Hey, Here are Some Videos and Such

Hey, here are some videos and such (contributor of link in parentheses):

1. A silly video about why God's plan is wrong. (Tron)
2. A lot of nut kicking. I tell you what: watching people getting kicked in the nuts never gets old. (Tron)
3. Another nut kicker. (Tron)
4. Strange foreign (?) X-Box commercial with a crazy old woman. (Tron)
5. Funny spelling bee skit. (probably NSFW because of certain language) (Tron)
6. Pretty solid news clip with interesting goings on in the background. (Tron)
7. Highlights from a Michigan State-Grand Valley State dodgeball match. (Tron)
8. Girls punching each other. (Tron)
9. IU basketball montage set to Aerosmith's "Dream On." For you Illinois fans, those 5 weird-looking red rectangles at the beginning are NCAA championship banners. (Millertime)
10. Great little flash video about playing "Jingle Bells" in reverse. (Holt)
11. Stupid volleyball coach. (Tron)
12. Tenacious D cartoon (don't play too loud if you're at work). (Tron)
13. Some guy tries to stop a ceiling fan with his head. (Tron)
14. Some awesomely bad tattoos. Like nut kicking, bad tattoos are always funny. (Klank)
15. Great article from the Indy Star with IU and Purdue jokes. (Shep)
16. Aries Spears does on-the-fly dead-on impressions of various rappers. Listen to it without watching it. Damn good. (Tron)

Currently, I'm watching Seinfeld while challenging myself to a Seinfeld-watching contest. I think Brew & View is out for tonight, but BW3 and The OC will provide a more than adequate substitute.

Just Another Day

Well, the Fortnight of Andrew continues with the vigor of a paraplegic sloth.

So far today I have done the following:

1. Performed an exorcism on a cat, which was a pain in the ass because I'm allergic.
2. For the fun of it, I decided to drive to Peoria and back without stopping, not even to throw rotten eggs and tomatos at the Exit 209 sign for Odell. Those smug Odellians really chap my ass, with their fancy sneakers and rock and roll music.
3. Ran around the block four times.
4. Walked a coneheaded dog, which took a while because she kept smacking her cone into walls and fences.
5. Watched some TV, heard a John Mellencamp song. 432 times.
6. Talked to Holt via mobile telephone.
7. Cooked a turducken.
8. Entered a Mickey Rourke trivia contest.
9. Invented edible chalk, and then lost the recipe.
10. Sat on couch for hours at a time, staring mindlessly at the television screen and the computer screen.
11. Finally learned double dutch thanks in large part to some local schoolchildren.

Tonight I may go to Brew & View at The Vic, because I can. Or I maybe I'll take Jessie shopping to stores she wants to shop in, and then we'll do a little lunch, probably at the Cheese Haus, followed by some golfing. And then at night, we'll take in an opera, probably Die Fledermaus, and then I'll follow it up with a drive to a secluded beach where I'll pop on the radio and we'll slow-dance till the sun comes up. Brew & View will be cheaper, though, and I don't have a job, so I'll probably just do that.

I may post some sweet links to videos and such a little later. What the hell else do I have to do?

Currently I'm watching Bravo's Sexiest Moments in Film countdown while challenging myself to nine-and-a-half-week sadomasichism contest.

Midwestern Eavesdropping - 11/30/06

Here's Midwestern Eavesdropping for this week:

Twentysomething female at a bar discussing the fact that the temperature was going to drop 30 degrees over the course of the evening, but that she didn't have a jacket: "I wear a jacket. It's called liquor."
--Bloomington, IN, Nick's English Hut
Eavesdropper: GMYH


Drunk guy 1: "Hey, don't wear a jacket."
Drunk guy 2: "It's cold."
DG1: "If you wear a jacket, you know what I'm going to call you all night? A no-ball pussy loser." DG2: "Fine, I'm not wearing a jacket."
Girl: "I'm wearing a jacket. What does that make me?"
DG1: "You're a girl and petite. You don't count."
--Chicago, some place
Eavesdropper: ½ pint


Muddy spectator: "I don't get it. Why don't they make the women run at least 8K? The men run 10K. 6K is so much shorter."
Varsity jacket: "Because people would complain. Plus, girls can't run that far."
--Terre Haute, IN, Muddy Field, NCAA Cross Country Championships
Eavesdropper: RobD


