The Week In Review

My family and I went camping over the weekend, but even though we were miles and miles away from civilization, we couldn’t see the Perseid meteor shower because of clouds.  This is bullshit.  If we, as a civilization, cannot come up with a reliable way to rid ourselves of clouds during important events (meteor showers, the Super Bowl, any time I want to run around drunk and naked in the woods) then we have failed.  We may as well go back to living in the trees, eating bananas all day and flinging feces.  This explains my wife yelling, “Come down from there, right now!” at me all weekend anyway.

Holy shit, I was just looking at Google News for a reference to someone throwing feces (it happens an awful lot) when I ran across this headline.  Man Throws Cat Out A 7 – Story Building After Having Sex With It.  That, thankfully, does not happen an awful lot.  Besides, everyone knows the classy thing to do is give the cat cab fare home.

Ok, on with the week in review:

• On Monday, I celebrated the new school year and left indisputable evidence for my children to find that shows that when I tell them how hard I had it in school, I was lying through my teeth.  Hi kids in the future!  Daddy loves you!
• Also on Monday, we discovered that hairy Australian dude spilled his weed.  Again.
• On Tuesday, some guy you don’t know shot himself in the dick with a pink gun.  Need I say more?
• On Thursday, Nobel prize committee members took note as I penned my latest magnum opus on shit you can eat when you become poor.
• And finally I admitted that as a father, I am no longer cool.  As a wise man (Abraham Simpson) once said, “I used to be with it.  But then they changed what ‘it’ was.  Now what I’m with isn’t ‘it’, and what’s ‘it’ seems weird and scary.”

Extra bonus material since I’m overly tired and jittery and can’t quite go to bed yet: I love poking around randomly on Google, and not because 97.3% of the internet is now devoted to hardcore pornography. That’s just a bonus. No, it’s because I can always find an overlooked and unknown fact so mind-blowing that when I tell it to people, they invariably say “Huh”. Like this one: Barbie’s real name is Barbra Millicent Roberts. So there you go, doll-fetish deviant types. Get stalking!