Let's rub some funk on this here throwdown jam, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers
Oui oui
The French press is once again accusing Lance Armstrong of using performance enhancing drugs based on urine samples from 1999. I’m sure Lance would be happy to provide the French press with a more recent urine sample; it would be fun for Lance to pee all over them for a change.
Who keeps urine around for seven years? Oh, yeah, the French.
Pound, Dick Pound
The Chairman of WADA, the World Anti Doping Agency, Dick Pound, is calling for an investigation into the latest French doping allegations against Lance Armstrong. Is it just me or does anyone else find it odd that the head of WADA is a guy named Dick Pound?
“And you are?”
“Dick Pound, head of WADA.”
“Yeah, hi, Dick Pound head of WADA, uh, mind if I don’t shake hands? I think I’m catching something.”
Maybe not
The Chairman of the World Anti Doping Agency, a Mr.Dick Pound, is calling for an investigation into the latest French doping allegations against Lance Armstrong. And Lance’s people are in support of the Chairman of WADA. At least I think that’s what they meant when they said; “Go Pound, Dick.”
Just wondering
The Chairman of the World Anti Doping Agency, a Mr. Dick Pound, is calling for an investigation into the latest French doping allegations against Lance Armstrong. Is it just me or does anyone else find it odd that the head of WADA is a guy named Dick Pound? Wasn’t Peter Spank available?
I know a guy
TV Evangelist Pat Robertson called for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. Isn’t Robertson a minister? How does that work? “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name, let’s get Roscoe to disappear this guy. And make it look like an accident. Amen.”
TV Evangelist Pat Robertson called for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. Congratulations, Pat, you have now moved into second place for Scariest Religious Figure behind Osama bin Laden.
TV Evangelist Pat Robertson called for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. Isn’t Robertson a minister? How does that work? “Our Father, who art in heaven, hollow-point be thy name . . .”
Hard to do
The Mother of Michael Jackson’s accuser has been charged with welfare fraud. That is really saying something when you can end up out sleazeing Michael Jackson.
And now, S’s and N’s, here is a brand new feature all the good people here at A.l.b.b. like to call:
Name dropper or proud of his hometown? You decide.
The list of famous folks from my quaint little suburban Chicago village of Winnetka is long and illustrious. Ann Margaret, Bruce Dern, Rock Hudson (When Rock’s mom re-married they lived in our house on Elm street two tenants before us. Saw a documentary on Rock where he walked up to our door with a camera crew and reporters in tow and knocked, but, alas, we weren’t home. Keep the jokes to yourself) Virginia Madson, Adam Baldwin (My pal Ricky Horchner and I used to pick on Adam -just teasing mostly, no violence - when he was a little kid until he ratted us out to his older brother who would then promptly beat us up. Lord he was a brat) Donald Rumsfeld (I was good friends in grade school with his namesake and godchild, Donald Ramsey. Unfortunately for Donny, he asked me to cover his paper route when he was on vacation and I decided to take one day off) Scott Turow, and Chris O’Donnell, Liz Phair. I will also include Bill Murray (His younger brother John and I were fairly good friends and football teammates. One time we, took a, uh, break from Mr. Gahalla’s Reading Development -remember speed reading? - class and came back smelling like “The Simpsons” school bus driver Otto’s Army jacket, giggling our heads off) and John and Joan Cusack, even though they are from the next town over, Wilmette.
But can any of those people craft and hone a perfect Dick Pound joke? No. So I guess we at least have that much in common. Which is nice.
P.S. Not to mention such Winnetka notables as “Lil’” Jeffery Lipe, James “Woody” Woods, William “G@! Willy” Volkmann, Rob “Dirty Apples” Apatoff, Scott “Theo” Wetterston, and James “He’s known” Cook. I think “Good Eddie” Edward Walsh was from Glencoe, just like his “special” classmates, Raymond “Hi Ray” Delphenis and Brian “Ask me if I care” Palmer.
Psst. Those Glencoe children were just a little, well, let’s say unique in their needs. But we cared for them and liked them just as if they were normal people. Enough said.