Twentysomething male yells to friend dancing with 2 girls at a bar: "[Karloff], if you don't have a threesome tonight, I'm gonna be pissed!"
--Chicago, Barleycorn's, Clybourn & Webster
Eavesdropper: RDC
(side note: he didn't)

Bitter 26-year-old male who often pederasts women, upon being pederasted himself by a 34-year-old blonde: "This is what I do to people? I'm a monster."
--Chicago, Rocks, Schubert & Lakewood
Eavesdropper: GMYH

After a drunken night, a bunch of people are viewing photos from the night before. A picture of a girl comes up on the screen.
Guy 1: "Hey, nice DSLs."
(All the guys in the room start laughing.)
Guy 2 (to the only girl in the room): "Do you know what that means?"
Girl: "No. What is that?"
Guy 2: "Hey, Guy 1, what does that mean?"
Guy 1: "Dick sucking lips."
--Chicago, some apartment
Eavesdropper: ½ pint


A table of late twentysomthings and early thirtysomethings discussing politics and other current events. A male at the table interjecting with comment that appeared to be completely irrelivent to their conversation: "You know necrophilia is easier for men to practice then it is for women."
Remainder of table: blank stares
Necrophiliac: "Well...it is."
--Chicago, Red Lion Pub, Lincoln & Montana
Eavesdropper: Klank


Blonde, discussing new boyfriend: "He's a landscape architect."
Special ed teacher: "Ooooh, I love those."
--Chicago, Cesar's, Clark & Belmont
Eavesdropper: GMYH


This is one of those entries that isn't technically eavesdropping, but more than worthy of inclusion. Good work Wee Wee. Here's the verbatim email I received:
"I was reading the blog and thought that you would appreciate this story that happened to me at Wal-mart last Friday...let me set the scene....

I park 5 spots from the furthest away spot just so that I do not have to look for a spot closer. The car next to me has 4 people in it and the only person who gets out happens to be blind. My first though is "what kind of asses can't just drop the blind guy off at the door if they are not going in?" I am walking behind the blind man with the cane so as to not trip the poor guy as we approach the building and the doors open. I am still chuckling to myself about him being dropped off a mile away from the door when ANOTHER blind guy with a cane comes out of the sliding doors. How strange...two blind guys in the same place.....Then it happened.....

Blind Guy #1 : "Hey Paul."
Blind Guy #2: "Hey Todd."

And they keep tapping right along......WHAT THE FUCK?!?!? Either they could tell by their tapping or they are a bunch of fakers?!

By this time I am actually doubled over in the Wal-Mart lobby trying to figure out who I am going to call and tell this story.....at least I didn't hear a "good to see you" in there anywhere but I still can't figure it out. And the best part is that the guy coming out was all by himself and he was carrying a sack of groceries....How did he know what he was getting?"
--Richmond, IN, Wal-Mart
Eavesdropper: Wee Wee


Thanks to everyone who submitted. Keep those ears open. My ability to overhear anything funny for the next 8 days is going to be severely limited by this:


Currently I am watching Pop Up Video on VH1 Classic, challenging myself to a 99 Red Balloons trivia contest. Everyone's a Captain Courage.

Conehead

Well, I picked Harley up from the vet. The Fortnight of Andrew just got a little bit more strenuous. The removal of a right ovary and a hyperplastic uterine pedicle has left Harley lethargic and confused. It's not that different than before except for a few things:

1. Harley is wearing a cone and will be doing so for the next 10-14 days. This ensures that she will be smacking her head into various impediments, such as the coffee table, the couch, doorways, her food dish, and my foot.
2. Harley has a sweet scar.
3. I must monitor the incision site for signs of swelling, discharge, redness, infection, ovaries, hyperplastic uterine pedicles, or Karen Carpenter (too soon?).
4. Harley must be kept quiet for the next 2 weeks, which means that I have to devise a way to prevent squirrels from traversing up the trees outside my apartment and a way to prevent my neighbors from entering and exiting their apartments.
5. Harley's oversized nipples will soon return to normal size.
6. For the next two weeks, Harley is not allowed to run. This presents an issue because Harley tries to incorporate running into all aspects of her life, including sleeping.
7. For the next two weeks, Harley is not allowed to jump, including onto and off of the couch. This presents an issue because 94% of Harley's life is spent on the couch or on a certain chair upstairs. Which brings me to my next point . . .
8. For the next two weeks, Harley is not allowed to go up or down stairs. What's really awesome about this is that we live on the third floor, and our apartment is two levels, with our bedroom upstairs, which is where Harley sleeps (or should I say, used to sleep). As you may have surmised, Harley's inability to go up or down stairs means that I get to carry her cone-headed ass up and down the stairs every time she needs to urinate or defecate. And while outside, I have to prevent squirrels, rabbits, or birds from appearing, people from walking by her, all while monitoring her scar for abnormalities.

