It's fiction, people. Mary Magdalene

It's fiction, people.

Mary Magdalene is not "The Holy Grail." She's not buried under the pyramid in the Louvre. Sauniere was not murdered in the musuem and he did not
leave clues all over the museum to identify his killers. The Priory of
Sion was probably a club of big thinkers who were afraid of the Church
declaring they were heretics, and not some secret society devoted to
keeping the information about Mary Magdalene shrouded in mystery to
protect her legacy. Opus Dei, while truly full of nutjobs, is
nonetheless full of harmless nutjobs that anyone with the least bit of sense would see as such. The portrait of John in The Last Supper is, indeed, probably John, not Mary Magdalene. Loose robes aside, there aren't any boobs to indicate otherwise.

Get over yourselves.

While I'm excited that people are reading, for the love of God, realize that The DaVinci Code is a work of fiction.
Nothing more. Nothing less. A yarn spun so that you could be
entertained as you sat on your sofa and scarfed bon-bons and read it.
Just because it's been published does not make The DaVinci Code the Bible. Dare I mention the fact that it's fiction and it isn't required to be accurate? If you like the ideas presented, by all means explore the ideas,
but don't take a freakin' tour through Paris looking to see how
accurate Brown is with the facts, from whence you feel you may judge
the validity of the ideas presented. Just don't. You look like a bunch
of desperate stalkers searching for a target.
And yes I am a wee bit biased about this book. Quite frankly, I'm tired of hearing about this business.
I just don't give a rat's ass about it. And I'm undoubtedly going to
hear more about it this week. I heard more about it last month when the
sister-in-law called me to tell me "Primetime" was airing a special
about "all of the fallacies in the book," like an hour-long special on
ABC was going to change my mind about this sort of thing. But she had
ABC to back her up. My reply: "Have you read the book...yet?
"No. I'm reading..." Grrrrr. At least these people have actually read
the book. That's fine and dandy but for the love of God I wish people
would get over this thing already.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:47 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 408 words, total size 3 kb.

Ok, so between reducing tomato

Ok, so between reducing tomato sauce, fixing dinner and watching the Olympics, I finally got the opportunity to read The Skank Report.

Wow.

Ladies and Gentlemen, in preparation for landing, we would
appreciate it if you could return your seats and tray tables to their
locked, upright positions and that your seatbelts are securely
fastened. We should be on the ground at Skank Central in just a few
moments. Thank you for flying with us today...

