Month: July 2018

Irony Alert

Funny Stuff, Health

So former supermodel Elle McPherson is dating a doctor.  Ordinarily, I would not care, and nor should any sentient human being.  But this is not just any doctor, oh no — as the Daily Mail  breathlessly informs us:

Elle Macpherson, 54, is dating discredited former doctor Andrew Wakefield, 60, a driving force behind the anti-vaxxer movement when his debunked theory linked the childhood MMR jab to autism

…and of course there’s a pic:

…which makes me think:  while I certainly do not wish any harm on the Oz bint, wouldn’t be wonderfully ironic if by kissing this charlatan, she contracted a serious yet preventable disease?

(Side note:  kissing with eyes open? eewwww)

 

5 Worst Excuses For Leaving Work Early

Friday Feature, The Worst

We’ve all done it, but here are the worst, in ascending order of ridiculousness:

  • I have to leave now, it’s Happy Hour at the Rose & Crown
  • I have to pick my grandmother up at the airport (bonus if the speaker is over the age of 50)
  • I have to get to the liquor store before it closes
  • I broke my fingernail and I have an emergency appointment at the nail salon (female; if male, I don’t want to talk to you)
  • I have to take my Mom to the maternity ward

Bonus points for guessing which one was mine.

Your suggestions in Comments.

Viking Spirit

Crime, Patriotism, Politics

As we all know, Danes once formed part of the dreaded Viking group of raiders who held most of Western Europe in a grip of terror:  killing innocent people, rape, pillage, sacking monasteries etc.  In the past century or so, however, the Danes had become totally wussy, with a soft social tolerance of all things which would otherwise be beyond the pale in any ordered society.

Well, it seems like you can only push these particular Norsemen so far before they start getting twitchy:

So why is Denmark banning the burka and threatening to end benefits for migrants whose children don’t integrate?
Across the country, 21 other [ghettoes] with high crime rates, soaring unemployment and more than 50 per cent non-Western residents… are due to be ‘eradicated’ by 2030, following the introduction of controversial laws aimed at protecting ‘Danishness’ and ridding the country of so-called ‘parallel’ societies.
Later this year, legislation will force all families living in these ghettos to send their toddlers, as young as one year old, to approved day centres to learn the Danish language and Danish values.
The children will have to complete 25 hours of compulsory state education and, while the primary focus will be on language skills and learning, the plan is to educate the mainly Muslim children in the Danish way of life, as well as to give instruction on religious holidays, Christmas and Easter, and their importance in the Christian calendar.

I’m going to pause right now, to allow the cheers and applause to die down.  (I bet His Rottieness The Emperor Misha — who is Danish — is cheering his head off.)

There’s nothing “controversial” about this legislation at all.  The primary responsibility that all immigrants should assume when arriving in their host country is to assimilate and acculturate — even if only for gratitude’s sake.  The fact that the (primarily Muslim) newcomers in Denmark (and in other European countries) have not done so is reprehensible, and the Danish government is quite justified in saying “Assimilate or we’ll end the benefits which we so readily grant you when you arrive here.”

Good for them, say I.  And if these assholes dig their heels in and refuse to obey the law, then Denmark should deport all of them  — including their Danish-born children — back to their home countries.  I’m so sick of newcomers insisting that the hosts should change rather than they themselves.

In fact, this is such a good idea that I think I’m going to write to TexGov Jim Greg Abbott and suggest that we copy the Danish program here for all immigrants, but especially for Mexicans and Californians.  (For the latter, we need a crash course on conservative values and another one on gun ownership, to name but two.)

We can start by removing all that Habla Español  bullshit on our official documents, because the official language of this country is English and if you come here, you have to learn it.

As the Danes would say:  it’s time to fit in or fuck off.

“My Name Is Kim, And I’m An Addict”

Food & Drink

I have the world’s greatest sweet tooth.

If there’s no candy in the house, I’ll suck on brown sugar cubes.  I mix peanut butter with golden syrup, I will add sugar to Frosted Flakes (!!!);  and speaking of cereal, the last time I had Honey Smacks in a bowl with milk was during Richard Nixon’s first term, because  I normally eat it out of the box with a glass of milk on the side.  I can’t drink coffee or tea without sugar;  and because I hate the taste of plain water, I add a few drops of lemon juice — which makes it too bitter, so I add (you guessed it) a spoon of brown sugar.

My only concession to health is that I’ve managed to eliminate white sugar from my diet altogether in favor of brown sugar, which tastes better, and I’ve only managed to reduce my total sugar intake by eliminating all sodas unless as occasional mixers in gin, rum etc.  I ration myself in the aforementioned tea and coffee by using only 1 teaspoon of sugar per 4ozs of liquid — ergo in a 12oz cup, I’ll add three spoons of brown sugar, and I never drink any quantity larger than 14ozs of anything.