Lex vents, #789
Where is the rule written that every time I go into the locker room at my gym there has to be an old guy standing in front of my locker giving a scrotum drying clinic? Why is it that every time I go to use a workout station, there is an A-hole taking a nap that can’t seem to fathom that the “Allow members to work in between sets” sign just above their heads does apply to them? And the weasels that have to fill up their entire water bottles at the fountain while I am standing in back of them waiting for a sip? Huh? What the hell?
And why is it that whenever I need to pick up something at the grocery store, there is a person standing right in front of whatever I need apparently trying to memorize the ingredients listed?
And what is the deal with the long slow diagonal parking lot walkers? And the folks physically unable to get out of the way of busy public entry ways? And the take-care-of-people-who-call-while-making-the-people-there-in-person-wait clerks?
I would like to also add bartenders with sticky bars. My new pet peeve. When you put your elbows and forearms on a bar and they stick because the person who was there before you was apparently a spastic Mai Tai drinker -orgeat syrup is the world's stickiest substance - and the bartender was too lazy to wipe up.
Oh, and religious figures who promote murder.
Poor Wrigley
If you follow this blog- and if you do, I’m eternally sorry – you know that we have two yellow labs, Wrigley and Kasey. Near as I can tell, the big guy upstairs wanted us to get Wrigley so we would finally appreciate what a good dog Kasey has been.
Kasey is the older dog with a perpetual worried Golden Honey Bear facial expression that seems to say; “I know it. This is the day I will never eat again, I can feel it.”
Wrigley is the three-year-old whiter yellow lab with longer ears and jowls that give him a hound doggy face with the expression that seems to say; “Huh?” Wrigley treats every morning, when he gets fed, like he is a five-year-old boy in footy P.J.’s on Christmas morning and every night, when he gets fed, like it's his surprise birthday party.
Two days ago, Wrigley got bitten by something that caused his face to swell to the point where we called him Shar-Pai for a day.
Now he is rubbing his face raw. Against bushes, with his paws. What can I do? I took him to the Vet for a $200 15 minute visit. They gave him shots of cortisone and steroids and a pain reliever. He is still rubbing his eyes to the point where his eyebrows are two raw, red, oozing patches.
It is hard to save someone from themselves even when you love them dearly.
Oui oui
The French press is once again accusing Lance Armstrong of using performance enhancing drugs based on urine samples from 1999. I’m sure Lance would be happy to provide the French press with a more recent urine sample; it would be fun for Lance to pee all over them for a change.
Who keeps urine around for seven years? Oh, yeah, the French.
Pound, Dick Pound
The Chairman of WADA, the World Anti Doping Agency, Dick Pound, is calling for an investigation into the latest French doping allegations against Lance Armstrong. Is it just me or does anyone else find it odd that the head of WADA is a guy named Dick Pound?
“And you are?”
“Dick Pound, head of WADA.”
“Yeah, hi, Dick Pound head of WADA, uh, mind if I don’t shake hands? I think I’m catching something.”
Maybe not
The Chairman of the World Anti Doping Agency, a Mr.Dick Pound, is calling for an investigation into the latest French doping allegations against Lance Armstrong. And Lance’s people are in support of the Chairman of WADA. At least I think that’s what they meant when they said; “Go Pound, Dick.”
Just wondering
The Chairman of the World Anti Doping Agency, a Mr. Dick Pound, is calling for an investigation into the latest French doping allegations against Lance Armstrong. Is it just me or does anyone else find it odd that the head of WADA is a guy named Dick Pound? Wasn’t Peter Spank available?
I know a guy
TV Evangelist Pat Robertson called for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. Isn’t Robertson a minister? How does that work? “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name, let’s get Roscoe to disappear this guy. And make it look like an accident. Amen.”
TV Evangelist Pat Robertson called for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. Congratulations, Pat, you have now moved into second place for Scariest Religious Figure behind Osama bin Laden.
TV Evangelist Pat Robertson called for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. Isn’t Robertson a minister? How does that work? “Our Father, who art in heaven, hollow-point be thy name . . .”
Hard to do
The Mother of Michael Jackson’s accuser has been charged with welfare fraud. That is really saying something when you can end up out sleazeing Michael Jackson.
And now, S’s and N’s, here is a brand new feature all the good people here at A.l.b.b. like to call:
Name dropper or proud of his hometown? You decide.
