Best new band? Best newsworthy moment? Best dump taken in a public restroom? You will see none of that here. I decree that 2006 snatch wrangled a chimp doggie style from 1/1 to 12/31. Bring on 2007. I dare you!

Aside from helping Mary move a few things from her car to her house (she lost her very dear and close grandmother this past week and brought a few things back from Missouri), I have nothing planned tonight. More than likely, I will be home alone when the clock strikes midnight. I shall wallow in self-pity, bemoaning my solitude whilst tearfully masturbating in a linen closet. I just haven't decided which neighbor's linen closet to use yet.

Actually I am quite fine with my plans or lack thereof. There's an off chance I will go to a party in the highly unlikely event another friend manages to get a pass from working tonight, but I'm content to stay at home, not sharing the road with drunken revelers swerving through the snow.

Yes, we have actual real SNOW falling right now! But the forecast for it sticking around is not promising. Mid to high thirties are predicted for the next week or so. What happened to winter? Don't get me wrong, I like having dry roads, not scraping an inch of ice from my windshield after work, and not shoveling my driveway, but this is Minnesota! Even I'm starting to long for a coating of fluffy snow that will stick around for a while.

I've also decided it's time to break my Amber-inspired woman ban and throw my hat back into the dating ring. I even went as far as to pay through the nose for an eHarmony profile. Hell, it worked for one of my buddies. He just got engaged to a girl he met on eHarmony, so who knows. I can always cancel it before my subscription renews if it sucks donkey dong.

As you can see, I've also included a couple of photos from the Vikings game I attended today, their last for the season. The first expresses my opinion of their on field performance, and the second is shot of how kick ass our seats were. Row 19. Not too shabby. Too bad there wasn't much to see from them.

You will also note that my beard is coming along nicely. I think this week or upcoming weekend, I will begin my slow, sultry facial hair striptease. And yes, the observant amongst you will note that I coincidentally am wearing the exact same sweater I wore in my blogger profile photo. Actually I wear it every day. It smells like camel semen and stale cigar smoke.

I was unexpectedly invited at the last minute to free load off some company tickets given to one of my buddies. So I get the distinct pleasure(?) of watching the home team have their asses handed to them yet again. Still fun seeing my friend at least.

UPDATE: Surprise! They lost spectacularly. At the beginning of the 4th quarter, people started streaming out of the place as if someone had set skunks loose in the stands. Actually it was the stink of shit coming from the field.

Have you ever found yourself frustrated, perhaps even a little ticked when someone you emailed, texted, left a message for, or IM'd didn't get back to you right away? Maybe you texted your friend to see if they wanted to meet up with you and the crew at the bar. Or perhaps you called your sibling to discuss what to give to your mom for Mother's Day and got their voice mail.

On the flip side, have you ever been drifting off to sleep at 12:30 am on a Wednesday and were roused from slumber by the sound of an incoming text from your friend? Texting me about how drunk you were couldn't wait until tomorrow? Oh and the picture mail of your girlfriend vomiting on your shoes was a nice touch. Or perhaps you were about to finally score with that cute girl or guy you've been courting for weeks, only to have your mom call just as the condom wrapper hit the floor?

Cell phones, text messages, picture and video mail, email, instant messaging, mobile web access--all of these technologies have made keeping in touch so much easier, yet some of us are so used to connecting with people instantly, that when we don't get an instant response, we get agitated. And the constant barrage of beeps, musical ringers, popup notifications, and vibrations are driving us to distraction and madness.

Remember when most people didn't even have answering machines, much less voice mail? Or if you called, you got a busy signal, and they had no idea you were trying to get a hold of them? Actually maybe you don't. My point is that it's ok to disconnect now and then. I think every single one of us needs to take a whole week off from being connected once or twice a year. Leave the state, leave town, or just stay at home. Turn off the phone. Unplug the computer. Put the Blackberry in a drawer. Once you get over the initial withdrawal, you'll be surprised at the wave of calm that comes over you.

Warning!!! This is very graphic!!! Saddam Hussein executed!! Watch at your own risk!!!

Hanging video

UPDATE: Thanks to Bo for posting a link to this excellent editorial on Saddam's execution. I can't say I agree 100% with the author's conclusions, but he makes some interesting points, and it is worth reading.

It has come to my attention that all of the bananas are gone, never to return to sweetly melt in our appreciative mouths. It's a shame because they're really good for you and are shaped like curvy, yellow wangs.

I was at Rainbow Foods in Eagan last night around 9, and they had a grand total of five bananas left. Only three were suitable for my purchase. All of the other produce remained fully stocked. There was no banana sale, no buy one, get one free, just a sudden, perplexing rush on bananas.