Since Harley has been back in the old pad, she has been lifted onto and off of the couch twice, she has smacked her head into the table leg, and has slept pathetically while I figured out a way to make lysergic acid diethylamide out of common household goods. This is pretty much how I envision the remainder of The Fortnight of Andrew, although I'm hoping the good folks at Fox, CBS, NBC, ABC, TBS, Comedy Central, ESPN, ESPN2, ESPN Classic, ESPN News, Comcast Sportsnet, The History Channel, E!, USA, HBO, HBO West, FX, PBS, TNT, Bravo, TCM, AMC, MTV, MTV2, Fuse, BBC America, Animal Planet, VH1, VH1 Classic, Nickelodeon, TLC, Discovery Channel, Sci-Fi Network, A&E, Game Show Network, BET, BET Jazz, CNN, C-Span, C-Span2, BookTV, The Cartoon Network, Lifetime, Oxygen, LMN, We, QVC, and HSN will air even more ads for Van Wilder 2: The Rise of Taj, which is bound to be nearly as funny as Krippendorf's Tribe.


Currently I'm watching 8 Mile while challenging myself to a mom's spaghetti eating contest.

A Night of Threes

Last night was up and down for the Fortnight of Andrew. Jester and I went to Rocks for dinner. We were joined soon thereafter by Ryan "Pissed Off" Christoff, the Brothers Weeser* (minus Greg of course), Nick "Pikey" Myers, Greg "Gregerson" Peterson, and his friends Nick and Other Guy Whose Name I Don't Remember.

At 8pm, two things happened: (1) the trivia contest started and (2) the IU/Duke game started. Does it get any better than playing trivia while watching IU basketball? The answer is "yes," but Jessie wasn't up to it in front of all those strangers.

We had to split up into 2 teams, as there is what I thought was a strict 6-person-per-team rule. It was Pissed Off, the Weesers*, and Myers on the Angry Pirates, and it was the rest of us on Fortnight of Andrew. The 6 rounds of trivia proved to be a challenge, but a welcome one at that. Fortnight of Andrew swept Round 6 (which happened to be the shot round, thus earning us a free shot of what I think was Crystal Light Lemonade), but it was not enough to overtake the top overall spot (from a team that may have had 7 people playing), leaving us in 2nd place. Like in Miramar, there are no points for second place at Rocks. The Angry Pirates finished somewhere lower than 2nd, also receiving nothing.

Meanwhile, IU was getting jobbed at Cameron Indoor. I guess I should expect Duke to shoot 14 more free throws than IU. Then again, IU shot a solid 7-15 from the charity stripe, which sealed its fate quite handsomely. And of course IU still had a chance to tie the game in the final seconds when Armon Bassett -- the sharp-shooting Hoosier freshman who was 4-5 from 3-point range -- passed up on a three and started to drive before passing the ball to Errek Suhr -- the shortest guy on the court by several inches -- for a last-second falling three-point attempt that fell about four feet short of the basket. If there's any solace, it's that IU beat the spread by 10.5 points, so anyone betting on Duke lost. Moral victories suck.

After the game ended and I stopped sobbing and yelling obscenities and ethnic epithets indiscriminately at other bar patrons (fucking Latvians), Gregerson decided that he hadn't given me enough money last Tuesday night while playing Silver Strike Bowling, so we played a few more games. The highlight for me was not necessarily the $100 that I won from him over the course of the night, but rather the manner in which I won. The second to last game garnered an audience of Pissed Off and a couple DePaul coeds who don't know who Poison or Pearl Jam are. After Greg bowled his 10th frame, I was down 27 pins or something like that. I needed 3 strikes in the 10th to win. Pressure mounted after I got the first strike. The crowd hushed with anticipation after I got the second strike. With ice water and Coors Light running through my veins, I blocked everything out. A more perfect strike has never been rolled. Victory was mine -- by 3 pins -- and it's never felt so good, especially after the 3-point losses in trivia and to Duke. Oh sweet irony. The entire bar erupted into a frenzy not seen since the Berlin Wall came down. Greg was weeping. Pissed Off was laughing at Greg. The two DePaul chicks started making out, and ironically one asked the other one to talk dirty to her, to which the other girl responded by saying that dirty talk was fine, as long as she didn't refer to her "daughter" this time.

