October 20, 2007
Jackee Sent Bill Gates To Our Blog
Bill Gates recently gave a speech at a High School about 11 things they did not and will not learn in school . He talks about how feel-good, politically correct teachings created a generation of kids with no concept of reality and how this concept set them up for failure in the real world.
Rule 1 : Life is not fair - get used to it!
Rule 2: The world won't care about your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.
Rule 3: You will NOT make $60,000 a year right out of high school. You won't be a vice-president with a car phone until you earn both.
Rule 4: If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss.
Rule 5 : Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your Grandparents had a different word for burger flipping: they called it opportunity.
Rule 6 : If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault, so don't whine about your mistakes, learn from them.
Rule 7: Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you thought you were. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parent's generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.
Rule 8: Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life HAS NOT. In some schools, they have abolished failing grades and they'll give you as MANY TIMES as you want to get the right answer. This doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.
Rule 9: Life is not divided into semesters. You don't get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you FIND YOURSELF. Do that on your own time.
Rule 10: Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs.
Rule 11: Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll end up working for one.
October 14, 2007
October 10, 2007
October 7, 2007
Remember The Peace Dove? It's Been Replaced
October 6, 2007
MY SECOND POST - NO MARTINI
October 3, 2007
Our Blog's Political Horizon Is Now Tilting Right
Because of the addition of the very Republican Camille to our author list, our blog is now tilting slightly to the right. We are counting on you bloggers and contributors to help bring it back to the middle. No hurry, though!
Thankyou,
your blogmeister Jacques
PS. these-positions-are-highly-relative-and-difficult-to-establish-nume- rically-except-maybe-by-finding-out-who-you-send-your-money-to. A poll is coming up! Don't you miss it!
October 2, 2007
After My Second Martini,.. My Very First Blog.
P.S. If you're one of those who espouses a 9/11 conspiracy by the American government, go take a deep dip in the fires of hell.
September 30, 2007
'BROWN' , a short story by J. (X-Rated, but no squid)
The man had a brown double-breasted suit and a large brim hat, equally brown, matching wingtip shoes and a white handkerchief he kept pulling out of his vest pocket to wipe his tears. He was walking very fast to a brownish region of the forties. The Andrew Sisters were singing a sweet song from a shack by the tracks. The sun was cooking the oats in a field nearby and the man appproached a brown railroad car lettered in red with “
“Thank God the war is over!”.
She answered without missing a beat, all the while tapping on her compact:
“Go tell that to the folks in
The man was already moving to the front of the car where through the door he could see the end of another car wiggling noisily.
“I’m going forward in that train. Fuck the Fifties”
He jerked open the stainless steel door, letting in the track noises, some smoke and a good whiff of English countryside. Before he grabbed the next car's door, he heard “And they called the wind Ma-ra-ia”, a distant song that was the saddest thing he had ever heard. At that point the man was ready to jump off the train but his pain had grown larger than the door. That’s actually what saved his life. So he just sat on the top step, sobbing and getting softly powdered with soot, his feet dangling by the side of the fast moving train. His pain was caught in the doorway, jammed tight between two moving cars. It was unbearable to watch, yet a strange light was radiating from the brim of his hat, perched farther and farther to the back of his head until it properly rode on the hump of his back. The locomotive became visible slowing down in a long curve to the east, a plaintive low whistle heard. Out of “The Sixties” burst a young clean-cut Vietnamese girl, naked from the waist up and bearing a shoulder tattoo that said “Make war, not love”. His pain instantly shrank, freeing him to move around. The man grabbed a small pistol from his vest pocket, one shaped like cigarette lighter made to look like a pistol.
“Got any free love for me baby”
The now excited man had pushed the short barrel of the gun into the girl’s navel, a feature of hers that was highly visible above the giant towel silk-screened with a $100 bill that she was wearing in lieu of a skirt. Almost instantly she pushed him off the train with a swift kick to his groin, picking up the smallish gun that had just dropped to the floor. The man described an arc as he fell off the bridge, hitting the
Meanwhile back on the train the girl had unfolded the towel and reattached it upside down, showing a bill that said 001$. The reversal was hard to conceal to the other passenger of the smoking car where she was heading to. With a Miss Clairol #13 kit, she had taken the time to die her hair Strawberry Blond and learn a few key English words by swallowing a miniature book suitably called “English for Blonds” She had walked there so very slowly, her head down in pain, one she caught between the railroad cars where she had performed her ciminal deed, like a large tick moving from one host to the next. In the smoking car British sixties music was blaring as people lit their Gaylords, Pall Malls and Players cigarettes. The girl had mouthed a Matinée from a pack stolen at a Montreal Expo concession stand. That made them better tasting, she thought as she flicked the gun at her own face. “Click”.
