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Avvertenza: non imitate lo spot Stroili Oro

Andrea — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 07:00:16 +0000

Vi è mai capitato di mangiare un cesto di ciliegie, o qualche barretta di cioccolata, senza riuscire

Area Man Feels Vindicated After Calling Radio Sports Show

vondrook — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 04:53:59 +0000

Chicago, Illinois–Laurence Fulton, 42, called the local radio sports show, “Teddy and the Bear” last Sunday to discuss the Chicago Bears chances at winning a title next year.
     Larry, a full time listener to the show and part time father, decided to call “Teddy and the Bear” after being angered by other previous callers who had made it on the air. “Oh, the idiocy that was spewing out of my radio was ridiculous,” Larry told reporters. “They were making the worst comments one can make. They were wasting my time, Teddy’s time, and the Bear’s time.” The discussion that angered Larry to the point of picking up the phone revolved around recent draft picks the Bears had made in the off-season, and how attaining certain players would effect their seasonal win/loss record.
     At 9:05 a.m, a caller to the show expressed his optimism over drafting a first round running back from LSU, and proudly predicted that the Bears would go 11-5 for the season, possibly earning home-field advantage throughout the playoffs.
     The comment sent Larry surging past the boiling point, and he picked up the phone at 9:08 to set some things straight. He hit #1 on his speed dial and waited.
     “It just really frustrates me that I have to do this,” he told us while on hold with the show. “I have things to do, ya know? And then these morons call the show, and then BAM! My morning is shot to hell.”
     An operator came on the line to tell him to stay on hold. Larry continued to talk to reporters. “Now I’m gonna be late dropping my daughter and son off at their mother’s, and now she’s gonna give me a load of shit when I get there.” Larry’s face turned a crimson red. “God! Why are these callers so stupid?!”
     After 30 minutes of waiting, Larry’s son and daughter, ages 8 and 10 respectively, began to grow restless. They started questioning the possible lateness of their arrival to their mother’s house, and just as Larry was about to respond to them, the show’s producer told him he was on the air, and that Teddy and the Bear were waiting for his comment.
     A tad distracted by his children who were heard complaining to their father on the air, Larry remained steadfast and told all the listeners that the Bears will go 12-4 this year, not 11-5 as previously stated. “Their new LSU running back will definitely demolish the Rams in week 8, gaining approximately 118 yards on the ground,” Larry said confidently. “And home-field advantage throughout the playoffs is a given.” He then placed the phone back on it’s receiver and gave a dutiful nod.
     After packing the kids in the car, Larry was reportedly teaching his children to recite a lie for their lateness. Details are sketchy, but there have been reports that the lie concerned a non-existent late-night homework session with his daughter, as well as a fictional baseball catch with his son.

Mick Cornett 'Speaks' the Truth on MAPS3

radiofreeoklahoma — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 00:38:30 +0000

At the Viking Poetry Slam

conchapman — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 18:48:28 +0000

A mastery of poetry was a must for any young Viking. A few Viking poems dwelt on love, but the heroes often undermined their happiness by chasing adventures that separated them from their beloveds. The Wall Street Journal

“Who’s got the beer cooler?”

It’s 1230, and I don’t mean by the hands of the sundial. I mean it’s 1230 A.D., and me and my buddies, Gunnlaug Snaketongue and Hallfred the Troublesome Poet, are having our regular Sunday night poetry session. We meet at Ericson’s, where they have 20 ounce King Olaf’s for only a clam, and pitchers for five clams. Let me tell you, we usually set back the progress of Western civilization a couple of decades before the night is through.

Ericson’s: Get there early for Monday Night Oxen Races.

We roll the bar dice to see who goes first, which is actually not the most desirable spot. It’s better if your listeners have consumed a little mead before you start to bare the workings of your innermost soul. Unfortunately, I roll snake-eyes.

“You go first Kormak Ogmundarson!” Hallfred says with glee. I can tell he’s going to pounce on my handiwork like a blood eagle grabbing a baby chick.

“Okay, here goes nothing,” I say. I take one last drink to wet my throat, then I launch the Viking ship of my verse onto unknown seas.

That night I dreamt of a maiden fair
whose dress I removed with a flourish.
What I saw underneath was a navel and hair
but a body that looked overnourished.

I looked up from my rudimentary parchment note pad to judge the effect of my quatrain on Gunnlaug and Hallfred. “You say overnourished like it’s a bad thing, dude,” Gunnlaug says with a look of disapproval.

“But wait,” I say, anticipating twentieth-century cable TV pitchman Billy Mays, “there’s more.”

“There’s more poetry where that came from!”

“Let ‘er rip,” Hallfred says as he unleashes a belch that could be heard in Vinland.

“Okay,” I say, then compose myself and start in again.

She could have been my winter consort
if I’d paid more attention to her
But I was consumed by televised sport
and another Vike came to woo her.

Vinland, via the scenic route

I’m surprised to see a look of empathy on Gunnlaug’s face. “That’s beautiful, man,” he says as he pretends there’s something in his eye in order to hide the fact that he’s wiping away a tear. “Ain’t that always the way. You’d like to have a relationship with a woman, but you want some freaking adventure with your guy friends, too.”

Hallfred, on the other hand, being the Troublesome Poet that he is, is unmoved. “What the hell are televised sports?” he asks.

“It’s an anachronism I threw in for dramatic effect,” I say. “This is a stupid blog post–you’re going to have to wilfully suspend disbelief if you’re going to get anything out of it.”

He takes this in slowly, and mutters a grudging “Okay–that was pretty good.” He’s not the brightest shield on the battlefield, if you know what I mean, but he leaves a pretty wide wake at poetry slams because of his brooding good looks and primitive style. Personally, I think it’s all a facade. He’s so dumb his descendants will be going bare-chested to football games in Minnesota winters seven centuries hence.

“Show me what you got, big fella,“ I say to him throwing down the poetic gauntlet.

He pops a handful of squirrel nuts into his mouth, and washes them down with a gulp of beer. “Here goes,” he says, and begins:

My old lady’s quite a dish
if I do say so myself.
She don’t come along when I icefish,
she eats tuna from the grocery shelf.

Gunnlaug emits a tepid grunt of approval. “I sense the difference between your maleness and her femaleness,” he says looking off into the distance, “but you didn’t do much to establish a dramatic tension.”

It’s clear that Hallfred is hurt by this faint praise, and he lashes out, bringing his pickaxe down on the bag of Astrix and Obelix Pub Fries that Gunnlaug’s been munching on. “Anybody can be a critic,” he fumes. “Let’s hear some poetry out of you, blubber-belly!”