I woke up around 11:12 this morning. It's raining, but that didn't stop me from swimming the width of the north branch of the Chicago River. Quite energizing, despite the E. Coli. I pick up Harley from the vet this afternoon. Photos and extensive coverage to follow.

Currently I'm watching Miss Congeniality 2: Armed and Fabulous while challenging myself to a bullet eating contest.

Bovary

I know you're all pretty bent out of shape about this whole Harley/Right Ovary situation, so I think constant updates are necessary.

I spoke with the vet about Harley's whereabouts. She's still there, so that's a plus. Other questions were answered:
Groggy? Yes.
Visitors? Highly discouraged.
Cone? Confirmed.
Hilarity? To ensue.
Going to Rocks to play trivia and watch IU/Duke? Hell yeah.
Sleeping in tomorrow? Indeed.

Long Live the Fortnight.

Oops, Forgot Your Ovary!

So the Fortnight of Andrew continues, even if today has been unceremonious. The morning started with protein shake and then some abdominal crunches. I can do a thousand now.

Then I took Harley to the vet's office for her exploratory surgery. Despite the fact that she was not given any food or drink after 10 last night, I don't think Harley had any idea what she was in for. I do, however, think that Harley has acquired a raging distaste for the vet's office. If not before, then surely now.

After I dropped her off, I headed back home where I caught up on some DVR'd episodes of Pornucopia. I had seen all of them several times before, but for some reason they just don't get old. While watching Pornucopia, I made an oversized goosedown pillow that I will give to the third homeless man or woman I encounter next Tuesday, assuming he or she can answer the following question correctly: "How many feathers are in this pillow?" An incorrect answer results in me yelling "wrong!" then ripping the pillow open and counting the feathers out loud, one by one. When finished, I will condescendingly yell, "See?!" Then I'll burn a $100 bill in front of them as I walk away singing "My Way" by Frank Sinatra.

My stitching was interrupted by a call from the vet. Harley, though groggy and a little lighter, was still alive. It turns out that whoever performed the spaying back when Harley was a puppy was, how you say, not so good. Maybe spayings are performed differently in southwestern Ohio than they are in the rest of the world, but whoever spayed Harley (we'll call him Dr. Cletus) took out the uterus. And Dr. Cletus out that pesky left ovary. But I'll be damned if Dr. Cletus didn't just go ahead and LEAVE THE ENTIRE RIGHT OVARY INSIDE THE DOG. I don't claim to be a vet -- at least not on Tuesdays -- but I think I know enough about anatomy to know that when spaying or neutering a dog, the best results are achieved when all reproductive organs are removed.

This "right ovary" that Dr. Cletus left inside my dog was just doing its job, making Harley's teats swell and secrete a "milk like" fluid, making Harley's vagina emit a "blood like" substance, and making Harley's vagina swell and emit a scent to attract red rockets at the dog park. Oh yeah, and making a new uterus. Yes, my dog was regenerating the uterus that Dr. Cletus so carefully removed.

So, the lesson to be learned is that when you get a dog that has allegedly been spayed from a rescue in Cincinnati, make sure to ask whether it was fully spayed or if it just got the ol' Cincinnati Spay. I want to say I'm surprised, but what the hell do I expect from a town that roots for a football team appropriately referred to as the Bungles?

Anywho, Harley gets to stay at the vet's office -- most likely cursing me nonstop -- until tomorrow afternoon, at which time I will pick her up and bludgeon most of my hopes for the Fortnight of Andrew, since I will have to constantly make sure that Harley is not biting her stitches. Hopefully they give her one of those hilarious head cones. Rest assured, if they do, a photo of her pathetic coned head will make it onto the World Wide Web somehow.

To calm my rage from the Cincinnati Spay, I rearranged the entire apartment, and then put it back to how it was before. Then I hit the laundromat to see how many slugs it takes to break one of those huge triple washers. The answer is one.

Currently I'm watching Goonies while challenging myself to a Martha Plimpton soundalike contest. Soon I will depart for a gymnasium, where I will use a medicine ball and calisthenics to ensure physical fitness.