“The thing is out of fluid. I should have thrown it after him, the macho bastard!” she thought to herself in now perfect English.
Someone came to her from behind and flicked a Zippo with the typical mesmerizing hollow sound, prompting her to suck in a long slow draft to her first Matinée of the day. “Thank you”, she purred “You light my fire!”
The man was positioned behind her in such a way as she could not see him no matter on which side she glanced. But she had noticed earlier the brown sleeve on a very wet brown suit. Not able to identify the style, single or double-breasted, she calmly said to herself “When in doubt, abstain” . Then she delicately positioned her round little derrière dead center on the stainless steel bar stool, giving her bare torso a quick twist to view the stranger face to face.
To her horror it was indeed the “free love” guy she had earlier kicked off the train, his soaking wet hat pushed back to offer a large wet forehead , a drying algae crossing it diagonally.
“How could you make it back here so fast, she said incredulously!”
The man had a curious smile as he pushed his hat back some more:
“I have connections at the railroad company. Railroad connections”
Lowering her head and noticing his soggy shoes, the girl said softly:
“Sorry about what happened. I was raped in the Fifties and twice more in the Sixties. You can’t talk to me like you’re the next moron to try that one me. I don’t want to enter the Seventies with a large lump in my belly”
“I have protection with me” said the man as he put away the Zippo, pulling out two Trojans from a very wet brown wallet.
“God, you never quit, do you!”
Then nonchalantly, trying to conceal a pain that was now larger than the sum of her two large breasts:
“Before I forget, here’s your other funny little lighter. Fill it up and its ready to go”
They both excused themselves to the other passengers visible through the cloud of smoke as they walked to the early Seventies. The bathroom door said “vacant”. Upon entering, the man immediately slapped the light switch off and pushed the girl to sit on the toilet seat, her knees tightly clamped to his own and her hands fumbling for the fly on his brown pants. It was a buttoned fly and her fingers poked through effortlessly.
“I’ll give him a good blow job and get to the Eighties smoothly. If you can’t fight them, join them”. These two thoughts were colliding in her head, making a distinct wooden sound. Her pain had left in the sixties along with a vintage bottle of Valium.
In the total darkness she looked up and saw nothing…nothing but the rim of that brown hat glowing mysteriously with a greenish tint.
“What a freak!”, she thought as she was about to mouth the man’s brown organ. This is when she heard the song that was to change her life, a soft gurgle from the transistor radio that always hung around her neck.
“Ooh my Lord…My Sweet Lord”
What a sweet song, she mused as she was about to suck the man’s dick in the dark. To her surprise he tasted so sweet that she needed no further prompting to give it her best shot, moving her head back and forth on him until he came with a soft rumble in his breath, his hat falling quietly to the floor. Anointed on her chest and breasts, she had an epiphany, connected the dots like
“Are you the second coming of Jesus-Christ?”
There was a large noise like cars uncoupling, a silence and then…blitzkrieg!
The lights came on and all that blinding stainless steel was not enough to prevent the girl from seeing that the man with a brown suit was now wearing a purple pajama, a terrible goatee and eyes that were like glowing coals. His laughter crackled as the red arcs of miniature fireworks shot from his shaved skull. He was holding a surgical saw with his mouth while his hands went to her throat, enunciating through clenched teeth:
“Try the FIRST coming of the Antichrist?”