“Well kiss my ass and call it a love story,” Gunnlaug says with a withering smile. “Looks like Mr. Brutalist has a sensitive side, too.”

“Your doggerel smells like two-year-old Swedish Fish.”

“Actually,” I interject in an effort to keep the peace, “Swedish Fish stay fresh forever in the patented Sta-Fresh resealable bag.”

But Hallfred isn’t letting his rival go. “Come on, man,” he says angrily, as other patrons turn their heads in the hope of seeing a senseless killing. “It’s Rhyme Time.”

Gunnlaug looks Hallfred up and down, then a frosty snort of Arctic air escapes from his nostrils. “It ain’t bragging if you can do it,” he says, then clears his throat. The silence in the room is broken only when he speaks in a low voice steeped in regret:

I once got a peek of a wench’s breasts
that made me forget I was a Viking.
I’m telling you man, they were the best–
I gave up my Harley and biking.

An audible gasp rose from the crowd. The ultimate aesthetic error of Viking poetry–to succumb to the wiles of a woman! How was Gunnlaug going to get out of the lyrical gulag he’d wandered into?

She had a big hat with horns festooned
and said “Dear Vike, please impale me.”
But a friend had some tickets to the Wild vs. Bruins
“Stay with me,” she cried, “Don’t fail me!”

Now it was Hallfred’s turn to snort. “The first thing to do when you find yourself in a hole,” he said with a sneer, “is to stop digging.”

“Hold your freaking reindeer,” Gunnlaug said. “I ain’t through.”

He took a deep breath, then began again.

I looked in her eyes, both drowning in tears–
Though watery, they still looked nice.
“Look,” I said, “I’ll make it up to you dear–
I’ll take you to Smurfs on Ice!”

Family Guy: Something Something Something Dark Side Full Trailer

Sterling B — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 17:28:36 +0000

The saga continues as Luke (Chris), Leia (Lois), (Peter) and Chewbacca (Brian) have evaded the dreaded Imperial Starfleet led by the cunning, conniving and curiously short evil lord (Stewie), setting up a new secret base on the remote ice world of Hoth. With the rebellion in trouble, young Skywalker must take the advice of his late, and rather lascivious, mentor Obi-Wan Kenobi (Herbert) and learn the ways of the “farce” under Yoda (Carl) to save the galaxy once and for all.

The Dork Knight

aeonex — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 14:26:35 +0000

See how the ninja master does his vanishing trick.

YouTube Video>AFFION CROCKETT SPOOFS 'RUN THIS TOWN' BY JAY-Z, KANYE, AND RIHANNA.

mzrocklanta — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 06:27:23 +0000

This is the FUNNIEST SHIT Ive seen in a long time, spoof of “Run This Town” (aka “Hunt Chris Brown”)

My absolute favorite video... ever.

arthurthepanther — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 04:55:25 +0000

Beatbox Fame Game
Uploaded by loranger. – Click for more funny videos.

Yeah. It’s that good.

Bella cheats on Edward,bones Jacob! Go Jacward!

chasingcullens — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 03:26:34 +0000

We love us some Twilight, but even more we love us some Twilight spoofs!

Taylor Swift was too funny with Firelight when she hosted Saturday Night Live, but this Breaking Dawn “scene” with Peter Facinelli (aka Dr. Cullen) might be one of our favorites!

Check out the hilarious Attack of the Show clip above, where Peter gives you a preview of when Bella gives birth in Breaking Dawn.

Hey, it’s about time Bella gets hers! Seriously, we know Kristen Stewart may not be experiencing lack of action with lovah Robert Pattinson, but poor Bella keeps getting the shaft in these prissy books! (Or rather not the shaft.)

When we talked with Peter back at the New Moon premiere, he told us he lives for this kind of stuff…

nationalphotogroup.com

We were giving Peter a hard time about joshing all the Robsten lovers when he twittered that hand-holding pic with Kellan Lutz.

“I like making people laugh,” Facinelli told us. “I like when people smile. When people smile it makes me happy. I like to have a good time, Kellan likes to have a good time, too. He’s really fun. That’s why we’re so compatible.”

Oh, and for the record: “I wasn’t talking about Rob and Kristen at all,” P.F. said of the hand-holding twitpic. “I was talking about me and Kellan.”

We’re glad Peter sees the humor in all of this Twilight stuff. He’s grateful, yes, but how many stars do you know who would take time out of their promotion schedule to swing by G4 and poke fun at themselves?

So, what do you think—is this spoof better than the real thing?

Eonline

With the Federal Reserve at the Saturday Matinee

conchapman — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 15:27:21 +0000

The Federal Reserve will run advertisements in movie theaters urging consumers to use credit cards wisely during the holiday shopping season. Bloomberg News

Everybody makes a big deal outta Black Friday, but it’s the next day that’s more important to America’s economists. I mean home economists, like my mom.

Because the Saturday after Thanksgiving is the day when moms have had enough of family togetherness and send kids like me and my friends Bobby Racunas and Tony Scaduto to the movies before we drive them crazy running around the house. More kids go to matinees on that day than any other all year long! That’s why the Bureau of Labor Statistics calls it Red Licorice Saturday.

“You’ve been underfoot for two days. Go to a movie fer Christ sake, would ya?”

So me and Tony and Bobby got dropped off at the MetroWest MegaPlex 16 by our moms, who then made a bee-line over to The Rat Pack Grille on Route 9 for Cosmopolitans or somethin’.

“Mrs. Scaduto–yer killin’ me!”

“Whadda you wanta see?” Tony asked.

“I wanna see ‘A Christmas Carol’ with Jim Carrey,” Bobby said. I should tell you that Bobby is kind of a goody-goody. He’s won first prize for the highest grade in Catechism–a plastic statue of the Virgin Mary–for three years running. He volunteers to stay after school to wash the blackboards and bang erasers together.

First prize

“No way,” Tony says. “We at least gotta go for a PG-13. Sumpin’ like ‘New Moon’ or ‘2012′.”

“I think that would be a venial sin,” Bobby says. You could almost see him praying inwardly: ‘Dear God in heaven, please forgive me if I am exposed to impure thoughts whilst watching Sandra Bullock’s knockers in ‘The Blind Side’.”

Rated Go-Directly-to-Hell, Do-Not-Pass-Purgatory by the Catholic Legion of Decency

“You make the call,” Tony says to me.

