A dinosaur at the new Kings Island exhibit "Dinosaurs Alive!" caught fire Tuesday evening. Investigators say that there appears to be no connection with the burning of Touchdown Jesus last year, just a few miles west of the amusement park and that the two incidents are not part of the ongoing feud between creationists and evolutionists. Suspects in the arson at the church are a Father, Son and Holy Spirit; the Father having forbidden people from creating graven images of the Lord and having boasted about raining down Hell fire and brimstone in the past. The Holy Trio were not reported being seen near the dinosaur exhibit around the time of the fire, though some charge that God is everywhere.
In related news, the Son of Beast failed to return to Kings Island on May 21st as was predicted by amusement park evangelists earlier this year. Park officials claim the date of the ride's return is unknown and likely not until at least 2012.
When a man’s an evil demon A heart disrupts his schemin’ I’ve had none from the start But Now I am presumin’ That I could be almost human If I get myself a heart
When I was governmental It would have been detrimental To my practice of Dark Art My soul’s been sold to Satan And yet now I am debatin’ Should I get myself a heart?
Picture me, on the TV On Fox and Friends news show
(Gretchen) You and Bush were great, don't you know
(Cheney) We were corrupt. Oh, whoops!
Just to register emotion, decency, devotion Might split my mind apart If they could install a zipper So back and forth I could just flip ‘er I would get myself a heart
Obama was born a Kenyan man Not a natural born citizen, not an American They claimed he was Hawaiian, that’s just an evil plan Barack was born a Kenyan man
His father was an African conspirator Who wanted the US White House for his son Barack was born on the mud floor of some jungle hut U.S. birth certificate? I have not seen one
Obama was born a Kenyan man Not a natural born citizen, not an American They claimed he was Hawaiian, that’s just an evil plan Barack was born a Kenyan man
They showed a birth certificate saying he was born here Asked if I’m convinced and now believe I responded, “How the hell’d he get in Harvard, Lord He’s to bla... dumb to make the Ivy League
Cinna, Cinna, Cinna, Cinna Bon Cinna Bon, Cinna Bon, Cinna Bon Cinna Bon, let me frost you Let me frost you, Cinna Bon Let me frost you, that's all I wanna do Cinna Bon, let me frost you Let me frost you, Cinna Bon Let me frost you, let me drool for you Cinna Bon let me tell you what I wanna do I’ll unroll you then, I’ll stick a fork in you Cinna Bon let me tell you what I wanna do I wanna lick you, wanna bite you, wanna scarf you too In the airport or the mall I cannot resist your call, Cinna 'Cause you know how much I love you when you are warm Cinna, I'll make you more than just a cinnamon dream I wanna frost you, Cinna Baby, cause you make me wanna scream Let me frost you, frost you
Baby, baby, when I pick at you I feel your warm, sticky inside There's something about your cinna goo That keeps me satisfied
I wouldn't lie to you, baby It's mainly a physical thing This hunger that I got for you, baby Makes me wanna sing
CHORUS: I drool for you I think I love you I drool for you I think I love you
Cinna Bon, let me frost you Let me frost you, Cinna Bon Let me frost you, that's all I wanna do Cinna Bon, let me frost you Let me frost you, Cinna Bon Let me frost you, let me drool for you Drool for you
Baby, baby, when I sit with you There's no place I'd rather be I need a shower to wash off the goo- ey things that you do to me
I wouldn't lie to you, baby I'm physically inflated by you This craving that I got for you, baby The reason why my belly grew
CHORUS
Yes sir, one more bite Say yeah I drool for you (I think I love you) I drool for you (I, I, I think I love you)
Cinna Bon, let me frost you Let me frost you, Cinna Bon Let me frost you, that's all I wanna do Cinna Bon, let me frost you Let me frost you, Cinna Bon Let me frost you, let me drool for you Cinna Bon won't you tell me what you wanna do Do you drool for me, the way I drool for you Cinna Bon let me tell you what I wanna do I wanna love you, wanna hug you, wanna squeeze you too Let me take you in my hands Let's drip frosting on my pants, Cinna 'Cause you know that I'm the one to keep you warm Cinna, I'll make you more than just a physical dream I wanna frost you, Cinna Baby, cause you make me wanna scream Feel for you
I drool for you (Oooh, drool for you) I drool it too (Oooh, drool for you) I drool for you (Oooh, drool for you)
When Gadhafi says, “my punim’s a disgrace” He gets fat, fat, injected in his face Where does that come from? His belly is the place He gets fat, fat, injected in his face
Karen and I are visiting her parents in Naples, Florida. Tradition demands that a list be made of things we want to do because without being pressured into a detailed list of what you are going to do, you can’t possibly enjoy a vacation.