The blond Vietnamese girl never made it to the eighties. After a short fantasy of being the second coming of Mary Magdalena, looking forward to Sweet Lord’s second coming, she was processed into 8-inch segments that were fed to the tracks through the stainless steel water closet. There was no pain to clog the sanitary. The head was stuffed into the sanitary napkin disposal bin where they found it along with a blood-soaked pajama bottom. The top of that garment was found three cars down towards the back of the train. The man had to have walked past the eighties and nineties half naked but no one saw him as they were all gazing at their respective newspapers. They were an odd lot, creepy Croatians and sultry Serbs, drunken Russians and loud Americans, all busy masturbating while holding their own version of the daily news over their respective work site. Once he got into the “New Millennium” he tried to quickly go past that car too but something had grown inside him, a pain darker, harder and larger than any of his past pains. The door would not let him through. A devout young Muslim volunteered to help by flashing open his Aquascutum. The man barely glanced at the dynamite belt, choosing instead to remove his goatee that by that time had grown to a full size beard. Then the blood-soaked pajama top was dropped to the floor as he knelt as if about to pray Allah. As his forehead touched the floor glowing orange arcs acted like powerful acetylene cutting torches cutting a hole in the metal floor, a hole large enough to easily let him and his pain through. The circle of steel fell out as a lot of air and track noises came in. The man rolled into the hole and seventeen devout Muslims jumped after him, seeding the tracks with their prayer beads. The Iraqis left in the car sighed with relief as they clutched the adorned frames they were holding, some bearing the photograph of an attractive bearded man, others with a cheap replica of Santa Claus. One could decipher the track noise as either singing “I’ll be back… I’ll be back… I’ll be back… I’ll be back… I’ll be back… I’ll be back… I’ll be back…” or instead, depending on where you were sitting in the car, “Watch your back… Watch your back… Watch your back… Watch your back… Watch your back… Watch your back… Watch your back…”
“Same meaning, really”, thought an oriental girl with large breasts sitting near the hole, a large folded towel on her lap.
The train slowed down as it entered a small community. It was coming to a full stop at a station whose black and white sign said: “Late-Thirties-on-the-Thames”. A German Envoy with shiny booths climbed aboard carrying a fat portfolio. In it was a fake goatee and a folded purple pajama. Steam billowed as the brakes screeched for a long minute. The telegraph operator had finished his shift, stood up and put on a brown suit jacket, a brown hat and left towards the next town in a brown Bentley. The car radio played “Little Brown Jug” , a song quickly interrupted by the news of the invasion of
September 25, 2007
Ahmadinejad Speaks At The University Of Sherbrooke
This came a surprise to me, the fact that back in 83-84 Mahmoud Ahmadinejad had studied for his Masters Degree at l'Université de Sherbrooke, From this recent video one can notice that he speaks a credible French-Canadian 'slang', not mincing his words about the Holocaust ( he compares it to Halloween!) and about Bush (he uses a swear word). I know the bad sync is probably an interpreter talking, though I have no idea who made this clip. real or phony for that matter. Notice the generous applause he gets. If you watch carefully, he even gets an encouraging wink from the foxy mascot of the Green & Gold University Club where he was speaking. By the way , just like in Iran, there are no gays or nuclear weapons in Québec. But it's damn cold in winter!
September 23, 2007
The Shape Of Things Political To Come
Please vote on our new poll above. And please go to the extreme bottom of this blog to analyse "THE MAP", the one that explains everything military. I don't think Darfur is on that map.
September 17, 2007
Why Is This Not Picked Up By The Liberal Press?
Of course we all knew about BLOOD for OIL from an earlier very 'funny' blog, but this is documented to the 'nth power' if you follow all the leads given. Copy of the contracts are all over the Web. Meanwhile at the pump we pay $3.75
My answer: We have 'chickenShit' press. Shame shame shame. YouTube is a saving grace. Give your differing opinion.
September 16, 2007
Greenspan...did you watch 60-minutes tonight?
OK... so a while after he is out of his Fed Reserve job, Greespan spills the beans on the Bush administration's wastefull and dangerous ways, saying out loud what we all knew to be true: OIL WAS THE BASIC OUTSPOKEN REASON to go to war, as expressed within the walls of the White House. We all knew that ( see this earlier blog)
. So... NOW, six years later he's talking. The SPAN of the GREEN could have hinted before to the incompetence of that President. But he chose to do it just before the release of his BOOK, propelling it to millions more in profit. And we pay over $3 at the pump!