I make a show of doin’ eenie-meenie-minie-mo but you can always massage the end–”My mother told me to choose the very last one to wash a dirty dish ra-ag”–to land on the one you want. “‘New Moon’ it is,” I say, and we buy our tickets and go in.

After loading up on over-priced candy, soft drinks and popcorn we take our seats in Theatre 13 and just in time too, ’cause the lights are already going down. We sit through the obligatory self-promotional folderol–MetroWest MegaPlex, Your Best Family Entertainment Value! Ha–not at $3.50 for a box of Jujubes.

Then comes the Courteous Filmgoer Guide–no talking, no feet on the seats, please remove hats, turn off cell phones. To quote Tiffany Ducharme, hottest girl in our sixth grade class–as if on that last one!

“I wanna see the previews,” Tony says, and I’m with him. You can usually see a lotta skin in the 45-second trailers for the adult films, unless they’re all weepy chick flicks. You know the kind–a woman’s husband drowns or cheats on her in the first reel and there’s a hopeful, redemptive conclusion in the third reel. When you walk out all the damp Kleenex tissues on the floor stick to your sneakers.

“We just have the fire marshall’s instructions,” I say to him, counseling patience. After being told not to smoke and where the exits are, we’re ready for an afternoon of fun when on comes–Ben Bernanke, chairman of the Federal Reserve System? There must be some kinda mistake!

” . . . and then Ronnie the Repo Man hooked a log chain up to the car and whoosh! It was gone!”

“Hello boys and girls,” the bearded economist intones warmly.

“What da hell is this?” Scaduto screams along with about a hundred other pre-pubescent boys.

“You know, the holiday shopping season is a lot of fun for kids, but when January comes around, mommies and daddies have to figure out a way to pay for all those wonderful toys,” Bernanke continues.

“I thought toys came from Santa,” a little girl behind us says, obviously troubled.

“Tell your parents to use credit cards wisely,” Bernanke drones on. No wonder Congress gets mad when he comes to talk to them–he’s boring!

“Pay your bills on time, and stay below the maximum credit limit,” Bernanke says with a look that has turned serious.

“I ain’t gonna stand for this,” Tony says, and begins the age-old chant that has rattled many a projectionist since Steamboat Willie, the first Mickey Mouse cartoon, hit the silver screen.

“We-wanna-show,” Tony says, and others around us join in. “We-wanna-show, WE-WANNA-SHOW, WE-WANNA-SHOW!”

After a while it’s real loud, like a scene from those old prison movies when the inmates have finally had enough of the sadistic guards and the crappy food and start banging their tin cups on the bars of their cells yelling “LOUSY-*BLEEPING*-STINKING-SCREWS! LOUSY-*BLEEPING*-STINKING SCREWS!”

But unlike in the movies, our uprising has no effect on the bearded man on the screen. Barring some kind of Riot in Cell Block #9, the Federal Reserve isn’t going to back down on its mission to curb the out-of-control consumer spending that resulted in our current economic crisis which has generated calls for a new Consumer Financial Protection Agency that would–horror of horrors!–eat into the Fed’s jurisdiction.

“We can’t let them do this to us!” Scaduto says, standing up and turning around to address the kids–it’s an unlikely leadership role for a guy who repeated third grade. “If we let the Fed play a larger role in the realm of consumer credit,” he says, his voice trembling with outrage, “that means fewer toys at Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or what have you. I don’t know about youse guys, but I’m not gonna wait until the black helicopters land on my front lawn to take my Guitar Hero away from me!”

Elizabeth A. Duke

Tony’s been so successful whipping the kids into a frenzy that management has to act, and who should step out of the wings but Elizabeth A. Duke, the only woman on the Fed’s Board of Governors.

“Everybody please quiet down!” she says calmly but firmly, and the tide turns against our little mutiny, if only for a moment.

“You guys better listen or you’re gonna get in trouble,” Bobby says. Nice kid, but a real suck-up. He wants to go to heaven when he dies, but I’d rather be with my friends.

“The Federal Reserve has bought and paid for these announcements as a public service,” Duke begins. “If you kids ask for too much this December, next year you might not get anything for your birthdays!”

We begin to compute the marginal costs and present value of future toys in our heads, using a dynamic model that takes into account stochastic variables and the possible decline of the dollar against the Chinese Yuan.

“She may have a point,” I say to Tony. “If we Americans don’t increase our savings rate, we’ll eventually become a debtor nation beset by runaway inflation while . . .”

Before I can finish, I feel the slender hand of Bobby Racunas on my shoulder as he hoists himself up and stands on his seat.

“People have declaimed against luxury for two thousand years, in verse and in prose,” he shouts, and everyone in the theatre is stunned into silence. “And . . .” he continues, his voice lower now, and pregnant with meaning, “people have always delighted in it!”

“I don’t think you made that up, young man,” Duke says, her eyes narrowed into skeptical little slits.

Voltaire: “This tricked-out jacket was a loss leader at Target!”

“I never said I did,” he snaps back at her. “It’s from Voltaire, who was a pretty smart guy.”

For once, the class weenie has come through. I look at Scaduto, and he looks back at me, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“You know what to do, right?” he says, as he empties his Milk Duds into his pocket.

“Ab-so-lutely,” I say, as I do the same with my Black Crows. We place one end of the empty boxes in our mouths, and begin to razz the seventh woman to be appointed to the Fed. Soon the other kids have followed our lead, and Duke is drowned out by the sound of a hundred candy-box farts!

“Stop it!” she says, covering her ears. We relent for a moment, allowing her to speak. “Perhaps the Fed hasn’t provided consumers with sufficient notice in advance of this year’s holiday shopping season, but what do you propose to do about the problem,” she asks, fixing her gaze on the newly-rebellious Racunas.

Keynes: “That’s right, Bobby!”

“Kick it down the road to our grandchildren,” he suggests, his voice a model of dispassionate cynicism. “Just like Keynes said–in the long run, we’re all dead!”

Check out my friends video...

krazykonrad — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 16:57:51 +0000

my best friend Mike Betts and some of his friends made this video and it is Hilarious!!!

check it out!

Festive Centerpiece Prematurely Removed From Table To Make Room For Pillsbury Crescent Rolls

Pleated Jeans — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 16:34:06 +0000

In a move that severely disheartened dinner host Kate Krieger at this year’s annual Thanksgiving dinner, the decorative autumn centerpiece she had placed in the middle of the table was unceremoniously removed prior to the meal in order to make room for a wooden basket of Pillsbury Crescent Rolls.

