The final countdown

So I have about four months until dementia sets in. It was nice knowing you all. Or not. What the fuck do I know, I’m about to lose my mind. Try not to take it personally when I spit that tapioca pudding you’re trying to feed me in your face and call you a whore.1

  1. Unless you’re a prostitute I hired in a rare and fleeting moment of lucidity, in which case, get back to work! []

Spark it up

Marijuana may help combat memory loss. In other news, cigarettes eradicate lung cancer, visible herpes sores are highly attractive to the opposite sex and the only sure-fire cure for AIDS? Bareback anal gangbangs.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to go try to remember everything that ever happened in my childhood.

I have lost my mind. Is that it in your pocket?

The other day I downloaded legally acquired through undisclosed means an episode of Boston Legal. I read that John Larroquette was guest starring and I mistakenly assumed he would be reprising his Emmy winning role from what is quite possibly the best episode of television of the past decade on The Practice, of which Boston Legal is a spin-off.

After setting aside some time and gathering the requisite accoutrements,1 I pushed play.

I was expecting this:

But received this:

I’ll be the first to admit that I would drink a goat testicle smoothie every morning if It meant I would look as good as Tim Daly when I’m 52, but that’s still not enough incentive to sit through an episode of General Hospital Grey’s Anatomy General Hospital: Night Shift Doctors Without Morals.

This is roughly what went on in my television-addled brain:

Boston Legal >> Boston Public >> Private Practice


Now, I’m not quite that mentally deficient, as a law firm can be, and is routinely, referred to as a “practice”, evidenced ably by Boston Legal’s aforementioned predecessor The Practice, also, every show in question airs or has aired on ABC. But this is still mostly ridiculous. The worst part is it still took me a good twelve seconds to suss out what had happened.

Again, had my mind all set for:

Was greeted by:

You can imagine my disappointment. Still jacked off to it though.2

  1. A sandwich and some razor blades. []
  2. If life gives you lemons, cut a hole and get to work. []

Three conversations, some real, some imagined, on the delicate topic of race

An elderly supporter at a McCain rally:

Quinell: Obama is an Arab.
McCain: No ma’am, [Obama’s] a decent family man, citizen, that I just happen to have disagreements with on fundamental issues.
Me: So, obviously not an A-rab.

An interview with said supporter:

Reporter: His father was Muslim, and he’s a Christian.
Quinnell: Yeah, but he’s still got Muslim in him. So that’s still part of him. I got all the stuff from the library and I could send you all kinds of stuff on him.
Me: Whoever’s handing out those flyers is doing a fucking amazing job.

In an alternate, slightly more plausible universe:

Reporter: His mother was white and he’s biracial.
Black people: Yeah, but he’s still got White in him. So that’s still part of him. I got all the stuff from the library and I could send you all kinds of stuff. Pretty much the entire History section is just century after century of unspeakable atrocities committed by his ancestors, so you can understand our reluctance.