Now, I could go on for days
about how this chick irritates the holy hell out of me. The material
practically reaches the neverending stage with Miss Cutler. I could
take the Malkin route and blather on about what kind of example she's
set with her limited success for those who come after her. I could
blather on about how she needs SERIOUS therapy, because it
seems as if the only place she finds validation in her life is in bed.
I could take the Goldstein route and tell her please to stay away from
the gourds. I could even bitch and moan about the fact that she fucked
around, got paid for it, and scored a six-figure book deal as a result
of her promiscuity. But it's all been done...
...except for this. Man, do I ever feel sorry for men nowadays. A
friend of mine, Matt, back when he was single, bemoaned how rough being
a single guy was and how tough it was to find the right girl. In one of his more bitter moments, out sprang some words of truth. And I quote: What
do women need men around for anyway? You've got your own money. You
don't need us for protection. And children? Well, you can just mosey on
down to the local sperm bank. He had a point.
In theory.
The sexual revolution has been hard on men. And for the most part,
considering most guys do not like change (at least the men in my life
don't), they've adapted pretty well. For the most part. Sure you will
still have chauvinistic assholes out there, who will do anything and
everything to make sure their playground stays same-sex, but for the
most part, I'd like to think that, outside of the Islamic world,
they've done pretty well at beating back millions of years of instinct
in a fifty year span of time. Of course there are assholes out there.
Men who turn the relatively new rules of sexual behavior to their
advantage and take what is freely offered---and who have no
crisis of conscience about doing so, either. They're not plagued with
guilt trips for using someone. They don't secretly hope that their bed
partner of the night before will suddenly think them a wonderful
person, worthy of a second, non-bedroom eyed look. But women do. They
think something miraculous will come out of a one night stand. Matt had
a point about women being independent enough to not need men. But, like
I said, that was simply theory. In reality, for the most part, we
expect something, even when we say we don't. If something's offered to
a woman, she thinks about all the angles of what it means, what it
could mean and how things will change if she accepts. Men aren't that
complicated. If something's offered to them, they'll take it at face
value and that will be the end of that in their minds. Yet, if they're
smart, they'll make sure not to poison the well from which they drink.
They'll take care, and the good ones, even if they're simply not
looking for a wife, will at least offer up some respect to their
partner for the night. The problem with this Cutler bitch is that she
says she expects nothing except for sex yet in reality what she expects
is rather a lot. When she inevitably gets it, she acts like it's her
due, thank you ever so much, and do you wanna go again? I think I can fit you in next Wednesday.
How is that respecting your partner? These men, misguided though they
were, offered her gifts, money and dinners out because they thought
they needed to show some respect; that she was a worthwhile person;
that this is the way things were done if they wanted to get laid. They
didn't just say bend over, bitch, and let's get this over and done with.
What, exactly did they get out of Jessica Cutler other than momentary
satisfaction? Better question is, was the momentary satisfaction so
great it overwhelms the humiliation they must be feeling right about
now? I don't live in Washington, but I'm sure that even though no names
were named that people there know exactly
whom she was bragging about bagging. I feel sorry for these guys. I
can't bang out the "turnabout is fair play" song because what if they
honestly got involved with her because they liked her? What about the
boyfriend who let her live rent-free and whom she cheated on
repeatedly? What about the guy she met in the office that she gushed
over? How has she repaid their respect for her? What's the quid pro quo
in Jessica's world?
She blogged about them. Not to tell the world, she claims, but to keep
her friends in the loop about what was going on in her love life. It
was too time consuming to email everyone. Apparently, for someone with
a 140 IQ, she hadn't learned how to group email yet.
It was all about her. Her choices. Her decisions. Her actions. They
didn't even come into the equation, apparently, other than to provide
fodder for her vagina. And they'll be bitter about it. Men can hold
grudges, too, and they'll pay Cutler back through the next woman they
get involved with. In her much heralded "I'm going to act just like a
man when it comes to sex" act she's hurt other women who, perhaps,
would like to be, you know, a woman.
Women who don't put out like she does will pay the price for her
promiscuity and bitterness-creating ways. Life is just grown-up high
school at times, and this would be one of them. This thing is getting
longwinded and I'm not sure it's even making any sense at this point,
but I will post a few final wishes for Miss Cutler, because she
apparently reads all the bad things that are said about her on the web.
So, Jessica, if you've found your way here, here's what I wish for you.
First, I hope I find your book in the clearance aisle at Barnes and
Noble sometime in the near future and that your publisher sues to get
their advance back. Second, I hope the nice guys that you shat on
manage to have nice, successful relationships now that you're out of
their lives and that you wind up alone and shriveled. Third, I hope you
realize that the reason no real nice guy will ever have anything to do
with you is because you're a skank. And, fourth and finally, that by
writing that you're a skank, I'm not a right-wing puritan, even though
by my simple act of criticism you would lump me in with that lot, but
am instead telling the truth as I see it.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:40 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1230 words, total size 7 kb.

Tee hee. Apparently, Dave cares

Tee hee.

Apparently, Dave cares enough about the environment to tour for it,
but not enough to instruct the driver of his big, stinky tour bus to
not to dump eight hundred pounds of human waste onto a tour barge and
into the Chicago River.
Way to go, Dave! We know how much you really care now, don't we!

Posted by: Kathy at 12:20 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 69 words, total size 1 kb.