I grew up on beaches in Southern California. Naples’ beaches are somewhere between actual beaches and the wave pool at King’s Island, in that Naples has salt water and sand but the wave pools have waves. It’s like attending an Elvis impersonator concert: you can’t get the real thing so this is close enough. Therefore, going there and pretending I’m still 24 years old and this is a real ocean and a real beach is on MY list – but only mine.
KAREN: We have to make sure that John gets to go to the beach. MOM: Of course, John wants to go to the beach so we’ll work that in somewhere. Maybe we can drop him off on our way to the store and pick him up after. An hour is good enough, right? DAD: Does he want me to go with him? I hate the sand, the sun, and the water but I’m willing to go if he doesn’t want to be alone with no one to ask him when we’re leaving.
So I borrow their lawn chair and a couple beach towels and go by myself, unsure whether I should just make the best of it or sit in a passive-aggressive funk resenting the fact that these people – her parents born in New York and Karen born in Ohio – just can’t grasp the experience of going to the beach.
I wander onto the beach and trek past the clumps of people already there to find an open space to sit. Naples is on the west coast of Florida, on the Gulf of Mexico. In my previous ethnographic studies I learned it is local custom to sit on the beach facing the sun. This means that before noon people are facing east, away from the water. If they are not there to enjoy the gulf, they could have just stayed home and sat around the pool at their condo development.
I refuse to conform, so I walk to the outskirts of this tribal grouping and deposit my chair facing the water. As I pass the arrays of natives, I wonder if they should have been turned away from entering the beach, as they seem to have been over served. The oldest members, all born Caucasian, have skin tanned to a color that occurs naturally in hardwood coffee tables, but not in humans.
The texture of their skin is what you would get if a Mexican Hairless dog mated with a lizard and the monster spawn of that union were fried from a lightening strike thrown by a horrified God. The old women wear bathing suits that reveal cleavage resembling an ancient, dry riverbed. Bald old men sport bandages and scars from skin cancer surgeries on their darkly freckled heads.
I used to think that if smokers carried their desiccated, blackened lungs on the outsides of their bodies more young people would be deterred from continuing the habit. But the evidence at the beach belies that theory. Despite the obvious, outward destruction of the elderly bodies displayed in the sand, young people join in the sun worshipping along side them. It’s like an outdoor cancer ward where future patients can grab a bed in advance.
I spread my sun block and went for a run/walk down the beach, then jumped in the gulf waters and swam for a while. Returning to my spot I found that four women had placed their chairs not more than six feet beyond mine, facing back to the east so that when I sat down I would be looking right at them – and they at me.
Did they not see my chair right in front of them or was this actually a tribal effort to get me to comply? As there was now a row of people on either side of my chair facing the opposite way from it, when I sat, it was going to be as if I were in a glass elevator, looking to the outside while everyone around me was facing the door.
That isn’t the only thing that makes me uncomfortable. The chair I had borrowed from my in-laws was not a beach chair. They don’t own a beach chair, made for lounging with your legs splayed in the sand. This was a lawn chair, intended for sitting upright while drinking lemonade, remarking how the world had gone to Hell since they split the Major Leagues into divisions, and selling your used possessions to strangers roaming your driveway at the yard sale.
What makes me even more uncomfortable, depressed in fact, is that when I seat my pale, flabby body in it, I look as if I belong there. I wrap a towel around my shoulders as if to dry myself off and maybe shield myself from the wind, but I’m actually trying to hide. I can’t help looking at these women who have positioned themselves in my space.
But as I look, I realize I have no need to feel self conscious, the main reason being that the women have sunglasses on and are splayed in their real beach chairs so that they face upward, toward the sun and must either have their eyes closed or their retinas are burned worse than their skin.
The women are middle aged, in the interim stage between the supple, healthy tan of youth and the dried, stringy mahogany of beef jerky. So I observe them, not with hatred or prejudice on account of the unnatural color of their skin but with a feeling of being an outsider in a culture I don’t understand. I can choose to be intimidated or console myself with a false xenophobic pride.
