Dubya Dubya Jaye Dee

"You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I say to you, You can also light him up if you're about to run out of people-killin' drugs."

—Euthanasians 5:38-39


New strategy when I hear anyone talk about our alleged Christian values is to laugh in that horse-assed motherfucker's face.

With a big old hee-haw, hee-haw and handwavey donkey ear pantomimes like I'm George "Speedbag" Bailey.

Try a Little Tenderness


I got Mugsy an Easter Peep out of the stuffed toy bargain bin. He mostly uses it as a Realdoll.

Right now he's worn out after an all-too-brief tussle, so they're spooning instead.

It's the quiet, intimate moments that build the brightest memories.

Who's a boy? Who's a boy? You are.

Good works are the fruit that bear the indication God has sown the seeds of grace. Do not mistake them for goodness itself, dog. Would a dog who has experienced unconditional election bark at my stairs for no reason for thirty minutes? There was nothing on the stairs. Why, then, did you bark? Were you fulfilling the commandment found in Lamentations 2:19, “Arise, cry out in the night: in the beginning of the watches pour out thine heart like water before the face of the Lord”? Because I do not believe that injunction applies to my stairs.

A message from Reformed theologian John Calvin to my dog Murphy, who I suspect is not a member of the elect

DDC Hardware


I am not a typeface nerd or good at design. But I love pretty things, adore pretty things that are useful, and damn near worship at the altar of pretty and useful things with a sense of history.

The Draplin Design Co.'s DDC Hardware typeface is man oh man.

I banged out the above graphic on that demo link, and I'm sure it's too rough to be page-header-worthy (I don't even know what I don't know about design), but damn if it wasn't a ball to make. Damn if that typeface doesn't summarize a good chunk of this place's heart.

I am something of an admirer of Draplin's. I like his stuff and have given him a fair bit of business. He once drunk-ebayed a hotel sign from the small town where I was born. He's got a great eye and a fondness for an underappreciated historical style that I grew up around. He eschews precious hipster irony. And he makes good things.

Massive cock-up

10 minutes of newscasters, sportscasters, and meteorologists accidentally drawing dicks.

The hockey guy's combination of poker face and commitment to the bit should earn him an SNL guest appearance at least.

...a bit low, actually

Dave Pell putting some context on Trump's approval rating:

During the campaign, Donald Trump marveled at the loyalty of his most ardent supporters.

My people are so smart, and you know what else they say about my people, the polls? They say I have the most loyal people. Did you ever see that? Where I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose any voters...

Actually, that’s not quite true.

If Trump stood in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shot somebody, I’m confident he’d see his current approval level of 37% free-fall to about a 36%.

Trump could jerk off onto the constitution while taking a dump on the bible and the GOP still wouldn’t speak out against him. But, his approval rating would almost certainly plummet from 36% to around 35.2%. (I doubt the dip would last more than a couple newscycles.)

World leaders hold meetings with his daughter. You can’t make this stuff up.

Trump could lie constantly, call journalists the enemy of the American people, and introduce a budget that amounts to a full frontal assault on precisely the population of American voters who put him in the Oval Office, and he would still maintain a 37% approval rating. How do we know that? Because it’s all happened.

I'm reading that in the context of The Crazification Factor and pondering my conservative acquaintances who suddenly don't care about Russian spies or insecure government agencies or emails:

John: Hey, Bush is now at 37% approval. I feel much less like Kevin McCarthy screaming in traffic. But I wonder what his base is --

Tyrone: 27%.

John: ... you said that immmediately, and with some authority.

Tyrone: Obama vs. Alan Keyes. Keyes was from out of state, so you can eliminate any established political base; both candidates were black, so you can factor out racism; and Keyes was plainly, obviously, completely crazy. Batshit crazy. Head-trauma crazy. But 27% of the population of Illinois voted for him. They put party identification, personal prejudice, whatever ahead of rational judgement. Hell, even like 5% of Democrats voted for him. That's crazy behaviour. I think you have to assume a 27% Crazification Factor in any population.

John: Objectively crazy or crazy vis-a-vis my own inertial reference frame for rational behaviour? I mean, are you creating the Theory of Special Crazification or General Crazification?

Tyrone: Hadn't thought about it. Let's split the difference. Half just have worldviews which lead them to disagree with what you consider rationality even though they arrive at their positions through rational means, and the other half are the core of the Crazification -- either genuinely crazy; or so woefully misinformed about how the world works, the bases for their decision making is so flawed they may as well be crazy.

John: You realize this leads to there being over 30 million crazy people in the US?

Tyrone: Does that seem wrong?

John: ... a bit low, actually.

Mont-dad-gue and Jack-ulet


Two hammocks, both alike in dignity,
In fair Ar-KAN-zuss, where we lay our scene,
From hasty plans that bear no scrutiny,
Where camping (yard) doth good night's rest demean.
For in the dangling beds of these two bros
A pair of star-cross'd campers take their rest;
Whose misadventured evening fitful doze
Doth with the sunrise see them fed and dressed.
The fearful passage of their gas and wee,
Behind a hedge or underneath a bough,
Which, fueled by s'mores and milk, loosed with esprit,
To nature binds them both, like noble cows.
Come morn', out of their hammock tents they'll lurch
And brush their teefs, and shuffle off to church.

Feelin' Good

This Aubrey-Plaza-as-evilsexy-brain-parasite dance number from "Legion" hits so solidly in the center of my psychological horn/scares Venn diagram overlap that it actually made me feel less alone in the world.

This friggin show, man.

Dear My Wife's Dead Mother,


Please do not come back to haunt us for finally getting rid of your eighties-ass chairs. They are in the van to be taken away now.

I hope you will not poltergeist things or possess our landscaping or leave ghost shit in our food. Please understand that the new furniture arrives tomorrow and we had to make room.

Also you have to admit that those were the eightiesest chairs ever.

To honor them, I got those chairs out of our dreams and into my car.

dude looks like he's late for his phrenology lecture