ELECTION FREE ZONE RULE OFF

ELECTION FREE ZONE RULE OFF
Ok, interesting anecdote from today that I had to share. The husband
and I went to lunch at a nice little place here in the neighborhood. As
it happens, they have outdoor seating so we sat and ate our lunches in
the shade, and watched a few Cake Eaters who don't have
weekender-flee-the-city-cabins walk by. Nothing really too exciting for
the most part. Until a guy in a red t-shirt shows up and sets up shop
about thirty-feet away. He's probably about as tall as I am and is what
Rose Chasseur would not-so-charitably call "husky." He's dressed in
navy shorts, which set off his red t-shirt nicely, sneakers, and is
wearing what I thought was a really stupid-looking, navy sun visor. The
guy shows up with a friend, similarly dressed, who then disappears.
Paying no notice of these people, the husband points them out to me.
"Oh, the DNC guys are back."
"Huh?"
"Yeah. They're registering people to vote. I ran into them a couple of
days ago on the way to the store."
"Hmmph," I reply, more interested in my lunch than party flacks. I'd
just read the Strib, after all. I really didn't need more politics on
my Sunday afternoon. We finish our lunch, and our sole errand of the
afternoon was to go and purchase milk and other tasty comestibles at
the local grocery store. The path to the grocery store takes us right
by this guy. Of course, with there not being anyone else around, when
we approach him, he makes his pitch. "Are you interested in finding out how to remove George W. Bush from the White House?"
The dude doesn't even bother smiling or saying "hello." Up close, he
reeks of all the righteous fervor of someone who just got back from an
Amway convention and is just dying to sell me floor cleaner because
it's simply the best product for the money!.
It's all about the product, in other words, not about how you sell it.
This is no-frills pitch-making, after all. It ups the righteousness
factor. "Absolutely not." I reply---loudly---as we keep on walking. He
yelled something out at us, but honestly neither the husband nor I can
remember what it was. I just remember something about it being the
usual "Bush is bad" crap. We laughed and commented and continued on our
merry way. A block later we ran into his missing compadre, who looked
like he needed to wash his hair, standing outside the local Starbucks
and was saying the same thing to departing customers. "Are you interested in finding out how to remove George W. Bush from the White House?"
People ignorned him for the most part, although he had a few takers,
and the people sitting at the tables looked annoyed with this
proselytizer.
On the way back, however, is when it got interesting. For a brief
second or two. An older gentleman, around fifty or so, looking like he
was straight out of church, was leaving Starbucks, the guy gives his
line, and the older gentleman says "No, I'm not." Then he decides to go
further as he walks toward a parking lot loaded with Beemers, Benzs,
Lexus' and Volvos: "You know, I don't care who people are, salespeople,
religious, whatever. I don't appreciate being approached on the street
for things I have no need for." I applaud. Loudly. As we keep on
walking. "Oh," the greasy guy replies from the distance, "So you don't
think I should be exercising my First Amendment Rights?" The husband
says with a chuckle: "Oops. Tactical mistake." We laugh and keep on
walking. They keep on talking. The conversation fades into the
background. Kinda funny, eh? And interesting, too. Their pitch wasn't
"Vote For Kerry and we'll show you how to get registered." Their pitch
was a continuation of the all pervasive theme of the DNC Convention:
"Anyone but Bush. And here's our guy. He's not Bush."
Even at the local level this is where they choose to focus their
efforts. If this is their grand strategy, their master plan for world
domination, well, then they're going to get creamed come November. It's
Wellstone's memorial service all over again. ELECTION FREE ZONE RULE FIRMLY BACK IN PLACE NOW THAT ALL OF THIS CONVENTION NONSENSE IS OVER WITH.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:15 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 732 words, total size 4 kb.

Fausta seems to be taking

Fausta seems to be taking after good ol' George Washington and wants to March on Trenton.

I have a feeling the Hessians will be ejected from Trenton in short order.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:10 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 40 words, total size 1 kb.

To the person who got

To the person who got here by Googling the phrase "semper ubi sub ubi
definiton" you should know it's a joke. A latin play on words.
I couldn't tell you what the literal meaning is, but "semper ubi sub
ubi" means to "always wear underwear"
My work here is done.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:04 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 60 words, total size 1 kb.