I scrunch my lawn chair a bit deeper into the sand, put my Redondo Beach t-shirt on and return to the pleasure I felt when I first arrived. I am thankful that, with my failing eyesight, I can’t see the reflection in women’s large sunglasses of an old man facing a large body of salt water that is not an actual ocean, but a gulf full of no waves. I imagine myself instead as my 24-year-old self, sitting on a real beach in Santa Monica California - right up until my in-laws return to pick me up and transport me back to reality.
Republicans bustin’ unions I fought the law in Wisconsin I fought the law in Wisconsin We won't let 'em get a quorum I fought the law in Wisconsin I fought the law in Wisconsin
They’re missing sev’ral of us Democrats Can’t guess where we run Now they’ve got the state police dispatched I fought the law in Wisconsin I fought the law in Wisconsin
We’re in Illinois on vacation I fought the law in Wisconsin I fought the law in Wisconsin In Chicago on a deep dish pizza run I fought the law in Wisconsin I fought the law in Wisconsin
They’re missing sev’ral of us Democrats Can’t guess where we run Now they’ve got the state police dispatched I fought the law in Wisconsin I fought the law in Wisconsin
UPDATE: EMBARRASSED BY THIS BLOG POST, MUBAREK HAS RESIGNED
The people of Egypt were ready for Hosni Mubarek's big video announcement yesterday, expecting he was stepping down and leaving. But they should have known something was up when Jennifer Hudson was rushed in to coach the dictator right before he came out to deliver this song:
There's no way I can ever go No, no, there's no way No, no, no, no way you’re living without me You're not living without me You don't wanna be free I'm staying I'm staying And you, and you You're gonna love me, oh ooh mm mm You're gonna love me
And I am telling you I'm not going Even though the rough times are showing There's just no way, there's no way We're part of the same place We're part of the same time We both share the same blood We both have the same mind And time and time, we've had so much to see and No, no, no, no, no, no way I'm not waking up tomorrow morning and finding that you’re still in the square
Egypt there's no way No, no, no, no way you’re living without me You’re not living without me You see there's just no way, there's no way
I won't go away from here Staying here staying here Hey, please don’t kill me Hey, please don’t kill me
Please, hey don’t kill me, Egyptians, Try and disperse, try and disperse I know, I know, I know you can
Tear down the mummies Yell, scream and shout like you can say what you want I'm not walking out Stop up the Nile, push, strike and kill I'm not gonna leave you There's no way I will
And I am telling you I'm not going I’m the best man you'll ever know There's no way I could ever, ever go No, no, no, no way No, no, no, no way you’re living without me Oh, you’re not living without me, Not living without me You don't wanna be free I'm staying, I'm staying And you, and you, and you You're gonna love me
You're gonna love me, yes you are Ooh ooh love me, ooh ooh ooh love me Love me, love me, love me, love me
Oh say can you sing, in the stadium lights Where so many have failed, while the fans are all screaming Run-on lines and high notes, take a perilous flight While the critics all watch, and are smugly live tweeting As Christine Aguilera, blows her lines on the air And proves our delight, when successful folks fail Oh, say aren’t those star-mangled lyrics depraved? Anyone who performs, at Super Bowls must be brave.
I am Carson Palmer And my story is not told In my ratings and statistics If you name the top ten (twenty?) premier quarterbacks I’d make the list Still the fans see just their fantasies In leagues that don’t exist
First round draft pick by the Bengal team I was in the minor leagues In a company of misers In the pocket without pass protection, running plays Lo and behold! Seeking out post season playoffs Where the Pittsburgh Steelers go, Swiftly make it, then the first play, my left knee is blown
I will retire! If the Bengals do not trade me I’ll retire If the Bengals do not trade me, I’ll retire
With a game plan so predictable I still do a damn good job But I get no credit, ’Cause I’m not a media whore like Ochocinco is He’s everywhere! except where I have thrown the ball to Why can’t he just be there?
I will retire! If the Bengals do not trade me I’ll retire If the Bengals do not trade me, I’ll retire
So I'm laying out my trade demands To little Mikey Brown Let me go Where the Cincinnati writers are not beating me Release meeeee, Mikey Boy
In the office stands a passer Asking Mike Brown for a trade And he carries the reminders Of every sack, bad coaching call, or injury Or missed route For which he shouldered all the blame He is pleading, Mike’s not heeding And the quarterback remains
I will retire! If the Bengals do not trade me I’ll retire If the Bengals do not trade me, I’ll retire
A dinosaur at the new Kings Island exhibit "Dinosaurs Alive!" caught fire Tuesday evening.
