Two Seemingly Unrelated Thoughts

We are doomed. The flying saucers are already here. Or at least in Cleveland. Actually, that fact alone might save us from an impending invasion. They take one look at Cleveland through their alien, multi spectral sensing compound eyes and they might say “fuck this shit, let’s head somewhere else.” We know the only reason they kept coming back up to this point is because they had been to New Hampshire. Now this visit to Cleveland might dissuade them from any future cattle mutilating or anal probing or carrying out plans to dominate the earth. I know my leather cheerio feels safer already.

While on the subject of anuses, how about that attorney general of ours? This country has had some stink-o attorneys general (John Ashcroft, Ed Meese, Web Hubble to name a few) but Alberto Gonzales is a real steaming pile of lying shit. I hope the fucker it forced to resign. I predict that will happen this week. I will celebrate.

Equinuts

Hey, isn't today the first day of spring? It's also called the Scrotumnal Equinox or something. You know, when all nuts are of equal size left and right. At least for 24 hours.

I think pagans and hippies love this day for some reason. Crazy. I just want the weather to warm the fuck up. And if that means a few hippie chicks dancing around naked, so be it. I not so sure about the pagans though. It's just another religion and I hate religions. Sorry, it's just my religion to hate religions. I will have a whole blog about my religion soon. You might want to avoid it if you are weak of mind and easily manipulated. Like most Americans.

Well, I'm going to take my symmetrical testicles, head off to bed and dream of naked hippie chicks.

Tullamore Purge

“So, Wheelgun, what’s your take on this Alberto Gonzales prosecutor purge thing?” you guys keep asking me. I don’t blame you for wanting the intelligent, knowledgeable viewpoint I would espouse. So will I give it to you? What, on the eve of St. Patrick’s Day? Are you guys kidding? Fuck no! Let’s get ready to drink!

Actually I can’t drink since I’m working. I’m not at work, mind you, but I’m working. Through the miracle of VPN, IP phone and other various and sundry remote tools, I am working from home. And praying no shit storms blow in so I don’t have to drive to the office in the real storm outside.

Come midnight, though, I will start pounding the Tullamore Dew with unbridled abandon. Unless one of my roommates bent my funnel or stole my whiskey. In that case I will get out my sheleighly and pound some cranium whilst dancing a jig.

The music for this evening will be The Pogues, of course. I want to start an Irish band myself one of these days and call it “Shane McGowan’s Liver”. We would all get outrageously drunk before we went on stage. Not much different from my current band, come to think of it.

I plan on having potatoes and a shot of vodka (since it’s made from potatoes) with all three meals tomorrow. I would like to have corned beef for dinner but all my roomies are vegetarians. Their loss.

My sister Wheel Gun Mika and her husband Lumber Yard Dennis are celebrating their anniversary tomorrow. Happy anniversary! If ever I get married, I hope I’m smart enough to do it on a day that’s easy to remember too. Except for maybe September 11th.

Well enough of this crap. Got to get back to “work.” I will leave you with this:

May the enemies of Ireland never eat bread nor drink whiskey,
but be afflicted with itching without the benefit of scratching

Scooter Poop Shooted

“Scooter” Libby. How the hell did he get such an embarrassing nickname? Does he actually ride around on a scooter? Or was it from some bazaar drunken antic he performed in college? Perhaps someone saw him scooting on his ass across the floor like a cat with a rubber band half way out it's anus and pegged him with the silly moniker. It would fit.

But I bet you more likely he earned the nickname from scooting around constantly while carrying out evil deeds at the behest of his dark master, Darth Cheney. Scooter was found guilty of lying to a grand jury today. Not a big deal since he will get a full presidential pardon. Which is good since a “Scooter” probably would not last long in jail.

R.I.P. Blimp

It’s with a heavy heart that I type this blog. A founding member of the Bartlett Street Aerodrome (in other words, the living room) has passed away. My remote control blimp will no longer be floating around happily knocking over drinks and scaring the bejesus out of the cat as it has for the past 5 years.

I was in the process of reattaching the motors when my roommate let go of the 52 inch long mylar balloon which, not having anything to weight it down at that moment, shot to the ceiling and burst. There was not a dry eye in the house.

Partially offsetting the bad news was the addition of the latest member to the Aerodrome, my new miniature remote control helicopter. However, it looks like the much anticipated helicopter vs. blimp smack down will not take place. Unless I can come up with $15 for a new balloon.

Astronomical Event

There is going to be a lunar eclipse tomorrow. I have always worried about these things (even more so about solar eclipses). The aliens could be out there waiting to attack and this could provide them needed cover. Keep a goddamned hairy eyeball out for anything unusual, all of you. And make sure you can defend yourselves! If you don’t have a gun, go out and buy one. It could mean the difference between a successful invasion and a thwarted one. If you happen to fill the supreme leader alien up with lead, the others will turn tail (or whatever they have on their backsides) and run (or how ever they ambulate).

I’m planning on walking around with my trusty S&Wesson .357 magnum on my hip (note to C.G. - I will be over to pick it up tomorrow). Should get the job done. If not, I will have my .45-70 Contender close by. But I don’t suspect the aliens will be very big or strong. And, although this might sound a bit silly, I will be wearing a baseball cap lined with aluminum foil so their mind control won’t be able to effect me. And I will keep my thoughts simple and focused. Like George Bush’s thoughts but with the addition of the focused part.

As another precaution, I have will be wearing a CD a on a string around my neck to deflect any tractor beams. Don’t want to be hauled on board no flying saucer! I prefer to wait until my next physical for an anal probe, thank you.

And I have set up my band’s PA system on my breezeway in hopes of using sound to repel any potential invading green hordes. Through research, I have determined that most aliens dislike 80s hair metal so I will have my Camarojuana record playing at sound detecting proboscis splitting levels.

You may find this a bit much, but I have dug 15 holes around my yard and placed in each a pipe filled with tightly packed gun powder (FFg) wired to a central firing mechanism on the breezeway. On top of each pipe I poured about a pound of double-aught buck. Shit, you should have seen my nosy neighbors when I did this! I told them I was setting traps for the squirrels. I’m not sure they bought it. But they will surely thank me when I blow up an alien spacecraft bent on zapping our houses into ashes.

Unless you’re the kind who looks forward to performing slave labor on alien worlds, I suggest all of you take similar steps to protect mankind. And, weather permitting, enjoy the lunar eclipse!