Archive for February, 2011
This I know
I’m no CLIO winner.
I don’t have an alternate advertising budget.
And the gurge you get in this space doesn’t exactly qualify it as a ‘vehicle’.
Fuck! I can’t even sit through a stinkin’ episode of Mad Men!
So, I guess the fine point that I seem to be smashing to bits with Thor’s sledghammer of TRUTH is that it’s not exactly Charlie Sheen Sobriety FibFest 2011 SHOCKING that yours truly doesn’t know – or even claim to know – DICK about advertising.
But I know this:
When you’re pimping a product whose purpose is purportedly to protect one’s persona and other personally proprietary info, whatnots ‘n shit — it might be just a super-duper slice of swellness to opt for an ad model who doesn’t bear quite such an eeerily accurate resemblance to an alleged baby murderer and, consequently, one of the most hated people in the whole and entire state country world UNIVERSE.
Just sayin’
Miracle in a Meemaw
As people all across this great globe of ours gather in concentrated prayer circles to birth messages of hope, love and ‘DON’T GO TOWARD THE LIGHT, OH MIGHTY TOOMER’S OAKS!’ and dispatch those dreams to the heavens on the wings of white doves – I had feared hope may be fading.
Reports are grim.
My outlook was getting dim.
Until I cast a beady, tear-filled eye upon a vision so pure I felt immediately infused with the light of a thousand candles wrapped in a thousand paper plates held by a thousand innocent children holding hands, singing soft, sweet songs as they walked through a field 
of wildflowers.
Yup, that good. For:
BEHOLD!
THE NANNA MESSIAH!!
With absolutely no effort, plan or purpose whatsoEVER, Nanna Messiah shone the warm light of her sunny-sided SO WHAT-ery down upon me.
Nanna Messiah is a walking, smoking, drinking, diapered monkey-baby loving example of just how far mankind can go, just how much we can achieve when we give the old forearm shiver to fate followed by a gigantic F U to any fuckery that might befall us.
Queue the ‘AHHHHHH’
And so I — like Nanna Messiah — say fuck you to the jackbag who committed the felonious assault on our adored arbors as I hoist a cold one to all of my fellow timber treasurers and engage my powers of ultra heightened hopification using the entirety of my newly enlightened, yet historically boozified heart.
Because Nanna Messiah IS … all else is possible.
Go children.
Spread the word.
Another Great Moment in Asshattery
“It’s an awful act, a terrible thing to do. A lot of what makes our two programs so special is our many unique traditions. So, hearing this about Toomer’s Corner is upsetting to me in several ways. I certainly hope that whomever is responsible is held accountable.”
Dumbass of the Day
Whoever did whatever that led to ^ that ^ mess up there!
Pro Tip: Shit doesn’t go down this way when proper precautions are taken.
::: or so I hear :::
The number one rule any self-respecting grow operator must follow is DON’T GET FUCKING CAUGHT!
::: or so I hear :::
But, in classic fashion, today’s DUMBASS OF THE DAY shows us that not everyone has what it takes to elude Johnny Law achieve success.
Because it takes commitment.
Because it takes wanting it – bad!
Because it takes adherence to a strict regimen of sneakiness, fibbery, subterfuge and extraordinary ass-covering!!
This includes — but is not limited to — taking the necessary steps to be sure you don’t overload your electrical system to the point of explosion.
Doesn’t seem all that hard to me but, apparently, the jackbags responsible for the now-roofless pot palace in Broward County’s 2200 block were just a thousand kinds of not there the day Cautious Cannabis Cultivation was taught so now they’ll get to put their pucker on for some sweet mugshot madness!
“A search of the house turned up pot plants and other paraphernalia for running the grow house operation. Officials said the operation may have overloaded the home’s electrical system, which led to the explosion.”
Godammit Kenney, buy a friggin’ generator.
Cheapass!
Life Is A Cookie 
This is the shit you bitches are saying