The first time I heard the "Biggus Dickus" routine from Monty Python's Life of Brian, I was driving down Canal Street at about three in the morning, and I started laughing so hard that I had to pull over until the clip ended.
At the end of the routine, after the poor centurion has chewed his own lips off to prevent laughing in Caesar's face, Michael Palin says, with perfect comic timing, "He has a wife, you know.... her name is ... Incontinentia..... Incontinentia Buttocks." And the centurion looses it, and laughs and Brian escapes in the ensuing havoc.

I bring this up because my brother has a wife, too. I don't talk about my brother on this blog because I just don't expose that much of my real life here, no matter what you may think. You can interpret from these sentences whatever you choose. I will mention, however, that she is not funny, at least funny hahaha.

....

A couple of weeks ago on "Deadwood" one of the characters said "Fuck the future." and the response was "You can't fuck the future, the future fucks you."

I think that needs to be my new motto, embroidered on hand towels for company, and cross-stitched into a nice little sampler for the walls.

....

Well, I only came to say I must be going. And so, off I go to the studio and the sewing machine and the silk that calls out to be made into something of magic.

For the last time, spam-bots, I don't give a flying rat's ass about texis hold em, fffentamine,animated porn, stories of suspect nature concerning unnatural acts between species or family members, low-interest mortgages, c1alis or any other drug promising life-endangering hards-on.
Or would that be life-endangering hard-ons. One of my friends and I have been arguing the correct plural of hard on for years. She's a Military Brat and leans toward hards-on, likening it to courts martial. I say, even in the plural, there is only one per customer, so the plural occurs at the end, hard ons. We wrote to William Saffire but he didn't think it was a serious question, we suppose, since he never responded.

Anyway. I have no interest in any of the above listed topics, and I suspect that my readers don't either, so if you would just remove me from the list, I'd appreciate it.

Not that this plea will help. But I feel better for it.

In my aimless wandering around the internets, hopping from random link to random link off the usual site listed on the left, I stumbled across the Unitarian Jihad. This is from the mind of Jon Carrol of the San Francisco Chronicle, and it was so painfully funny that it made me spew coffee on my keyboard.

You have been warned. What follows is the communique to Jon from the Unitarian Jihad.
Greetings to the Imprisoned Citizens of the United States. We are Unitarian Jihad. There is only God, unless there is more than one God. The vote of our God subcommittee is 10-8 in favor of one God, with two abstentions. Brother Flaming Sword of Moderation noted the possibility of there being no God at all, and his objection was noted with love by the secretary.

Greetings to the Imprisoned Citizens of the United States! Too long has your attention been waylaid by the bright baubles of extremist thought. Too long have fundamentalist yahoos of all religions (except Buddhism -- 14-5 vote, no abstentions, fundamentalism subcommittee) made your head hurt. Too long have you been buffeted by angry people who think that God talks to them. You have a right to your moderation! You have the power to be calm! We will use the IED of truth to explode the SUV of dogmatic expression!

People of the United States, why is everyone yelling at you??? Whatever happened to ... you know, everything? Why is the news dominated by nutballs saying that the Ten Commandments have to be tattooed inside the eyelids of every American, or that Allah has told them to kill Americans in order to rid the world of Satan, or that Yahweh has instructed them to go live wherever they feel like, or that Shiva thinks bombing mosques is a great idea? Sister Immaculate Dagger of Peace notes for the record that we mean no disrespect to Jews, Muslims, Christians or Hindus. Referred back to the committee of the whole for further discussion.

We are Unitarian Jihad. We are everywhere. We have not been born again, nor have we sworn a blood oath. We do not think that God cares what we read, what we eat or whom we sleep with. Brother Neutron Bomb of Serenity notes for the record that he does not have a moral code but is nevertheless a good person, and Unexalted Leader Garrote of Forgiveness stipulates that Brother Neutron Bomb of Serenity is a good person, and this is to be reflected in the minutes.

Beware! Unless you people shut up and begin acting like grown-ups with brains enough to understand the difference between political belief and personal faith, the Unitarian Jihad will begin a series of terrorist-like actions. We will take over television studios, kidnap so-called commentators and broadcast calm, well-reasoned discussions of the issues of the day. We will not try for "balance" by hiring fruitcakes; we will try for balance by hiring non-ideologues who have carefully thought through the issues.

We are Unitarian Jihad. We will appear in public places and require people to shake hands with each other. (Sister Hand Grenade of Love suggested that we institute a terror regime of mandatory hugging, but her motion was not formally introduced because of lack of a quorum.) We will require all lobbyists, spokesmen and campaign managers to dress like trout in public. Televangelists will be forced to take jobs as Xerox repair specialists. Demagogues of all stripes will be required to read Proust out loud in prisons.

We are Unitarian Jihad, and our motto is: "Sincerity is not enough." We have heard from enough sincere people to last a lifetime already. Just because you believe it's true doesn't make it true. Just because your motives are pure doesn't mean you are not doing harm. Get a dog, or comfort someone in a nursing home, or just feed the birds in the park. Play basketball. Lighten up. The world is not out to get you, except in the sense that the world is out to get everyone.