The Fortnight of Andrew

What a nice long weekend I had. After getting told I had to vacate my former employer, I spent Tuesday night drinking ale and the like, with an ear-to-ear grin on my face. I discovered that the drunker I get, the better I am at video bowling. You might as well call me Parker Bohn III when I'm in front of a Silver Strike machine.


Wednesday morning, Ari, Jessie, Harley, and I headed to Roanoke (Indiana, not Virginia) to their family homestead. It turns out that the goats their mom got last year have grown up. I discovered that I don't trust goats, especially when they are out of their pen. The horns, the demon eyes, the reckless lifestyle. Nothing about those little bastards says, "I will never headbutt you."


Wednesday night, Ari, Jester, Liz, Lizzie, and I hit the Roanoke bars. Yes, all three of them. First it was the Village Inn, second it was the Paragraph, and third it was the Lock. Beers were cheap, and dirty looks were cheaper. The most random event of the night occurred as Jessie and I were leaving the Lock to go home for the evening. A huge pick-up pulled into the lot and rolled down the window, imploring us to do the same. Jessie obliged. This young man was not looking for a piece of ass, but rather directions. Where? I-65. I-69? No, I-65. I-69? No, I-65. Are you sure you don't mean I-69? No, I-65. For those of you unfamiliar with Indiana's geography and roads, Roanoke is in the northeast part of the state, very close to I-69. I-65 runs down the west side of the state until it gets to Indy, then cuts down the middle of the state. Where was this young man heading? Indy? Zionsville? Seymour? No no. Orlando. Yep, the one in Florida. So at 2am, this guy pulls into a bar parking lot in Roanoke, Indiana looking for directions to Florida. Seems reasonable. The remnants of his corpse are being consumed as I write by a couple of nearby goats.


Thursday was Thanksgiving Dinner #1, a feast with turkey, goose, duck, lobster, scallops, and deer, not unlike the first Thanksgiving between the pilgrims and the Wampanoag. You see, they had no ovens, so they could make no pies.


Friday, we made our way back to Chicago, dropped Ari off, and then headed to the LG to my mom's house for Thanksgiving Dinner #2. And Food Coma #2. Friday night, the LG crew met up at local watering hole Palmer Place, featuring the largest beer selection in the Chicagoland area. I saw a Dane. He was with a woman he called his wife.


Saturday, Jester and I hit the Oak Brook Mall for some Christmas shopping. While there, we saw some crazyass ho wearing a pink sweater, covered by a pink jacket, along with some thigh-high pink suede boots. She came across as very kickable.
Saturday evening, we had Thanksgiving Dinner #3 at my dad's house. It was less traditional, featuring pork tenderloin and rolls and such.

Yesterday was inconsequential.

Today, however, began The Fortnight of Andrew. Costanza had the Summer of George. I only have 2 weeks. Thus, the Fortnight of Andrew.

And oh what a Fortnight it's shaping up to be. My morning began with a fresh bowl of Raisin Bran Crunch, followed by an oatmeal bath and a pedicure. Then I took Harley to the vet because her vagina was bleeding and she was lactating. This normally wouldn't be a big deal, except the good people at the rescue from whence we purchased her 2 1/2 years ago assured us that she didn't have a uterus or ovaries. Apparently there may be some ovarian tissue left over, which means Harley (unbenknownst to her) gets to have some exploratory surgery tomorrow. Weeeeee!

After that, I took the bitch home, hunted for some rabbits in Lincoln Park, then headed out to the burbs to get some Paul's with McClure. After a half beef-and-cheese on garlic and a slice of pepperoni, I headed back to my mom's house to pick up the cell phone charger I so carelessly left there a few days ago. It was still there. I openly wept. There were no squirrels in my mom's attic.

From there, I returned home via motorcar. Harley, vagina bleeding and tits spewing milk, was sound asleep on what used to be a gray couch.

Currently, I am watching Big Top Pee Wee while challenging myself to a Rolo eating contest.

"What a Glorious Feeling, I'm Happy Again"

I like you guys. That's why I don't hesitate to share my pain -- or in this case, joy -- with you.

As you may have read in yesterday's hilarious post entitled "Karma," I have obtained new employment. My current firm seemed to take my announcement with indifference. Or so I thought.

This afternoon at 3:41pm, the two named partners -- smug and sullen -- walked into my office and shut the door. At first I thought it was going to be some sort of ritualistic gang probing, which I wouldn't have been cool with because I was wearing a suit. Then I thought that maybe they were going to Dutch oven me with their breath, filling the office with a combination of the worst smells ever emitted from a human mouth, which would have driven me to suicide -- or at least to open the door. Then maybe I thought they were going to ask me about why I wanted to leave, which might have made things awkward because the two main reasons were sitting right in front of me. No no. Here's what they said (or somthing like it): "The partners had a meeting and we think today should be your last day."