The move was reluctantly made by Ms. Krieger after numerous attempts to rearrange the other food items on the table proved unsuccessful in yielding adequate table space for the all-important crescent rolls.

Upon hearing the decision, family members reacted by feigning disappointment and paying lip service to Ms. Krieger’s repeated statements of, “Oh well,” and “That’s too bad.”

Despite this half-hearted support, family members managed to maintain their seamless passage of food items from one person to the next throughout the entire ordeal.

Sources close to the dinner host report that the centerpiece – which consisted of a cornucopia lovingly filled with an arrangement of pinecones, leaves and fall plastic fruit – was handmade by Ms. Krieger herself. Ms. Krieger would later confirm that the centerpiece took “the whole morning” to complete.

Though not ideal, dinner guests unanimously agreed that having the crescent rolls within easy reach took precedence over the trivial boost in holiday ambiance that the centerpiece provided. As Cousin Gary explains, “Is it a shame? I guess. But I’m not getting up from my seat to walk into the kitchen every time I want to eat another crescent roll.”

Suggestions by Ms. Krieger to load two or three crescent rolls onto each guest’s plate at the beginning of the meal were immediately dismissed as an uneconomical usage of plate real estate.

Witnesses to the event noted that Ms. Krieger was clearly mildly upset by the dismissal of the centerpiece for a good three to four seconds. However, after making a slight frown and glancing longingly a couple times at the fireplace mantle – where the centerpiece had been exiled to – Ms. Krieger turned her attention to the heaping pile of candied yams on her plate and reportedly, “forgot all about it.”

Despite reassurances that the centerpiece would be returned to its rightful place on the table for the dessert portion of the meal, the cornucopia remained forgotten on the mantle for the rest of the evening.

Upon finding the centerpiece the next morning, Ms. Krieger quietly packed the decoration away into a box and placed it in a corner of the attic. Though the homemaker voiced intentions to display the centerpiece again next year, experts agree that the box will probably gather dust for a couple of years before being rediscovered during an especially intensive bout of spring cleaning.

After the centerpiece fails to sell at a garage sale, it will undoubtedly be discarded into the trashcan and rolled out to the curb for final disposal.

Don't Throw Out Those Thanksgiving Leftovers!

conchapman — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 15:32:40 +0000

Tired of staring at lumps of starch in your refrigerator left over from Thanksgiving dinner? Don’t throw them away! Here are six great recipes that will turn Turkey Day rejects into December treats!

Stuffing Puppies: Roll stuffing into 3″ balls, sprinkle with flour and paprika. Heat oil in skillet and brown. Place in freezer until solid. Remove at Christmas time and hurl at carollers.

Get off my property!

Turkey Hokey Pokey: This “comfort food” is great and easy to make! Melt 1/4 cup butter, add 1/2 cup flour and whisk. Add 1/4 cup sherry, 1 cup cream, 2 2/3 cup chicken broth, 1 cup grated Parmesan cheese, 3 cup chopped turkey and 1/2 lb. mushrooms-salt and pepper to taste. Place 10 oz. cooked spaghetti in baking dish and top with mixture. Put your right foot in, take your right foot out. Bake at 325 degrees for 30 minutes.

“Tastes kinda gritty to me.”

Mashed Potato Mortar: Add 1 cup gypsum, 1 cup sand and a dash of allspice to two quarts leftover mashed potatoes. Using a trowel, spread between gaps in exterior brick walls and allow to dry. Garnish with parsley.

“Y’all about ready for lunch?”

Turkey Piazza: Strip dark meat from drumsticks and thighs. Spread with linseed oil and flatten with a meat mallet. Spread generously over patio. Flatten with a sod roller and coat with extra virgin olive oil. Children on “boogie boards” should wear helmets while sliding across the finished surface.

“I’ll have the white meat, thanks.”

Cranberry Shells: Add two packages Knox’s Unflavored Gelatin to cranberry sauce and stuff back into cans. When mixture congeals, stuff down barrel of howitzer and fire. Caution: May be considered a violation of Geneva Convention in some upscale neighborhoods.

“Cranberries incoming!”

Turkey Terza Rima: Add mayonnaise to turkey scraps. Mold mixture into three-line stanzas using a progressive rhyme scheme such as a-b-a, b-c-b, etc. Submit to high-toned literary quarterly along with a self-addressed, stamped envelope and wait. When rejection letter is received, launch cranberry shells and stuffing puppies at editor. Repeat until satisfied.

Pardoned Turkey Kidnaps Chick, Goes on Rampage

conchapman — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 15:30:24 +0000

DUBOIS, Indiana. “Courage”, the turkey pardoned by President Obama as part of traditional White House Thanksgiving Day festivities, led Indiana State Police on a high-speed chase over narrow state roads before holing up in a corn crib at the farm where he was raised, accompanied by a young chick he seized at an all-night convenience store in nearby Jasper, the county seat.

“If I let you go, will you promise to stay out of trouble?”

“There is enormous risk with any pardon,” said Greer Nilson, a professor of political science at Indiana University’s Muncie campus. “When Bill Clinton pardoned Marc Rich in the last days of his presidency all the other fugitive commodities traders who cut deals with Iran during the hostage crisis were outraged, asking ’Where’s mine?’”

Patty Hearst, in full revolutionary regalia

Police believe the chick is unharmed, and that she may have succumbed to “Patty Hearst Syndrome”, a malady named after the newspaper heiress who grew sympathetic to her kidnappers, a left-wing radical group of the 1970s known as the Symbionese Liberation Army.

Duns Scotus: Not relevant, but I thought you’d enjoy the cool hat.

“Victims of Patty Hearst Syndrome tend to be art history majors whose fiances are graduate students in philosophy,” said Milo Houston, an expert on obscure stuff other people don’t pay attention to. “The constant droning on and on about their dissertations can cause their mates to seek refuge with undesirable characters–anything to get away from thoughtful discussions of Duns Scotus,” a medieval philosopher.

Weed and Hearst: Constant whining about his dissertation drove her mad.

Hearst was pardoned by President Clinton without incident, but the escape of Courage may or may not cause future presidents to be more cautious in handing out pardons. “You can do psychological profiles and background research and still have somebody turn out to be a real turkey,” noted Nilson.

All News Items Should be Like This

Wozza's World — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 15:11:43 +0000

PM Brown talking to the man in the mirror.