Brother Gatling Gun of Patience notes that he's pretty sure the world is out to get him because everyone laughs when he says he is a Unitarian. There were murmurs of assent around the room, and someone suggested that we buy some Congress members and really stick it to the Baptists. But this was deemed against Revolutionary Principles, and Brother Gatling Gun of Patience was remanded to the Sunday Flowers and Banners committee.

People of the United States! We are Unitarian Jihad! We can strike without warning. Pockets of reasonableness and harmony will appear as if from nowhere! Nice people will run the government again! There will be coffee and cookies in the Gandhi Room after the revolution.

...

Well, I had to join the jihad, of course, and have been issued my new name:

My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sister Cutlass of Reasoned Discussion.

Get yours.

I don't want to be morbid, I don't want to dwell, but what has always been my favorite Jewish holiday is starting to depress me. The RLA has, since we've been a couple, hated Passover, because his mother died right after the seder.
My father first realized that he had a problem when he was at my house for Passover, and felt his enlarged pancreas as he lay in bed. And this year, because Passover comes so late, it coincides with the anniversary of his death.

Shortly after he died, I asked one of my friends if I had always talked about him so much, or if this was something new, brought on by his passing.

She assured me that, no, I had always talked about my father, I only heard myself do it now.

Last year was the first time my dad skipped a seder. He just couldn't go. This year is the first time that I haven't held one for my family of friends. The bank account can't support it, the RLA isn't feeling well enough to endure it, and, quite honestly, I just can't drag myself into the kitchen for the extended frenzy of cooking that it usually entails.

We'll be going to R&MJ's, where the doors will be flung open for their extended family and family of friends, as well as Elijah. RJ is graciously allowing me to bring two dishes: Sephardic eggs and a Persian Haroset. Both recipes can be found in the ever-reliable Joan Nathan's Jewish Holiday Cooking.

On another note, I have spent the day fighting with my Bernina and my laptop, trying to make them communicate with one another. It entailed a trip to the store to buy a usb to serial cable converter, any number of reboots, several downloads from the Bernina site and finally, just before ANTM, my computer announced that, although it could see the Bernina, since the embroidery module was not attached, the design could not/would not be passed to the machine.

I cried Uncle, and went off to watch the dreary Tatiana get sent home. Have I mentioned that I'm starting to really like Michael/Michelle?

That was no bus, that was The Coolest Person In The World TM. It was her last night in town, and the first chance we had to get together. Needless to say, we drank too much, we ate too much and we had too much fun.
The RLA said it was a case of Thelma and Louise. I say, no, more like Patsy and Edina.

I got to bed at six in the morning, and I am proud to say that I was still able to get up and drive her to the airport a mere four and a half hours later. I still have it. Or I still have a functioning liver. Take your pick, sweetiedarlings.

I also have a new job. Don't expect me to be blogging it, though, there was a very specific notice in the hiring papers. It's only part time, so as not to cut into my gym time, or my sewing time, and it's only five minutes from my house. The dress code is jeans, and it involves something I truly love (hint, hint: fruit-named computers). I could not be any happier if I tried.

Last night my girl Tiffany got sent home from ANTM. This was a terrible blow to me because the week before, my other favorite, Lluvy, got sent home. Why don't they send home the chick with the Village of the Damned eyes, or the one with no lips?
This has to be the worst season yet for America's Next Top Model. Not one of those twits could read a teleprompter, and not one of them could pronounce Hermes.

Now, I'm just sayin', but if you were trying to be a top model, wouldn't you be studying things like Vogue magazine, or Harper's Bazaar? Wouldn't you? Maybe watch Style tv. Things like that.

Was it one or two weeks ago where none of the girls had a clue what haute couture was? If I were Tyra, Mr. Jay and the wonderfully over the top Miss Janice Dickenson, I would have cancelled the season at that moment and sent the whole ratty pack of them home.

And speaking of ratty, what's up with the whole look of the pack when they come in for judging? Can't one of them use a hairbrush or a little mascara? Especially that drunk girl, Brittany. She looks like she's just rolled in from a hard night and an early morning walk of shame, every single week.

Even Michael/Michelle is doing better than that. Sort of. I think that the show, having treated her to its nasty bleach blonde makeover, should at least keep her roots up for her. Or just give up on her being an ice queen and go for a jet black, Betty Page look for her. I think that would have been a little easier for her to work with.

Working with brings up the whole acting class sequence. Michael/Michelle kept saying that she'd had four years of drama. I'm beginning to think that was personal drama and not actually acting classes.

And finally, Noxema, the Cover Girl of the Week in perpetuity. She really rubs me the wrong way. I can't tell you why, whether it's the Meg Tilly brown facial lumps, or the lame ass mohawk, or the smug little way she wins every competition, but I just don't like her and I don't want her to win.

So there. If you want a better analysis, go to Television Without Pity.