I'm dorky for Spock ;)

WTH is going on here? It's so quiet! I just wanted to share some dork love with my fellow Dork Bloggers with a little sumpin sumpin...


moar funny pictures


Hugs,
~teh mert

How do I know I'm a dork?

Because I am singing the tune from the Mos Eisley cantina.

 

Not singing it WELL, but today it is on an endless loop in my brain.

 

Dork Pride, baby.

 

I heart Chewbroccoli.

I stole this from Tabba, a fellow Dorkblogger.

In honor of Little O's current favorite Joke:

It's Stumble madness!

I found it here.


Chicken Philosophy

WHY DID THE CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD???

Plato: For the greater good.

Aristotle: To fulfill its nature on the other side.

Karl Marx: It was a historical inevitability.

Machiavelli: So that its subjects will view it with admiration, as a
chicken which has the daring and courage to boldly cross the road,
but also with fear, for whom among them has the strength to contend
with such a paragon of avian virtue? In such a manner is the princely
chicken's dominion maintained.

Hippocrates: Because of an excess of light pink gooey stuff in its
pancreas.

Jacques Derrida: Any number of contending discourses may be discovered
within the act of the chicken crossing the road, and each
interpretation is equally valid as the authorial intent can never be
discerned, because structuralism is DEAD, DAMMIT, DEAD!

Thomas de Torquemada: Give me ten minutes with the chicken and I'll
find out.

Timothy Leary: Because that's the only kind of trip the Establishment
would let it take.

Douglas Adams: Forty-two.

Nietzsche: Because if you gaze too long across the Road, the Road
gazes also across you.

Oliver North: National Security was at stake.

B.F. Skinner: Because the external influences which had pervaded its
sensorium from birth had caused it to develop in such a fashion that
it would tend to cross roads, even while believing these actions to be
of its own free will.

Carl Jung: The confluence of events in the cultural gestalt
necessitated that individual chickens cross roads at this historical
juncture, and therefore synchronicitously brought such occurrences
into being.

Jean-Paul Sartre: In order to act in good faith and be true to
itself, the chicken found it necessary to cross the road.

Ludwig Wittgenstein: The possibility of "crossing" was encoded into
the objects "chicken" and "road", and circumstances came into being
which
caused the actualization of this potential occurrence.

Albert Einstein: Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road
crossed the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.

Aristotle: To actualize its potential.

Buddha: If you ask this question, you deny your own chicken-nature.

Howard Cosell: It may very well have been one of the most astonishing
events to grace the annals of history. An historic, unprecedented
avian biped with the temerity to attempt such an herculean achievement
formerly relegated to homo sapien pedestrians is truly a remarkable
occurence.

Salvador Dali: The Fish.

Darwin: It was the logical next step after coming down from the
trees.

Emily Dickinson: Because it could not stop for death.

Epicurus: For fun.

Ralph Waldo Emerson: It didn't cross the road; it transcended it.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: The eternal hen-principle made it do it.

Ernest Hemingway: To die. In the rain.

Werner Heisenberg: We are not sure which side of the road the chicken
was on, but it was moving very fast.

David Hume: Out of custom and habit.

Saddam Hussein: This was an unprovoked act of rebellion and we were
quite justified in dropping 50 tons of nerve gas on it.

Jack Nicholson: 'Cause it (censored) wanted to. That's the
(censored) reason.

Pyrrho the Skeptic: What road?

Ronald Reagan: Well,...................

John Sununu: The Air Force was only too happy to provide the
transportation, so quite understandably the chicken availed himself
of the opportunity.

The Sphinx: You tell me.

Henry David Thoreau: To live deliberately ... and suck all the marrow
out of life.

Mark Twain: The news of its crossing has been greatly exaggerated.

Mishima: For the beauty of it. The chicken's extension of its
sinuous legs sent shivers of a dark despair into the souls not only of
the silently watching hens but also the roosters, who felt a sudden
sexual desire for their exquisite comrade. The dark courage of the
chicken was as beautiful as drops of dew upon jade at midnight, struck
by a partial moon, its light filtered through clouds. One of the
deeply aroused roosters could stand the intensity of the moment no
more and bit off the head of the beautiful, courageous chicken-hero,
whose wine blood was deliciously drunken by the road, and he died.

Johnny Cochran: The chicken didn't cross the road. Some
chicken-hating, genocidal, lying public official moved the road right
under the chicken's feet while he was practicing his golf swing and
thinking about his family.

Camus: The chicken's mother had just died. But this did not really
upset him, as any number of witnesses can attest. In fact, he
crossed just because the sun got in his eyes.

John Sununu (again): I would argue that the chicken never crossed the
road at all. That it is a story concocted by the Clinton
Administration to distract attention from their failed agriculture
policy. Where is the evidence that the chicken crossed the road?
Where, Michael?

Michael Kinsley: Oh, John, come on! Everybody knows the chicken
crossed the road. What evidence do you need? It's obvious that the
chicken crossed the road. Your whole argument is just a smoke and
mirror tactic to distract us from the fact that most chickens polled
now back the Democratic Party. You ought to be ashamed of yourself,
John.

Siskel: I don't know why it crossed the road, but I loved it. Thumbs
up!