If only newspapers would report stories with the same concise and fact based information in the ilk of the spoof news website Not The Nation. I was so inspired by their journalistic sorcery that I delved into the murky world of politics and was surprised to find that the United Kingdom’s major news scribes had failed to pick up on this gem:

LONDON – Prime Minister of England, Gordon Brown, yesterday defended his fellow right honourable gentlemen over the recent MP expenses scandal. Brown believes his party members deserve every penny they can swindle from the British taxpayer, before the Kingdom liquidates its assets and auctions off the Royal Family and Doncaster Rovers to the Sultan of Brunei.

Brown, speaking candidly to hairstylist, Helen Page, at Starbucks on Tottenham Court Road said, “I believe my fellow politicians at Westminster work very hard in depriving the general public of a good education and providing them with half-decent hospitals, which in some cases, keep people alive!”

According to Ms Page, Brown seemed deeply troubled after the crushing defeats in the local bi-elections last week. Labour has not dropped this low in the polls since MP Peter Mandleson was found on his knees in Epping Forest surrounded by a pack of semi-aroused Alsatians.

The PM divulged some interesting inside information to Page regarding England’s dire financial situation. “It’s f#@ked,” said Brown, “Quite frankly, I’m very happy about the press exposing this expenses debacle. It’s diverting all the media attention away from how much of a balls-up we made of the economy.”

Ms Page recalled the PM was already on his fourth mocha chocó latte-cino, and was acting quite erratically, shouting, “I’m twice the man that Blair was, look at the mess he’s left me to sort out, why didn’t he give it to me five years ago when it was still worth something.”

After the staff had restrained the Prime Minister, he proceeded to lay out the terms and conditions of his new economic stimulus package, “We are going to have one big car-boot sale where everything must go, to the highest bidder of course. Paul McCartney has already made a firm offer for Stonehenge and opened up the bidding on Penny Lane. David Copperfield has laid first bags on Debbie McGhee and Daniel Day Lewis is very interested in my left foot. Things are moving in the right direction and it should only take us a quarter of a century to drag ourselves out of this recession. But never mind Jack, I’m alright!”

It is nice to know the PM is keeping up his pecker at such a difficult time when millions of English people are joining the unemployment ranks and feeling the brute force of the consistent cock-ups in high places. The resilience and guile of this man never ceases to amaze the British public, as he battles in the face of adversity on a daily basis.

Further trouble lay ahead for Brown when attempting to leave the coffee shop. He was overheard remonstrating with the cashier, “I don’t have to pay for these drinks do I?” and, “Don’t you know who I am?”

It seems that the PM has not lost any of the cheeky charm and audacious wit for which he is famous. An undisclosed source from the Starbucks Accounts Department confirmed that the Prime Minister had paid for his drinks with a government credit card. We can forgive his misgivings this time, because a man in his precarious position deserves all the legal and illegal stimulants he can lay his hands on. By god, is he going to need them!

Twilight and True Blood Vampire Spoof

roseannsajol — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 07:23:12 +0000

VIEW VIDEO…

Tutti possiamo fare gli spot come George Clooney

Andrea — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 07:00:56 +0000

Lo spot in questione, “targato” Martini, è ambiento durante un Festival del cinema negli

Something, Something, Something Dark Meat?

Marc — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 14:30:54 +0000

Hello World, Marc Here:

From all of us at G-S-T, we wanted to wish all our readers a very Happy Thanksgiving. Hope you all get to enjoy your holiday weekend…or at least one day off work.

So to get everyone in the spirit, here’s the official and much longer (add funnier too) trailer for the upcoming Family Guy Star Wars Spoof, “Something Something Something Dark Side” (Our thanks to ScreenRant for posting it). May this video help in your decision to choose the ‘Light Side‘ or the ‘Dark Side‘…of the turkey!!

OK, it’s not really in tune with or even related to Thanksgiving but it’s funny and just wanted to give you all something to get you laughing (you’ll need all the help you can get to deal with the in-laws…or so I’ve heard). Enjoy and take care eveyone!!

The Blonde and the Lawyer

najmimaulana — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 06:06:40 +0000

The Blonde and the Lawyer

A blonde and a lawyer are seated next to each other on a flight from LA to NY. The lawyer asks if she would like to play a fun game.
The blonde, tired, just wants to take a nap, politely declines and rolls over to the window to catch a few winks.
The lawyer persists and explains that the game is easy and a lot of fun.
He explains, “I ask you a question, and if you don’t know the answer, you pay me $5.00, and vise versa.”
Again, she declines and tries to get some sleep. The lawyer, now agitated, says, “Okay, if you don’t know the answer you pay me $5.00, and if I don’t know the answer, I will pay you $500.00.”
This catches the blonde’s attention and, figuring there will be no end to this torment unless she plays, agrees to the game. The lawyer asks the first question. “What’s the distance from the earth to the moon?” The blonde doesn’t say a word, reaches into her purse, pulls out a $5.00 bill and hands it to the lawyer. “Okay” says the lawyer, “your turn.”
She asks the lawyer, “What goes up a hill with three legs and comes down with four legs?” The lawyer, puzzled, takes out his laptop computer and searches all his references, no answer. He taps into the air phone with his modem and searches the net and the library of congress, no answer. Frustrated, he sends e-mails to all his friends and coworkers, to no avail. After an hour, he wakes the blonde, and hands her $500.00.
The blonde says, “Thank you”, and turns back to get some more sleep.
The lawyer, who is more than a little miffed, wakes the blonde and asks, “Well, what’s the answer?” Without a word, the blonde reaches into her purse, hands the lawyer $5.00, and goes back to sleep.
Adapted from http://www.dizzyboy.com

1. The story tells us about …
a. A plane which a blonde and a lawyer took.
b. A lawyer who played a game with a blonde.
c. A lawyer who bet on something with a blonde.
d. A blonde who was tricked by a lawyer.
e. A blonde who lost her money.

2. What did the lawyer want to play with the blonde?
a. hide and seek
b. chicken limbo
c. jump rope
d. guessing game
e. scrabble

3. What was the rule of the game finally?
a. If the blonde could not answer the lawyer’s question, she paid him $5.00, and vise versa.
b. If the blonde could not answer the question, she should pay $5.00. If the lawyer could not answer her question, he should pay $500.00.
c. If the blonde could not answer the lawyer’s question, she paid him $500.00, and vise versa.
d. If the blonde could not answer the lawyer’s question, she paid him $500.00. If the lawyer could not answer her question, he paid her $5.00.
e. If the lawyer could not answer her question, he paid her $500.00. If the blonde could not answer his question, she did not have to pay him.