Same with Colin Powell. In a recent interview by none other than GQ (Gentlemen's Quaterly, a fashion magazine), he hints that he regrets having taken up the distortions leading to war in Iraq, presenting then to the UN Security Council with a straight face. This confession comes way too late, six years too late. Does he have a book too? Oh yes...I think he does. Those public servants sure know who to serve first, don't they? Makes you want to live in Switzerland where all public servants are chosen for their competence and there is no elections based on megamillions of influence peddling by lobbies. But then Switzerland does not go to war. Ah shucks...! There is always something wrong with these other countries! Humvees vs cuckoo clocks. I'll take the Humvee anytime...to Wall-Mart, where just maybe I'll buy a cuckoo clock for good measure.
September 14, 2007
September 11, 2007
Some good came out of all that 9/11 pain.
It turns out that the second inquiry revealed the exact opposite, that the building was not only code compliant, but masterly well-designed. The floor joists were soundly welded to the outer walls, only the fall's violence just sheared off these connections. Unfortunately the lower more exposed chord of these floor joists lost its fire insulation during the initial explosion and eventually bowed down enough to draw in the outside structural walls by as much as 5 feet. Since these walls were already punctured by the planes, they fractured, intitiating the fall of the top segment of the building crushing all floors with incredible kinetic energy, like in a free fall.
The Engineer was finally vindicated, but at that time he had already left the country. He had been chosen as the chief engineer for China's new marvel, the 101-floor World finance Center in Shanghai. The architects Pedersen and Kohl could just not pass up the chance to hire the world's best high-rise structural designer. In a future post I will reveal the marvels of safety for that striking building. It does looks like a bottle opener, though. Possibly the device that was used to free the genie from the bottle of advanced engineering science.
After watching that Nova documentary, I FEEL GOOD for the man, a long time mentor. And to think that a part of these joists came from Canam Steel , my old friend Marcel Dutil's company! ( Here is a man who was born the same day as myself but who once said to me that by 19 he already had made ALL the mistakes in business I was still doing at 50.) His son Marc now runs the company with its 9 huge plants, the biggest producer of lightweight steel structural elements in Noth America.
But ....I digress as usual. Very sorry, families of the victims, you deserve more respect on that day of mourning. And after six years you certainly deserve a good monument! Why is it is it taking so long to get anything done on Ground Zero? With your army of lawyers, after having sued that brillant engineer and decent man out of the country, why not give Leslie Roberts a call in Shanghai? I bet he'd like to hear from you. He might invite you all for the upcoming inauguration party of the WFC. Hey! Free egg rolls!
September 6, 2007
The Hate Between The Shiites and The Sunnis
and the dangers! Our three dogs, Sesame, Sheila and Amélie (the 'Shiites' in our little comparison...) watch with baited breath a pair of Sunnis across the street, elegant and street smart. They feel that these two cats ought to be fenced in or put on a leash. The mischiefs of these bums showing off on roofs and fence tops... And the way they taunt us from behind our American green zone screen daddy bought at Home Depot.
But we have oil and they don't, so screw the bastards and let them eat fish. We have steak and potatoes and spaghetti, stuff they can't handle with their fussy ways and superior attitude. Down with Sunnis and may the fleas of one thousand camels bite them in places where they cannot scratch.
September 4, 2007
IRAN OR BUST - Viagra Promises a Boost to the Neocons's Will to Start Another War
Sorry, but I had to re-issue that movie I put together last spring. Please vote to the left on WHEN this will happen. Prize: An almost new bottle of Viagra.
September 1, 2007
The Brains of a Two-Year Old.
August 29, 2007
Dragnet fans, it's BACK with a vengeance!
When you think that this awful and powerful US Senator has been vilifying gays and preaching 'family valuesf' for years, also voting to impeach Clinton, against gay marriage etc..etc...You cannot find a happier ending. Keith Olbermann, a great new movie director!
August 28, 2007
The Mortgage Crisis...a solution in 4 easy steps.
You buy something in Mexico for $75K, cash, move in, water the plants and make it nice inside.
2
Then You build an addition yourself for something like $3,534. and invite your friends and family. You now have what people around here think is a $125K value.
You DONT borrow on the equity to buy a Porsche.
3
You give a wax job to your 1976 Windstar and drive it with glee to the Mercado where you buy 5-6 piernas de pollo and 3 fresh onions..
4
You dont complain about da banks, da system, da economy, da goberment, da cost of living, but you eat your chicken cacciatore with a good wine.
Burp!