We're off to the land

We're off to the land of my birth tomorrow morning. A grueling
six hour drive, which considering if I flew, even though it's less than
an hour flight, I'd spend half that time just dealing with the
post-9/11 travel vagaries, isn't really all that grueling. I can deal
with it. We're packed. I have to make some sandwiches for lunch and
then I have to pick up the car at the rental place first thing in the
morning. (Yeah, that's right...Nellie hasn't been replaced yet.
Patience, grashopper.) If past experiences with this particular rental
company branch are any indication, we'll probably get upgraded. It's
kinda like the lottery: I reserve one car, but around and around the
wheel goes, where it stops nobody knows. Particularly the guys who run
this branch office. They've got a high turnover rate---never the same
person twice and they generally don't attract what one would call a
"quality hire." Generally speaking, they never have the car I've
reserved available, so they have to upgrade me. Poor me. Two years ago
at Christmas, this meant we got to drive a Cadillac STS to Omaha---at
the price of Standard. Good deal, no? I think there's only been one
time when we haven't been bumped up a notch or two. We'll have to see
if it happens this time around. Keep your fingers crossed that it's
something good. Anyway, we've got a full schedule whilst we're down in
the land o' my birth, but the main reason we're going is, as I might
have mentioned, to participate in the Walk to Cure Diabetes. I want to
say THANK YOU
again to all the wonderful people who contributed. You've made this
year's effort an outstanding success and we're all really pumped about
the outcome! The final tally {insert drum roll here} $3285,
$365 of which was raised via The Cake Eater Chronicles! You guys are
GREAT! Thank you so very much again for making James' cause your own
and contributing so generously. I'm so very thankful!
I'll be taking pictures at the walk on Saturday and I'll post them when
I get a chance. Have a great weekend and I'll see you sometime on
Tuesday, if not before.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:01 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 379 words, total size 2 kb.

Not really, but close enough.

Not really, but close enough. What's the deal with it being midnight?
What's the importance? you ask. Well, at midnight the date rolls over
to July 29, 2004, which just happens to be the husband's birthday. The
husband is referenced in everyday, non-blogging, life as Michael. Or
Mike, as I like to call him. He would be the member of the phylla
Geekus Extraordinarius, the former Star Wars Galaxies player, the guru
behind the tweaking of this site's template and fixer of all that goes
wrong with Wee Bastard, and also happens to be the man whom I abuse on
a regular basis here on the blog. Fortunately for me, he's a good sport
and puts up with it. If anyone deserves to have a happy birthday, it's
him. So, anyway...Happy 34th, love. I hope this year is the one where
all your dreams come true.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:44 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 156 words, total size 1 kb.

Considering we live in a

Considering we live in a major metropolitan area, it should be
surprising that we had two run-ins with the local wildlife. But it's
not. We live near to two different marshes (read mosquito-breeding
grounds) and as a result, it's not a completely strange thing to have a
duck waddling through the yard.
It is, however, strange to have newly-hatched baby ducks up on the roof
of the garage.
To explain: the house backs onto an alleyway, so there's no backyard to
speak of, but as the roof of the garage is flat and has a doorway
leading directly to it, in the past, we used that as our deck. We don't
anymore because the Great White Hunter landlord refuses to authorize
Tweedledumb the funds to fix it. It's sagging and it needs to be
repaired, but because GWH would rather go on safari than provide his
tenants with a garage roof that's not about to cave-in, it hasn't been
fixed. The husband refuses to let anyone out there. He says it's not
safe to walk on. So, for the past, oh, what is it now, two years, our
deck has been off-limits. It's also filthy: we haven't cleaned off the
leaves and other detritus, including a whole heck of a lot of roofing
materials the cheapo roofers conveniently left behind, and neither has
Tweedledumb. But it's not filthy to the ducks, though. Apparently, the
leaves provide a pretty good spot to lay some eggs. Saturday morning,
I'm frying bacon for breakfast and trying not to burn myself with the
occasional splatters of grease, and I heard the oddest sound. Some sort
of chirping. Even in my early-morning addled state, I know this doesn't
compute. I know the bacon isn't giving off enough grease that it would
suddenly be chirping. Bacon hisses. It sizzles. It doesn't chirp.
Walking away from the stove, I go to the window on the opposite end of
the kitchen, and before I get there my sister says, "What's that
sound?" I reply that I don't know, but as soon as I look out the window
at our blighted side-yard (another thing that's wrong with this place:
GWH is too cheap to pay for sod---or even grass seed, so the side yard
resembles the exercise yard at Shawshank Prison)I see what the problem
is. There's a mama duck, squawking at her hatchlings from the yard. The
hatchlings, however, are on the roof of the garage, one floor up from
mom, trying to figure out how to get down to her.
Duckies
I run for the camera. My sister calls for the kids. The bacon keeps
frying in the background. Everyone is enthralled with the cute little
duckies until we realize that there's no way Mom is planning on flying
to the roof and the babies can't get down to her just yet. We worry. My
nephew has the bright idea of taking them downstairs and is about ready
to leap to the rescue when his mother stops him with a warning: if we
touch them, the mom might not want to have anything to do with them.
The mother is clearly getting annoyed. We empathize with the ducklings:
they're getting chewed out for their mother's stupidity for flying onto
a roof to lay her eggs. We wonder what we should do.
The husband then intervenes. He goes out onto the roof, fights to scoop
them into a small box, and just manages. By this time, mama duck has
about had it and is working her way round to the front of the house and
over to the marsh. The husband runs to catch up with her and opens the
box onto the lawn where the ducky family is reunited. He'd been very
careful about how much he touched them and apparently all was fine. Mom
didn't reject her human hand-tainted babies and they made their way
over to the marsh without incident. Only problem is that one egg didn't
hatch. It's still up on the garage and we keep forgetting to take care
of it. I hope it hasn't started rotting yet. Yuck.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:40 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 696 words, total size 4 kb.