4. How much money did the blonde benefit from the game?
a. $5.00
b. $50.00
c. $500.00
d. $510.00
e. $490.00

5. Who was cleverer, the blonde or the lawyer?
a. the blonde
b. the lawyer
c. none of them was clever.
d. Both were clever.
e. They were the same.

6. The word “miffed’ in the last paragraph has the similar meaning to…
a. shy
b. happy
c. generous
d. doubt
e. angry

Why I Am Thankful for Thanksgiving

Pleated Jeans — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 03:40:02 +0000

1. Prime opportunity to discuss weather with distant relatives

2. Get fewer weird looks when wearing turkey costume to grocery store

3. Tryptophan finally receives saturated news coverage it deserves

4. The feeling of cranberry sauce between my toes

5. Excuse to write an abbreviated blog post

A Small Experiment

najmimaulana — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 03:17:20 +0000

A Small Experiment

An elderly gentleman of 85 feared his wife was getting hard of hearing. So one day he called her doctor to make an appointment to have her hearing checked. The Doctor made an appointment for a hearing test in two weeks, and meanwhile there’s a simple informal test the husband could do to give the doctor some idea of the state of her problem.
“Here’s what you do,” said the doctor, “start out about 40 feet away from her, and in a normal conversational speaking tone see if she hears you. If not, go to 30 feet, then 20 feet, and so on until you get a response.”
That evening, the wife is in the kitchen cooking dinner, and he’s in the living room. He says to himself, “I’m about 40 feet away, let’s see what happens.”
Then in a normal tone he asks, “Honey, what’s for supper?” No response.
So the husband moved to the other end of the room, about 30 feet from his wife and repeats, “Honey, what’s for supper?” Still no response.
Next, he moves into the dining room where he is about 20 feet from his wife and asks, “Honey, what’s for supper?” Again he gets no response.
So he walks up to the kitchen door, only 10 feet away. “Honey, what’s for supper?” Again there is no response.
So he walks right up behind her. “Honey, what’s for supper?”
“Damn it Earl, for the fifth time, CHICKEN!”
Adapted from: http://www.writers-free-reference.com
Questions
1. What is the story about?
a. A doctor who had a hard-hearing patient.
b. A doctor who was hard-hearing.
c. A doctor who had a hard-hearing wife.
d. A patient was hard of hearing.
e. A husband who tested his wife’s hearing.

2. Who is the main character of the story?
a. A husband
b. A wife
c. A doctor
d. A patience
e. A nurse

3. Why did the man want to visit the doctor?
a. Because he wanted to have his hearing checked.
b. Because he wanted to check the doctor’s hearing.
c. Because he wanted to have his wife’s hearing checked
d. Because he could not communicate with people at all.
e. Because he did not want to speak to his wife.

4. What did the doctor suggest that he should?
a. Have a simple informal test on his own hearing.
b. Have a simple informal test on his wife’s hearing.
c. Take his wife to the hospital.
d. Take his wife to the doctor.
e. Buy some medicines for his wife.

5. How far did the man stand in the first test?
a. 10 feet
b. 20 feet
c. 30 feet
d. 40 feet
e. 50 feet

6. What question did the man ask his wife?
a. “What’s for breakfast?”
b. “What’s for lunch?”
c. “What’s for dinner?”
d. “What’s for supper?”
e. “What are you cooking?”

7. At what distance did he get the answer?
a. 10 feet
b. 20 feet
c. 30 feet
d. 40 feet
e. 50 feet

8. “Damn it Earl, for the fifth time, CHICKEN!”
What does the statement mean?
a. She had cooked chicken five times.
b. She did not hear him.
c. She thought that chicken was great.
d. She had eaten the chicken five times.
e. She had answered his question five times.

9. The word “response” in the story is similar in meaning to …
a. statement
b. question
c. reply
d. confession
e. declaration

10. “So he walks right up behind her”. The word he in the sentence refers to …
a. The doctor
b. The husband
c. The writer
d. The chicken seller
e. The cook

My First Piano Master Class Audit Experience (Given by Anton Kuerti)

Digital Citizen — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 02:47:09 +0000

I “audited” my first piano master class today, and here are some things I’d like t

My Omniscient Spam-Filter And My Spam Inbox, They Certainly Believe.

Pradeep — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 01:36:21 +0000

The Grown Folks Table

Will Cantrell — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 18:29:35 +0000

“Your money’s no good here son”, he said, looking down at the folded twenty dollar bill that I’d slipped him “One of your other cousins just tried the same thing —–with a fifty! It didn’t work for him either.”

“But…”

“You guys know the rules. You gotta wait your turn just like everybody else.”

“Listen Tiger, if I take your money I gotta take the money from the rest of your cousins’ and they’ll all be expecting the same thing. You just gotta wait your turn. All of y’all”, he said.

My Great Uncle Roosevelt and I were talking on the lawn of his small house located about a mile southwest of the geographical center of Atlanta, Georgia. I learned that he called all of his nieces and nephews “Tiger”. He meant it as a compliment to our youth and energy and, as he had been ‘up in age’ for a few years already, it was easier to call all of his nephews by the same name rather than trying to distinguish me from Kevin from Reggie from Phil.

“Uncle Roosevelt, I’ve been waiting! For years. You’ll remember that I graduated from college a few years back. I’m a branch manager at the bank now. I think that I am old enough to eat at the “Grown Folks Table”.

“Yeah, well I suspect that Vera knows all of that”, he laughed. “But you know that your Aunt Vera has her rules. Seating at the table has always been by seniority or by the distance traveled to get here—-with the small babies beside the big folks. Some folks came from Seattle this year, so you guys have no chance”, he cackled. “You four boys just have to eat at the Children’s Table. There’s just no more room at the big table. Besides if Vera ever found out that I took a bribe, she’d make me sit at the Children’s Table. By the way, the “surprise” this year is ostrich. Killed the animal myself”, he kidded. And then in a quick flash that belied his apparent age, he went into the house and disappeared into what looked like ‘a thousand Cantrells already inside the house and gathered for dinner.