Guys, I could barely contain myself. I spent the next hour laughing my ass off, gathering my things, deleting dog-on-chick-on-horse porn from the computer, taking down the nothing I had hung on my wall, and belting out "Singing In the Rain" at the top of my lungs, leaving behind only an unopened can of Diet Mountain Dew, an unopened cup of blueberry yogurt, and an uneaten D'Anjou pear. Die slow motherfuckers.

So now I have almost three weeks off. I don't have to go through the motions for another two weeks. I don't have to hold my breath whenever I'm spoken to. Best of all, I don't ever have to walk into that place again. So when I'm drunk next Tuesday morning, you will hear my laughter ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city. "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Turkey

Turkey, whether literally or figuratively, will be preventing me from posting for the next few days. Not the former Ottoman Empire, although it was formidable and I do live in constant fear of it. I am referring to the bird that most of us will be eating Thursday. Jessie and I, however, will be completing our Three Thanksgiving Dinners In Three Days whirlwind tour of the Midwest, heading to H-town (that's Huntington, IN, not Houston) tomorrow, where will be eating turkey on Thursday. Then we will travel back to the Chicagoland area for dinner #2 on Friday at me mither's and dinner #3 on Saturday at my dad's hizzie. Thus, I will likely be in a three-day tryptophan-laden bender, which will prevent me from posting.

Since I hate to leave anyone empty-handed for a long weekend, here are a whole assload of videos and pictures and such to keep you occupied (as always, the contributor of the link follows the brief and possibly hilarious description):

1. Jon Stewart on The Late Show. with David Letterman back in 1994 (Tron)
2. Indian midget (as linked from GMYH previously) slaps some asshole wearing a tie. (Tron)
3. Brazilian javelin judge gets what's coming to her. (RobD)
4. Guy standing on sidewalk accidentally smacks girl walking down sidewalk. Girl's boyfriend is a ninja. This is awesome. (Tron)
5. In case you haven't heard this yet (I can't remember if I posted it or not), it's a Detroit sportscaster who went to Michigan State, and he loses his mind on the air after MSU's choke job against Notre Dame. It's long, but well worth an entire listen. What's great is how he starts off completely normal and civil, and his voice deteriorates into that of a combination between Chuck Amato and a WWF wrestler, and he fends off the attempts of his co-host to stop him. Make plays! Pucker pucker pucker! Agggaaaaaaain! (Tradd)
6. Deleted scene from Borat movie. He visits a doctor for STDs. Hilarity ensues. (Tron)
7. Someone who ate Mr. Belding chokes a couple guys. (Tron)
8. An article entitled "Man tries to convert lions to Jesus, gets bitten." I think that sums it up better than I could. (Christoff)
9. Hand farters perform a medley. Actually pretty impressive. (Tron)
10. Biff Tannen sings about what not to ask Biff Tannen. (Tron)
11. 1988 Inside Edition piece on Nintendo and Super Mario Brothers, featuring a seemingly non-antagonistic Bill O'Reilly. (Weeser*)
12. Montage of boobs bouncing up and down on The Price Is Right. (Tron)
13. Boxing kangaroo. (Tron)
14. Unfunny comedian flips out at audience member after he utters racial slur (it's not Michael Richards), then almost gets beat up by two chicks. (Tron)
15. Clip from Facts of Life where Tootie brings home a few bongs. Mrs. Garrett gets pissed. (Tron)
16. German version of Bert & Ernie, where they apparently do a lot of drugs and are cyclopses (or is it cyclopi?). Creepy as hell. (Tron)
17. Great football hit. And yes, that is Quentin Coryatt. (me)
18. Disturbing article about restaurant in Beijing that serves, uh, members. (RobD)
19. Pretty sweet hackeysacking. I never thought I'd ever say that. (Tron)
20. Nice article about Malort. (Gregerson)
21. Hilarious '80s PSA about love and sex. (Weeser*)
22. Women Doing Time. No, this isn't an awesome porn. It's an actual website that allows you (for a fee) to communicate with women behind bars. There are bios, pictures, and everything. This website will provide you with hours of entertainment. (Dalsin)

Have a great long weekend.