Truthful street signs. As opposed

Truthful street signs. As opposed to the ones that lie to us on a daily basis.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:39 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 26 words, total size 1 kb.

Someone needs to contact the

Someone needs to contact the local chapter of the Eugenics Union and tell them to revoke this guy's membership.

Honestly. Should this guy be allowed to reproduce?

I think not.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:27 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 40 words, total size 1 kb.

I am back.  Omaha was

I am back.  Omaha was good.  The fam was
good.   The beer was especially good.  I would
swear that the only time I ever drink beer is when I go to Omaha. 
And 311 on Friday night was memorable.  I was there, dude!
 
Currently, however, I'm swilling Chardonnay and staring at
this newfangled Blogger post page and wondering what the @#$k is going
on with Blogger.   
Oh, they fix one thing and suddenly they have to get all
proactive?  What the hell is the matter with these people? 
Don't they know that we don't want them to change anything because
anyone who uses Blogspot is a technological idiot.  The reason
we're on Blogspot is because Moveable Type scares the hell out of
us.  We're dumb and easily frightened.   Don't they know this??? 
 
Although, I must admit, I like this new business with the control-i for
italics.  Just like Microsquash Word.  This way, I now won't
come across HTML tags in the manuscript.   Because you know
I'm easily confused that way.
 
Hmmmm.   I don't know how this will work out, but if past
experience is any indicator, give me twenty-four hours and I'll be
fully behind these new changes.
 
Anyway, the husband tricked out wee bastard over the weekend and---from
what I can tell so far---it's sweet.  Hasn't crashed yet. 
Woohoo.  Which is exciting.  I thought we were back to that
horrible Era of the Arabic Enabled Windows 98.  Blogging will
resume tomorrow, once I actually have a chance to read the news and
find some Silly German stories and the usual assorted lot of crap that
goes up on this blog in place of quality content. 

Posted by: Kathy at 11:26 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 286 words, total size 2 kb.

Man, it's a banner day

Man, it's a banner day here at the Cake Eater Chronicles! Three Silly German stories.

Here's a tip: when in windy places, disconnect yourself from your windsurfing board ASAP.

You never know where you might wind up.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:24 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 47 words, total size 1 kb.

Sticks and stones may break

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me...

Er, unless you're a blonde and then your thought processes slow down dramatically.

God. I just love what the German Government spends it's tax dollars on, don't you?

Posted by: Kathy at 11:22 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 51 words, total size 1 kb.

"Should I stay or should

"Should I stay or should I go?"
If I were a Jew in France, you'd bet I'd be on a plane, too.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:19 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 32 words, total size 1 kb.

...Cats are evil.

...Cats are evil.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:19 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 9 words, total size 1 kb.