The list of famous folks from my quaint little suburban Chicago village of Winnetka is long and illustrious. Ann Margaret, Bruce Dern, Rock Hudson (When Rock’s mom re-married they lived in our house on Elm street two tenants before us. Saw a documentary on Rock where he walked up to our door with a camera crew and reporters in tow and knocked, but, alas, we weren’t home. Keep the jokes to yourself) Virginia Madson, Adam Baldwin (My pal Ricky Horchner and I used to pick on Adam -just teasing mostly, no violence - when he was a little kid until he ratted us out to his older brother who would then promptly beat us up. Lord he was a brat) Donald Rumsfeld (I was good friends in grade school with his namesake and godchild, Donald Ramsey. Unfortunately for Donny, he asked me to cover his paper route when he was on vacation and I decided to take one day off) Scott Turow, and Chris O’Donnell, Liz Phair. I will also include Bill Murray (His younger brother John and I were fairly good friends and football teammates. One time we, took a, uh, break from Mr. Gahalla’s Reading Development -remember speed reading? - class and came back smelling like “The Simpsons” school bus driver Otto’s Army jacket, giggling our heads off) and John and Joan Cusack, even though they are from the next town over, Wilmette.
But can any of those people craft and hone a perfect Dick Pound joke? No. So I guess we at least have that much in common. Which is nice.
P.S. Not to mention such Winnetka notables as “Lil’” Jeffery Lipe, James “Woody” Woods, William “G@! Willy” Volkmann, Rob “Dirty Apples” Apatoff, Scott “Theo” Wetterston, and James “He’s known” Cook. I think “Good Eddie” Edward Walsh was from Glencoe, just like his “special” classmates, Raymond “Hi Ray” Delphenis and Brian “Ask me if I care” Palmer.
Psst. Those Glencoe children were just a little, well, let’s say unique in their needs. But we cared for them and liked them just as if they were normal people. Enough said.
Lex vents, #789
Where is the rule written that every time I go into the locker room at my gym there has to be an old guy standing in front of my locker giving a scrotum drying clinic? Why is it that every time I go to use a workout station, there is an A-hole taking a nap that can’t seem to fathom that the “Allow members to work in between sets” sign just above their heads does apply to them? And the weasels that have to fill up their entire water bottles at the fountain while I am standing in back of them waiting for a sip? Huh? What the hell?
And why is it that whenever I need to pick up something at the grocery store, there is a person standing right in front of whatever I need apparently trying to memorize the ingredients listed?
And what is the deal with the long slow diagonal parking lot walkers? And the folks physically unable to get out of the way of busy public entry ways? And the take-care-of-people-who-call-while-making-the-people-there-in-person-wait clerks?
I would like to also add bartenders with sticky bars. My new pet peeve. When you put your elbows and forearms on a bar and they stick because the person who was there before you was apparently a spastic Mai Tai drinker -orgeat syrup is the world's stickiest substance - and the bartender was too lazy to wipe up.
Oh, and religious figures who promote murder.
Poor Wrigley
If you follow this blog- and if you do, I’m eternally sorry – you know that we have two yellow labs, Wrigley and Kasey. Near as I can tell, the big guy upstairs wanted us to get Wrigley so we would finally appreciate what a good dog Kasey has been.
Kasey is the older dog with a perpetual worried Golden Honey Bear facial expression that seems to say; “I know it. This is the day I will never eat again, I can feel it.”
Wrigley is the three-year-old whiter yellow lab with longer ears and jowls that give him a hound doggy face with the expression that seems to say; “Huh?” Wrigley treats every morning, when he gets fed, like he is a five-year-old boy in footy P.J.’s on Christmas morning and every night, when he gets fed, like it's his surprise birthday party.
Two days ago, Wrigley got bitten by something that caused his face to swell to the point where we called him Shar-Pai for a day.
Now he is rubbing his face raw. Against bushes, with his paws. What can I do? I took him to the Vet for a $200 15 minute visit. They gave him shots of cortisone and steroids and a pain reliever. He is still rubbing his eyes to the point where his eyebrows are two raw, red, oozing patches.
It is hard to save someone from themselves even when you love them dearly.
posted by Alex at
12:38 PM
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