And then we come to chocolate.

Or rather, let’s not come to chocolate, because in matters chocolate I can be so gluttonous that I can make myself sick just in the thinking of it.  If there’s a giant bar of white chocolate (e.g. Nestlé’s Milky Bar, my greatest weakness) I can eat the whole thing in a single sitting, and Cadbury’s Milk Chocolate and Rowntree’s Aero are almost as deadly.  I loathe Hershey Bar chocolate, by the way, because there’s too much cocoa (cacao?) in the formulation;  but when it comes to milk chocolate of the Cadbury’s ilk, I’m a goner.  You know how a leopard will encounter a flock of sheep, and kill and kill and kill until it’s exhausted, and only then carry off a single sheep to eat?  When it comes to chocolate, I’m the leopard and chocolate is the sheep — only I eat everything I kill.

My gastric band is powerless against chocolate because chocolate turns to liquid in the mouth and goes straight down.  It’s a wonder I don’t weigh 500lbs, and it is a testament to my willpower — which has taken me, oh, about thirty years to build up — that I can limit myself to the occasional (small) chocolate bar a month.

One of the few things which saves me is that I cannot abide certain things added to chocolate.  I speak here of nuts of any kind — which is strange because I quite like certain nuts like peanuts and cashews:  just not in my chocolate.  And because I don’t want to throw up all over my keyboard, we will not talk about coconut.  Other than those things, I don’t mind (okay, I love) soft centers, which is why Daughter (a sadist who makes De Sade look like an amateur) gives me for Christmas each year a box of custom-filled soft centers from See’s Candies.  Once again, it is a testament to my willpower that it can take me as long as three days to finish a box thereof because my natural inclination is to consume the entire contents on Christmas Day.  Before lunchtime.

Because I grew up in a British colony (South Africa), the chocolates we had were British, and this was especially true of the boxed chocolate assortments like Cadbury’s Roses and Mackintosh’s Quality Street.  The only thing that has ever stopped me from eating entire boxes and tins of either brand is that they contain landmines — the aforementioned nuts and coconut IEDs.

       

 

It’s a good thing that I no longer live there, and especially not in Britishland either, because retailer John Lewis has come up with the outstanding (!) idea that customers should be allowed to create their own assortments to fill a tin of Quality Street chocolates.

Quality Street chocolates are synonymous with Christmas but every year, the flavours that no-one likes always get left at the bottom of the tin.
Now John Lewis has found a way to ensure every treat will be eaten as shoppers will be able to create their own bespoke tins at pix and mix stations in selected UK stores from late September until December 23.
Customers will be able to choose only their favourite chocolates to fill up a 1.2kg tin, which means if you want a tub full of The Purple Ones and no Strawberry Delights, you can have it for £12.

That swooshing sound you may be hearing in your ears right now is the sound of me salivating.  OMG the thought of a Quality Street tin full of Strawberry Delight, Fudge, Orange Cream, Caramel Swirls and Milk Choc Blocks is so alluring, I can’t stand it.

Thank goodness this Satanic Selection of Temptation is on the other side of The Pond, and will be of limited duration (pre-Christmas only when, this year, I will not be there).  And before any of my Brit Readers (and you know who you are) start hatching evil plans to send me any, I should point out that chocolate doesn’t travel well, especially through the mail.  Please don’t.  Let me just deal with the lack thereof in as manful a way as I can — i.e., with a few small sobs and lots of sighing — and a feeling of relief that I won’t die of Massive Chocolate Overload.

Not this year, anyway, unless Daughter buys me a large box of See’s.

I am so weak…

Open Day

Sports

The Open Championship begins today in Scotland (I previewed it here), and Reader Mike S. chimes in with this anecdote:

My friend was a US Naval Flight Officer. He also loved golf.
His aircraft was down for repairs at a Scottish base so they had some unexpected free time.
A Scottish “friend” asked “Care for a round of golf?”
Rather than ask “Where?” he just said, “Sure.”
Up at dawn, a drive, and then… HELL ON EARTH.
He claims the only reason he reached the 18th green was the survival training the Navy gave him.
It was, of course, Carnoustie.

Oh yeah, baby.

Now it must be said that it’s been unseasonably hot Over There of late, and only on Friday is there even a chance of seeing people dressed like this:

Here’s the forecast:

All that said:  if Carnoustie hasn’t had much rain, then the fairways will be hard — really hard.  In fact, one comment was that the fairways will run faster than the greens (which will have been watered).  Now one might think that this helps the golfers;  one would be wrong.  A hard surface is fine — if the surface is flat.  But Carnoustie’s fairways aren’t flat, which means the ball can bounce or run in any direction, e.g. off the fairway completely and into the dense rough or impenetrable gorse.

And so it begins…