One long-ass paragraph:
After waxing the racing stripes on my woody, she buffed my chassis with hands as smooth as a chamois. I compensated by adjusting her headlights and performing a tune-up, revving her engine until it purred. Her wheels flanking my underbody, I inserted my dipstick to make sure she was sufficiently lubed, then scoped out her spark plugs with my diagnostic tool. She lost all cruise control then, begging for more torque and increased acceleration, pushing me beyond the speed limit with a flagrant disregard for improved gas mileage. No problem with my 6-speed manual transmission. I greased her rear spoiler before she clamped her fenders around my exhaust outlet. I almost lost it while tailgating her, but managed to keep my tire properly inflated. I shifted into gear, applying my hydraulic clutch, which sent her anti-lock braking system into overdrive. Traction control became difficult with all the skidding and fishtailing. Then our radiators started to steam so we flipped on the defoggers. When her bucket seat lurched, I ratcheted her safety belt as my rod pistoned her battery. I thrust into fourth gear with a powerful gas emission, blew my horn, and burned rubber across the finish line.
Daisy, I’ll be emailing you just as soon as I figure out how to do a Barnes & Noble gift certificate. Thanks to all for playing!
D.
Your dose of puerility for the day.
From the Jammy Blog, one of my link exchange partners, comes this link to an instructive video on the word fuck. This should help all you writers remember the difference between a transitive and intransitive verb.
While you’re at it, check out Jammy’s photos demonstrating why you shouldn’t fuck with your girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife.
D.
Okay, you anonymous contestants (you know who you are!) This is your last chance to vote.
All entries are posted here. Email me your votes for the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place entries. You may not vote for yourself.
My email addy is:
azureus
at
harborside
dot
com
See ya,
D.
Props to Nevada Thunder for posting the full text of today’s Frank Rich Op-Ed column, “Karl and Scooter’s Excellent Adventure.” Right from paragraph one, Rich focuses on the question which should be on everyone’s mind: given the lack of WMDs and no provable tie between Saddam Hussein and Al Qaeda, why did we go to war in Iraq?
Rich finds somewhat different motivations among the major players. On the one hand, the Rove-Bush camp wanted to secure Republican victories in the November ’02 midterm elections. Bush’s post-9/11 political capital had hit the skids, thanks to the bungled effort to capture Bin Laden “dead or alive” and waning American interest in an extended Middle East war. Hence the impetus towards something dramatic:
Mr. Rove could see that an untelevised and largely underground war against terrorists might not nail election victories without a jolt of shock and awe. It was a propitious moment to wag the dog.
On the other hand, we have the Cheney-Scooter Libby-Wolfowitz camp:
Mr. Libby had been joined at the hip with Dick Cheney and Paul Wolfowitz since their service in the Defense Department of the Bush 41 administration, where they conceived the neoconservative manifesto for the buildup and exercise of unilateral American military power after the cold war. Well before Bush 43 took office, they had become fixated on Iraq, though for reasons having much to do with their ideas about realigning the states in the Middle East and little or nothing to do with the stateless terrorism of Al Qaeda.
The desires of these two groups converged with the plan for a war in Iraq. Rich: “the path was clear for a war in Iraq to serve as the political Viagra Mr. Rove needed for the election year.”
The answer to Why? Republican hunger for unmatched political control of the United States government, and neocon wet dreams of a world-dominating American military juggernaut.
Why? Because they wanted to rule our country with an iron fist. Because they had that same glorious vision for the rest of the world.
And we all know what absolute power does, don’t we?
D.
Curses, Jurassic Pork! I didn’t need to see this link, which offers a gizmo telling you how much your blog is worth.
What’s his algorithm? That’s what I want to know. Is it a function of incoming links, hits per day, or what?
Meanwhile, Karen wants to know:
How do you cash in? The kitchen still needs countertops!
Candy, your site has me beat about 6:1, no surprise. Yup, that’s my yardstick of success — the Smart Bitches.
D.
Peking Duck has reprinted Maureen Dowd‘s Op-Ed piece in full*. In “Woman of Mass Destruction,” Ms. Dowd begins by examining what she likes (liked?) about Judith Miller. I get the sense it’s a case of one strong woman admiring another. Then Ms. Dowd reminisces about Miller’s bitch mode:
Once when I was covering the first Bush White House, I was in The Times’s seat in the crowded White House press room, listening to an administration official’s background briefing. Judy had moved on from her tempestuous tenure as a Washington editor to be a reporter based in New York, but she showed up at this national security affairs briefing.
At first she leaned against the wall near where I was sitting, but I noticed that she seemed agitated about something. Midway through the briefing, she came over and whispered to me, “I think I should be sitting in the Times seat.”
It was such an outrageous move, I could only laugh. I got up and stood in the back of the room, while Judy claimed what she felt was her rightful power perch.
She never knew when to quit. That was her talent and her flaw.