Not terribly satisfied with the outcome of my bribe attempt, I’d started to go inside and ask the old man what Vera would do if she ever found out that he was still “playing the numbers”, but thought better of the whole thing and said nothing. The old man had apparently forgotten to give me back the picture of Andrew Jackson that I’d put in his hand a few minutes earlier —-the same one that he said “…was no good here”. I’d thought better than to say anything about that too. And while Uncle Roosevelt sometimes had trouble distinguishing between his nephews, he absolutely had no trouble distinguishing between Andrew Jackson and Benjamin Franklin on legal U.S. tender. At the time, I didn’t know what shocked me more, the fact that a man who regularly “played the numbers” who said that he could not take a bribe to allow me to sit at the Grown Folk’s Table or the fact that, at thirty years of age, I was still going to eat Thanksgiving Dinner at the children’s table.

***********************************************************************************

Thanksgiving at Vera’s is an event—an all day affair that is part reunion, part family Olympics, and the rest, a feast that would lead one to believe that Vera Cantrell had invented the very concept of the “All U Can Eat” smorgasbord. If you were a Cantrell, Vera’s Thanksgiving was not something that you ever wanted to miss. For one thing Vera did not take the absence of a family member lightly. Or kindly. Acceptable excuses included serious illness (such as bubonic plague), overseas duty in the U.S. Armed Services, or an official national emergency as long as it was designated as such by the President. While I’d never missed a Thanksgiving at Vera’s, my cousin Kevin said that he’d endured two long in-person lectures about it from our favorite Aunt Vera during the next year after he’d elected to spend one Thanksgiving at a new girlfriend’s.

After the “talking to” that he’d received from Vera on the concept of family, responsibility, and the need to put family above everything but God, he confessed that he would never miss another Thanksgiving at Vera’s. He laughed and said that he also now realized that at the same time that Vera had invented the concept of the smorgasbord, she’d must have also invented the concept of the ‘sermon’.

The other reason why no Cantrell ever wanted to miss Thanksgiving was that Aunt Vera was an exceptional cook. It was said that Vera could make even rocks or old shoes taste good if she included them in a meal. On Thanksgiving, the woman regularly “outdid herself”. The meal itself was ‘just a religious experience’—– meats, dressings, vegetables, breads, casseroles, desserts and appetizers—- all available in remarkable amounts. (One year, there was so much food that I thought that Vera must have had cornered Jesus Himself in the kitchen and that He had expanded His repertoire from fishes and loaves to include turkey, dressing and biscuits.) In addition to all of the traditional foods, every year, Vera served some exotic ‘extra’ —a surprise she called it—–such as shark steak or ostrich stew. One year it was black bear meat. Another year it was alligator (tastes a lot like chicken, by the way.) It required two full dining room tables to layout all of the foods and when you viewed the whole layout, a skeptic could easily answer the question of “…why the rest of the world hates us”.

The problem with eating at Aunt Vera’s was that there was limited space and just not enough room for everybody to sit at the same table. The kid’s table was in a separate room from the main dining area. The room was often drafty and unless November had been unseasonably warm, we cousins would often end up eating our meal donned in our overcoats. Most annoying of all though, is that we had no idea what the grown folks were talking about and since there was very often two or more toddler Cantrell’s we would as often as not have to talk about topics that ranged from Sponge Bob Square Pants to Teletubbies.

Eating at the children’s table continued until I was well out of college. Because of Aunt Vera’s seniority seating system, the size of the main table and the relative smallness of the dining room, there was just no room at the main table. None. None of us nephews could remember the last time that there was a vacancy or an opening at the table.

The other thing that greatly influenced our inability to join “the adults” was the historical longevity of members of the Cantrell family. The fact of the matter was that most of the older Cantrell’s that we knew of refused to die. Just refused! Most of us “ kid Cantrells” were thirty years old —or very close to it—-and we could never remember ever going to a family funeral. In fact, as near as we could tell, the last known death of a Cantrell occurred during the Coolidge Administration. The older Cantrell’s were just steadfast in their determination to keep their places at the Adult Table—and everywhere else. About the time of my 16^th year, me and my cousins estimated the average age of the senior Cantrells to be somewhere around 108. The longevity of the Cantrells was amazing. For a very long time, no matter how sick and infirmed they might be, they would hold onto life like….well, .grim death. While this longevity was and still remains an encouraging aspect of being a member of the family, I must admit that I sometimes wondered whether we were related to vampires.

On the Thanksgiving that I had attempted to bribe Uncle Roosevelt, the rest of the day passed largely uneventfully. I suspect that my uncle didn’t say even say anything to my aunt about my attempt to “influence the seating arrangements” for dinner. For all I know he forgot about the whole incident. If I know Uncle Roosevelt though, he didn’t forget about the extra seventy dollars in his pocket.

Six months later out great Aunt Phoebe Cantrell passed away at 107, the result of natural causes. And while I miss Great Aunt Phoebe, after her demise, I was able to sit with the Grown Folks Table the very next year. That was more like it…or so I thought.. Although I was disappointed to discover that there were no ancient family secrets being discussed and figured out that the topics of discussion amongst the adults all these years had been limited to the weather and Uncle Cyrus’ lumbago, I was disappointed. They had been talking about absolutely nothing. Nothing. And I wondered what my cousins were talking about at the Children’s Table.

The Intended Pundit

Will Cantrell — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 18:08:04 +0000

From the transcript of my recent visit to the Temporary Employment Agency:

Temporary Employment Agency Guy (TEAGUE): Thanks for coming in Will. I have to tell you that I have less than twenty minutes to talk with you. We have to make this fast. Dia Schnellenberger is coming in for lunch at 12:00 and I can’t keep her waiting. You may have heard of her by her stage name, “Ice Water”
Will Cantrell (WC): The Rapper? Yesterday, on the phone, you said that you had a job for me…
TEAGUE: Ice-T and Ice Cube were already taken. Do you know that Fia’s a classically trained concert pianist? Surprised? So is everybody. The girl plays the piano beautifully, but she can make a lot more money as a rapper. She is about to blow up.
WC: About the job. I remember you saying something about a job in the media. I was laid–off a long time ago. It’s been a very long time between paychecks for me …I need a job…
TEAGUE: Don’t we all? Things are slow all over. Even for my hip-hop clients. For writers, like you…well you already how tough it is to find any kind of work…especially for somebody like you. Everybody is a writer, Will.
WC: So you like my resume? You like my work on the Internet? My writings?
TEAGUE: Will, we haven’t seen any of that. We like your screen name , JustPlainWill, and all of the potential that it carries for the agency…and for you too, of course. Oh, by the way, I need you to sign this Confidentiality Agreement. You’re going to hear some things today that you’ve probably already suspected. I just need for whatever your hear to remain here.
WC: Sort of like Vegas? Let me read the agreement. My screen name?
TEAGUE: There’s no time for you to read it. Gia is going to be here in just a bit and I ‘d like to get you all squared away before I have to meet with her. Here …sign right here. Just your initials will be fine. OK, Great. Now that you’ve signed the CA, we wanted to see if you might have any interest in being on a new television show. It’s a new Sunday morning news show very similar to the ones that are already on like Face the Music on CBS and Greet the Press on NBC and the show For the Weak on ABC. This one will be on Fox and it’s going to be called “Jumping to Conclusions”. Clever huh?
WC: What would I be doing on the show?
TEAGUE: Will you’ll be a pundit. You know one of those guys that sits around a table and talks about politics and economics and stuff along with three other people. Sometimes they even talk about baseball. The pay is good…$17.00 per hour plus you get to promote your own website and any books that you may have written in the past week. Your deal will be just like the guys already on. A couple of the TV pundits make more money selling T shirts and baseball caps over the web than they make from their networks. We envisioned you being “J.P. Will”, George Will’s long-lost brother. That came from your screen name of JustPlainWill. Do you own a bow tie?
WC: I don’t have any experience being a pundit. I mean, I need a job and all, but I don’t want to look foolish. And besides, its only one hour a week.
TEAGUE: Will, that’s one of the things that the job is all about. But, no worry, if you are concerned about looking foolish, we’ll send you to school. Pundit University…for a week. The school is over in Chevy Chase, right next to the Ajax School of Professional Wrestling. PU is in the same building, run by the same guys. I’ll cost you $300 to go but in a week’s time you’ll be saying things like “….the rate of the rate of the rate of the rate of unemployment fell three percentage points in the numbers that were released this past week. The end of the recession is in sight.” The folks at PU will also rehearse you in saying things like “…the administration is spending way too much money on these pork barrel projects” or “the Obama administration is spending too little money on pork barrel projects.” Just like the other pundits you will have absolutely no clue as to which one of these statements is correct. After a week at PU, you’ll just know that in all likelihood, one of the statements is. Mostly likely, anyway.
WC: But still its only seventeen dollars a week!
TEAGUE: Will this is how all of the pundits started out. If “Jumping to Conclusions” does well, they will be running it every night and then again in the middle of the night. That’s how these cable channels cope with having to fill all of the time with no real news. Now do you want to be considered for this gig or not? Trust me, if you don’t want it, there are plenty of other people who jump at the chance to do this.
WC: I just don’t have a lot of experience at punditry.
TEAGUE: Listen, no pundit had any experience. It’s better that way. George Will, Charles Krauthammer, Juan Williams, that chick from England, the bitter one from the Philippines…none of them had any experience before they were pundits. You ever sold used cars, Will? There’s one pundit whose on right TV right now…I can’t tell you which one because of confidentiality, but he was a used car salesman just a week before he was a pundit…and he’s been a successful pundit for years. Doesn’t know squat. But you don’t have to know squat to be a pundit. There’s another one who shall go unnamed, who had just gotten out of jail a month before he started Pundit University. There’s one woman who’s been retired for a while, but she was a hooker before becoming a pundit.
WC: You’re kidding me?!
TEAGUE: A “straight up ‘ho!’“ I kid you not, Cantrell. I think that she had just gotten her GED at the time. So you can see that you don’t have to exactly be Harvard educated or have hardly any education at all to be a pundit. Believe me, nobody ever checks the credentials of these folks. By the way, do you have a coat and tie?
WC: Yes I do, but…
TEAGUE: This is a good opportunity Will. Come to think of it, that’s all you need is a coat and a tie and a shirt of course. You won’t even have to wear pants if you don’t want to. There are
several of those the other talking heads on Greet the Press who I know for a fact are not
wearing pants since they are only shown from the waist up.
WC: Well can I be a liberal pundit…you know, one who defends the Obama Administration?
TEAGUE: Sure you can, Will. Sure you can. But I think that you’re making a big mistake. The pundits who make the most money are the conservatives, the neo-cons. It’s just easier. And you get to be belligerent and disrespectful to the administration and all. You get to get really upset on the air…roll around on the floor and have conniptions, even. It’s a lot more fun. Trust me, you should think about becoming a conservative pundit. You’re a black man and nobody really expects you people to be anything but liberals. You’ll be remembered Will. By everybody. I may even be able to bet you $21.00 per hour as a black conservative pundit. A black neo-con. The big thing among the conservatives is “socialism”. Saying that the President is a socialist. You know that most of those folks don’t really know a socialist is. I’ve had a couple of people tell me that being a socialist was hanging out with Paris Hilton.
WC: She’s a social-lite!
TEAGUE: That’s what I mean. That’s what most folks think that a socialist is…a socialite.
WC: If I become a liberal pundit that would mean that I’d get to hang out at the White House and phone conversations with people in the Administration.
TEAGUE: No. You most definitely would not. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Most of the pundits don’t know ANYBODY in any administration. These liberal pundits have never even met the President. Most of them. The conservative pundits are even worse. Do you really think that even George Bush would have ANY of those folks over to dinner? He and Laura would have really had to count the silverware after any of those conservative pundits had shown up at a White House dinner.
WC: Then how do they know what to…

TEAGUE: They make it up mostly. Both sides.
WC: But my integrity is important to me.
TEAGUE: Will, I need to disabuse you of that notion. Dammit man, you’re old enough to know better… OK. OK. OK….let me calm down. Let me ask you a question, Cantrell. You know that in order to stay on the air, “Jumping to Conclusions” has to have good ratings? Let me ask you if you would willing to jump across the table and slap Charles Krauthammer? It would be good for ratings and I’m surprised that nobody has done it by now. God knows he needs slapping. Or he needs to get laid, but I wouldn’t ask you to do that.
WC: I need to think about all of this.
TEAGUE: Listen Cantrell, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. I can’t believe that you’re not begging me for this job. Do you know that you don’t have to have any qualifications to be a pundit. None. Not even a fishing license. Nobody checks your resume, your educational credentials. Nuttin’. You know what? You know what, Mister Cantrell? You’ve made me mad. You should be jumping’ at the chance to do this. You just don’t want it bad enough. All worried about your integrity and all. Integrity, my ass! Integrity. I tell you what…you just blew it, Cantrell. Get the hell out of my office. GET OUT. RIGHT NOW. Slia is on her way. Ice Water. Maybe I’ll just offer the job to her. It’s not much money, but it will be great exposure. Get out. Just get the hell out of here. Now, before I call security!