Well, only if you'd consider

Well, only if you'd consider ground squirrels to be worthy of
victimhood status.
Which I don't. While the kiddies were napping on Sunday afternoon, my
sister and I went to the local needlework store. She's recently taken
up knitting and wanted some fat needles with which to knit a hat. We go
and come home. Enter the house and all is well. No hassles. This
morning, however, when we're downstairs, seeing them off, my nephew,
Colin, decides to shout, "Aunt Kathy! Look! You ran over a chipmunk! COOL!"
But it wasn't a chipmunk that was flattened by the right-front tire of
the car: it was a ground squirrel. Poor little guy. He was positioned
in such a way under the tire that he would have made a lovely fireside
rug for one of the Little People---you know should the Little People
employ taxidermists. Flat. As. A. Pancake. Arms outstretched. Eyes
bugging. And I didn't even notice. No telltale bump. No ground squirrel
screams of agony. No nothing. Christi, my sister, didn't even notice
and she was on the passenger side of the car. Now that I think about
it, I proabably ran the little guy over twice,
because my sister's minivan was crowding the parking area and I had to
maneuver to get into the spot. Do I feel guilty that I squished one of
God's little creatures with a Grand Marquis? Nope. It's payback time,
baby. One of those damn things scared the life out of me a few weeks
back. I was taking trash down to the garage, one had weaseled his way
into the garage to hide in the woodpile, which they love
to do. It was dark. I saw motion out of the corner of my eye, and
thinking it was a mouse or something of the sort, squealed. Wimpy, I
know. But when it comes to rodents, flying or creeping, I'm a
girly-girl. I squeak and head for high ground while calling for the
husband to come and deal with it! But he wasn't home this time.
I had to rely upon myself. So, taking a deep breath and trying not to
freak out more than I already had, I turned on the light, and then
opened up the garage door. Once the situation was illuminated, I saw it
was a harmless little ground squirrel and afforded him the means to
make a run for it by leaving the garage door open until he was out.
All's well that ends well, right?
Nope. I squealed like a stuck pig and if there was ever an undignified
action, it's that. I hate that. I can't help myself, though. So, of course, it's not my fault: it's the squirrel's. He made me squeal: hence he had it coming. It was just a matter of time until the playing field was leveled.

Yeah. Mmmmhmmm. That's it.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:51 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 488 words, total size 3 kb.

All this guy wants is

All this guy wants is to meet women.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:50 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 18 words, total size 1 kb.

Tonight, I was watching Anderson

Tonight, I was watching Anderson Cooper, as usual, whilst munching on
some delectable hamburgers the husband fixed for dinner. Much rambling
on about the Convention was going on, and as I was absorbed in eating
my accompanying potato chips, I wasn't paying too much attention.
This bit, however, turned my head in a Linda Blair sort of way.

COOPER: And welcome back. As we have seen here this week,
the Democrats are making a big show of unity, celebrating togetherness,
trying to project an optimistic view of the future. But some days the
reality of the outside world intrudes. Today is one of those days.
In Iraq, terrible violence. Four Americans killed, more than 100
Iraqis, including nearly 70, in this single sickening car bombing in
Baqubah, one bomb, 70 lives. Those odds aren't good.
Iraq, however, is not a word you hear mentioned much here in Boston.
Case in point, Howard Dean, the man who led the charge criticizing the
war during the primaries, last night, he never said the I-word in his
speech. Iraq, not once. In fact, over the last two days, in 108
speeches overall, the word "Iraq" was uttered in only about 13 of them.
We'll see if that changes tonight, when John Edwards addresses the
gathering, and tomorrow when John Kerry does as well.

Holy Christ! Nearly SEVENTY people die---including four
Americans---over sixty are wounded and Anderson uses it as a freakin'
segue to the ongoing debate of whether the Dems will harp on about Iraq
or not. Niiiiice. Anderson, who supposedly reads all his emails, will
be getting one from me about this.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:45 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 280 words, total size 2 kb.

...doesn't DC have one of

...doesn't DC have one of the highest crime rates in the country?
Aren't the police and all the city officials consistently saying they
don't have enough money to run an effective police force, blah, blah,
blah ad nauseam ad infinitum?
And yet they've got the manpower to arrest people for eating candy bars in the Metro?

Hmmph.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:43 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 67 words, total size 1 kb.