Ms. Dowd succinctly covers the flaming arc of Miller’s career, and closes with what we’ve all been thinking:
I admire Arthur Sulzberger Jr. and Bill Keller for aggressively backing reporters in the cross hairs of a prosecutor. But before turning Judy’s case into a First Amendment battle, they should have nailed her to a chair and extracted the entire story of her escapade.
Judy told The Times that she plans to write a book and intends to return to the newsroom, hoping to cover “the same thing I’ve always covered – threats to our country.” If that were to happen, the institution most in danger would be the newspaper in your hands.
Hmm. That assumes The Times would have her back; yet it’s looking more and more likely that she’ll soon be out on her butt. That’s okay. With her unique brand of inflammatory fiction, I’m sure the Weekly World News would have her. Let her cover the Bat Boy Beat.
At the moment, the liveliest discussion on this Op-Ed can be found at Huffington Post.
D.
*Such tactics are necessary because the NY Times now buries its most popular Op-Ed items (Dowd, Rich, etc.) in the Times Select Black Hole. Screw them. Their paper is in a state of crisis thanks to Miller, and what do they do? Alienate people by trying to score a buck.

It has been ages since I blogged about sex — four whole days, if you count my recent nut sack memoir. When I look back at the past few days, I have to ask myself: Why all this angst over the state of medicine, when I could be talking about oral sex?
Check out that photo of Einstein. Not too many people know this, but it was this very photo which snagged Marilyn Monroe. One look at it and you just know Al could do the velvet bandsaw.
I contend that there isn’t enough oral sex in the world. Dubya’s second term would be far more successful if Laura cut the librarian act and pushed his head into the thatch once in a while. Dubya has clearly forgotten that his primary job is to serve the people, and service begins at home. Get lickin’, George! Look at your dad smoochin’ Barbara in the bleachers. G.H.W. Bush knows what to do with his mouth. All those goofy things Babs said at the Astrodome? That’s cuz G.H.W. had just sucked her silly, and 9/10 of her blood supply was devoted to a raging case of fem wood.
Yeah, there’s not enough oral sex in the world, especially among the religious right and the neocons. Clearly, if they aren’t getting any, they don’t want anyone else to, either. You know what we need? We need a bumper sticker campaign.
Eat a Muffin and Save a Soul
Fortunately for the world, the times may be changing.
A recent study reported that half of all teens in America (ages 15 to 19) have had oral sex. This study had a couple of interesting angles. First, numbers of guys and girls on the giving end were roughly equal, thus dispelling any sexist notions you might have that guys were browbeating their girls into going down on them. Go guys! You’ve clearly learned an important life lesson: ‘Tis better to give than to receive. Or, Thou shouldst damn well give if ye expect to receive. Something like that.
Second, and most disturbingly, there’s a trend among today’s youth to regard oral sex as a less than intimate act. Remember the baseball rules of high school sex? In my day, oral sex was a triple. Nowadays, it’s a walk.
Honestly, I don’t understand this. Your mouth is your most intimate organ. Think about it! It’s right next to your brain. You talk with it. You eat with it.
French kissing is the most intimate sex act. Sixty-nine is a close runner up. Screwing? It doesn’t even come close.
Doesn’t it say something that you can be unconscious and have intercourse? Only one person needs to be awake, and I’m not even sure about that. Considering the fact that guys get wood during REM sleep, it might be possible for two lovers sleeping in the buff to just sort of roll against each other in just the right way. It could happen.
I wonder if Michelle and Jim Bob Duggar have oral sex. Considering that Michelle has had fourteen vaginal deliveries, the possibilities are, well, wide open.
Me: Aw, come on. I got myself all hot and bothered writing tonight’s blog.
Karen: No. Uh-uh. This is a slippery slope —
Me: Hopefully.
Karen: If I give in to you on this, you’ll do nothing but blog about sex. Think how bad that will be for your traffic.
Me: Shows what you know.
Parting shot:
Wilma Flintstone or Betty Rubble? To hell with that; did you ever see any of the episodes where Pebbles and Bam Bam had grown up? I’ll take Pebbles. She looked tasty. Betty & Wilma were frumpy to the max.
D.
Which Fantasy/SF dumbass are you?
I’m John Sheridan. Who the fV(k? I never watched Babylon 5. How could I be like this dweeb?
Karen got Jean Luc Picard and Jake got Wesley Crusher. Somehow, I don’t feel like I’m in the right family. (I was kinda hoping Karen would get Seven of Nine, but no such luck.)
On a lighter note, this image made me feel all warm and cozy. (Beth, do NOT click on that link! It shows a small spider in a person’s ear canal. You’ve been warned.)
Okay, want some serious reading? Check out the post below.
D.
Thanks to Marlys, Bonnie, Lingual, Daisy, and Scott for responding promptly on the vote. Just a tease: with five votes in, there is no clear cut front-runner. Seems y’all like your bad sex dished up in different ways.
The rest of you: get crackin!
heheheheheheh he said crack.
D.