Ebert: I disagree. The whole thing left the audience wondering; the
chicken's crossing the road was never clearly explained and the
chicken didn't emote very well. It couldn't even speak English!
Thumbs down.

Michael Kinsley: But you both agree it did cross the road, right?
See, John. I'm right as usual

okay, more of an ass than a dork.

But it made me laugh.

I "stumbled" upon it and it was titled "This is Why You Don't Show Off"

Dork offspring, nature, and, well, boogers of course

I know, it's been awhile... I just thought I should share this story. I posted this at my blog, but I'm reposting for your reading pleasure. Get your tissues ready, it's a real humdinger. *sniff*

Emma has recently (meaning the last 3 months) learned to employ new torture tactics. At the first sign of any adversity (meaning anything not going her way), she screams (meaning blood curdling, horror movie ,shrieks of despair).

John has been out of town for mandatory training since last Sunday, and the children of the corn have been most disagreeable in his absence, to the point of the gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair... and eventual fantasies of joining the witness protection program on his return.

Which would be today, thank you Jesus.

Anywho, digressions aside...Emma shrieked today and I decided that the penalty, henceforth, shall be instant and immediate time out.

No pleas, no excuses... *imagine me saying, with my "talk to the hand" salute* BUP BUP BUP! Time out!

So, she sits a few feet away from me on her Little Tykes picnic table, demanding a tissue.

"Nope," I say, "we are outside, and you are in time out. I'm not going inside just to get a tissue."

"But I need a tissue..." She produces a largish boog on her pointer finger.

"Bah!" I shrink back a little , only because, OK the booger was massive, "Use nature's tissue. Here's a leaf." I pluck a leaf from the weeds nearby.

"OK," she says giggling, relishing the thought of wiping her boog on greenery.

Oh my, -I think-... what have I begun.

I start in on sharing a wondrous piece of history with my precious babe, "You know, there was a time when people didn't have toilet paper. They had to use leaves. Can you imagine that?"

I look over at Emma , just as she replies "nope", and just in time to find her wrapping a leaf around her boog finger and sticking it up her nose tissue style.

" No," I yell, "Your supposed to... I meant..." This is where I begin to try to hide my amusement and stifle hysterical laughter.

And fail miserably, as usual.

She stops, looking up at me as I try to compose myself and my words, waiting...

With the leaf still stuffed up her nose.

Some how I'm thinking that the fine art of "leaf blowing" was not included in Dr. Spock's book. Or parenting 101. But, I am proud to have taught her to appreciate the great outdoors.

Silver lining people, silver lining.

Emma, last month, enjoying ham-ing it up for the camera. I think she inherited the class clown gene from her momma.
God help us.

I feel so dirty...

The commercial with the overworked personal assistant who fills the supermodel's water bottle with the hot tub water of hairy-lounge-lizardy old men?

Makes me happy.

Have you ever played evil tricks on people? If so, what is your all time favorite? Are there any that you'd NOT do if you could go back? My brush with the pink slip wasn't ACTUALLY evil, it was just taken that way by the evil accountant...

Dorkus Pinkslipus

Ah, friends, it's been a while since I've had something worthy of the Dorkbloggers pantheon of truly bad moves.

But I am Dork, hear me stutter and stammer and try to explain.

See, it's like this. There's this stupid box of tampons in the ladies room at work. They were donated by my arch nemesis, the Eeeeeevil Accountant. To stress her benevolence, she put a note on them.

The note said "Anyone can use."

Anyone? I think not.

I smirked at this stewpid note for weeks, and finally, I could resist no more. I wish I could say that I searched far and wide for an alternate picture, but I didn't. I used the one I knew I had at work, the one of the Uber Boss and I at Halloween. I cut myself out of the picture, put a question mark in a little bubble over his head, and taped it onto the note so he was laughing as he read her note.

I started freaking world war three. An international incident. Severing all diplomatic ties and withdrawing the staff from the embassy. Anyone staying in country would be on their own.

Rather than take it the way I had intended it, as a dig at the author of the note, the Eeeevil accountant decided that someone had called the Uber bosses' masculinity into question, and she rushed it to him. Presented in such a scandalized, hysterical tone, everyone interpreted it the same way she had. What the?

Oh, shit, wait, no, that.. um... hey, no one was looking at the mild mannered dork at the front of the bus, because they all read vicious evil intentions into the damned thing. I could just skate by unscathed...not.

I tried all day to speak to the Uber boss alone, to explain how hideously wrong it had all gone, but HIS boss was there, too. I finally sent him an email, and he called me while I was on the phone. I trudged to his office to grovel, and he LAUGHED at me as I closed the door.

The Uber Boss, being the coolest guy ever to get stuck in management, saw exactly where I had been trying to go. He appreciated that I told him that there wasn't some employee secretly carrying out weird grudges against him, just a dork with no sense of foresight.

My Friends, based on the office hysteria, I totally dodged a pink slip today, due to my dorky nature. Thank you lord tiny baby jeebus for giving me a boss with a sense of humor. (I put on a bald cap two years ago and took a picture sitting at his desk with my feet up--this may have been my second close call).

Dear Al Gore...

Today......my dorkiness got the better of me and I posted a few entries to Al Gore. They focused largely on my brushing and shoveling several inches of global warming off my car and driveway.

I believed he'd respond.........I feel soiled...used and dirty....:)