings us back to Hijastra (La Mayor)'s advent into adolescence.
Once she finished belittling her younger sister, she started in on me. Part of the recent economic unpleasantness that has gripped the United Stateshas impacted the Wandering Gentile household as well. This included the precocious departure of the Pornstar Minivan, a vehicle which counted my beloved Saab 900 convertible as partial trade.
Hijastra (La Mayor) found humor in this misfortune that I could not, some of her remarks being quite cutting and pointed. To rephrase, I found her comments to be distinctly unfunny. A moment came where I wanted to forget about the little girl who suggests riding over to Birmingham for their available Whataburger franchise, or suggests a trip to the public library so that she may renew her friendship with Princess Mia Thermopolis. These were continent-sized obstacles to the caprice of wanting to cause intense, lingering physical pain.
After a brief, monosyllabic proration unlikely to challenge the intellect of the average Lou Dobbs acolyte, I retired to quarters. Upon arrival, I was greeted by the voice of Hijastra (La Menor). "You see? She does that to me ALL THE TIME!"
The next few years promise to be endlessly diverting.
One imagines this kind of transformative moment serving to inspire William Peter Blatty's vision of Regan. If the other day was any indication of what is to come, the Devil would merely add cheesy effects; I am not entirely sure Hijastra (La Mayor)'s head did not spin a full 360 at some point. Indeed, the mayhem witnessed made Satan superfluous.
There was little warning, although she had quietly provoked her sister, Hijastra (La Menor), to tears by dinner time. The day before, (La Mayor) inspired (La Menor) to desire her demise in frank and unmistakable terms, while at the dinner table.
The adults at the table, having experienced (individually) the untimely demise of a sibling, did not find such an expression to be necessary, appropriate, or in any way conducive to (La Menor)'s future welfare. This was communicated with brusque inflection, conjoined with adequately draconian conditions as unique recourse for redemption.
Should the Gentle Reader feel it unlikely for a nine-year-old to suggest that adults engage in autohomoeroticism, nonverbally, eschewing long-established had gestures, the Gentle Reader is not well-informed.
Your Wandering Gentile's experience with sibling rivalry has been heretofore limited to brothers. Boys are not a challenge. Most of what is inflicted by boys is limited to flatulence, challenges to gender identity, and the cruel repositioning of the victim's undergarment into a fundamentally uncomfortable position, i.e., a wedgie or a snuggie.
Boys are simply rude and gross. Beavis and Butthead; Adam Sandler; Mike Myers; and John Belushi are all indicative of the masculine predilection for the loud, grotesque, and profane. There is an inclination in the male psyche which holds an appreciation for provoking a friend to expel a red beverage from his nose, thus soiling his shirt with Fruit Punch Gatorade and mucus.
It is not only an appreciation: it is an accomplishment on a scale with the Manhattan Project. We have established dominance over our rival, and fulfilled an atavistic need to demonstrate superior genetic potential by revealing the rival's vulnerability. Men say crap like this to justify wanting to provoke a friend to blow Fruit Punch Gatorade out of his nose, and retain the hope of ever engaging in behavior which may result in procreation.
This is not behavior which would ever occur to girls or possibly a non-threatening boy-band. There are more subtle forms of expression that females engage in. When it comes to undressing with the eyes, females are constantly evaluating rival boobs, butts, and guts.
Men are so uncomfortable with male genitalia that they question the appropriateness of liking their own. Were men as insecure as women, an entire medical industry would be committed to the construction of desensitized, perpetually aroused, 16" (40 cm) penises.
One will also observe women ritualistically asessing automobiles, shoes and handbags. Most men value an object's value in relation to expenditure as opposed to manufacturer's label, unless they are Republican members of congress or belong to exclusive groups where everybody looks like a Republican member of Congress.
A woman sees a twenty year old hatchback and sees a US$500 pile of junk. If it is halfway clean, has oversize tires and wheels, and a louder-than-standard exhaust, men view it as cool, as long as it is also equipped with a manual transmission. The owner has fortitude, the car looks like it's fun to drive, and probably gets kick-ass gas mileage.
As good as this is for men, many women would prefer a glorified station wagon like a RAV4 or a CR-V to the hatchback, or something even cooler like a pre-GM buyout Saab 900 convertible. The glorified station wagon has air, automatic transmission, a vanity mirror, and a Warranty. The Saab has a power top that one has to wrestle to lower.
I can live with Starter shoes from Wal-Mart and the Saab. The Starters were made by the same Vietnamese children as Nikes, out of the same materials, across the hall in the same sweat shop.
I'll wrestle the inoperable power top to not drive the glorified station wagon; which brings us back to Hijastra (La Mayor)'s advent into adolescence.
Once she finished belittling her younger sister, she started in on me. Part of the recent economic unpleasantness that has gripped the United Stateshas impacted the Wandering Gentile household as well. This included the precocious departure of the Pornstar Minivan, a vehicle which counted my beloved Saab 900 convertible as partial trade.
Hijastra (La Mayor) found humor in this misfortune that I could not, some of her remarks being quite cutting and pointed. To rephrase, I found her comments to be distinctly unfunny. A moment came where I wanted to forget about the little girl who suggests riding over to Birmingham for their available Whataburger franchise, or suggests a trip to the public library so that she may renew her friendship with Princess Mia Thermopolis. These were continent-sized obstacles to the caprice of wanting to cause intense, lingering physical pain.
After a brief, monosyllabic proration unlikely to challenge the intellect of the average Lou Dobbs acolyte, I retired to quarters. Upon arrival, I was greeted by the voice of Hijastra (La Menor). "You see? She does that to me ALL THE TIME!"
The next few years promise to be endlessly diverting.
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