However, after further thought, maybe my assumption on the world's banana situation is a bit premature. It is clear that the world's biggest electrical storm is coming to drain all of our bodies of potassium, and I missed the warnings. I have three bananas and a half empty bottle of multivitamins. I'm fucked.

Tell those snooty urbanites what they can do with their Wal-Mart bashing, trendy glasses wearing, high rise condo having ways. Lick my cul-de-sac!

Proudly strut your suburban stuff in a brand spanking new lick my cul-de-sac shirt available only at the afterglide crapeteria. While you're there, be sure to browse the growing selection of other shirts and products with equally nonsensical sayings.

P.S. Most urbanites be Cool and the Gang. This is directed at the snotty ones who wear berets and spit on me when I pee on their sidewalks.

One of my coworkers organized a run on Wednesday to the closest White Castle, which is up in Bloomington near 98th and Lyndale. I once had a couple burgers from WC once many years ago, but have never actually set foot inside of a WC prior to that day.

I had a burger, a jalapeno cheeseburger, and an order of chicken rings. It wasn't bad and certainly not as greasy or diarrhea inducing as I thought it would be. Definitely much better than McDonald's burgers, which I rarely eat because they taste synthetic (I wonder why) and usually end up painting my porcelain an hour later.

Someone told me they're building one in Eagan about 2 miles from my house. Not being a huge fast food junkie, I doubt I'll make it a regular pit stop, but I could see grabbing a few of those tasty little burgers now and then. They're so wee! I just want to pinch them, dress them up in little cowboy outfits, and give them names like Mr. Tinkles and Aloysius.

I had a dream about grammar and punctuation last night. What. The. Fuck.

UPDATE: SOLD!

I used my cache of Christmas gift Best Buy cards to buy a new printer (an HP Photosmart 5180) to replace my trusty Epson that died after 8 years of faithful service. This one is super fancy n' junk. It's an all-in-one, so there's a scanner built in. That means I no longer need my minimally used HP Scanjet 2200c (see the specs here and here)

Everything you need is here. You get the scanner, power cable, and USB cable. The software and drivers can be downloaded here. According to HP's site, it should work with pretty much any USB-equipped computer running a version of Windows from the last decade. This is not a super high end scanner, but does a good job of scanning photos and a fantastic job of scanning documents for archival or copying purposes. It was a Christmas gift from my mom a few years ago. So don't use it to scan your balls, perv. Respect this fucking thing.

$25 firm. Cash only (no checks or Nigerian money orders, deadbeats). Local buyers only. Shipping this foppish little fellow would probably cost you half its value anyway. You agree to meet in or near the Eagan or Lakeville area (where I live and work, respectively) to pay and pickup. Why so many stipulations? Because I'm not desperate to unload it. Just looking to reduce my clutter and keep a good scanner from collecting dust in a closet. If I can't find a buyer, I'll just give it to a friend or family member. Your ass has been told (man, I'm a demanding salesperson).

That is all.

I promised a pic of my facial hair in progress, and here it is. I've been growing it out for a couple of weeks now. Why? Because I can and for no other reason. Call it an experiment, but do not call it laziness. I'm keeping things trimmed. No wolf boy or neck beard for Jeremy.

While I have had several compliments from women (and a few "nice scruff, bro!" type comments from guy friends), I can't say I'm a big fan of the bearded look on me. Maybe I'm just not used to it. It's been years since I've grown it this long. Plus when I work out, it soaks up sweat like a sponge. I have to squeegee my face every few minutes or so to keep my head from getting so heavy I fall ass over ankles.

Growing the beard may seem like enough of a project, but the fun will come when I have it grown to a respectable length. I intend to shave it over the course of days. First some sideburns and the mustache/goatee thing. Then just the mustache and goatee. Then a fu manchu. Then just an 80's porn star 'stache. That part I'm pumped about! Pics will most assuredly follow when the time comes.

I had cranked up the privacy on my MySpace profile for a while due to pornspamoriffic friend requests, but I'm going to try taking off the email/last name requirement again (ignore the warnings on my profile to the contrary). It just doesn't seem cyberspace neighborly.

So will you be my friend? We can have a slumber party, giggle about puberty, and freeze the bra of the first one to fall asleep. Tee hee!

I had internet service turned back on for my cell so guess what I am doing right now!

I just got back from dinner at the bro and sis-in-law's. It was a madhouse as always. For not being into kids, I always have fun around her family. On the drive home, I recalled one of the first times I met my sister-in-law's family. We had dinner at Don Pablo's in Bloomington. I don't recall the exact circumstances, but one of the sisters, then in her early teens was trying to get involved in the conversation on the other end of the table.

She demanded, "What are you guys talking about?"

One of the older sisters replied, "Just mind your own business. We're having a conversation here."

"No! I want to know what you're talking about!"

The older sister's fiance knew how to quell her curiosity. "We're talking about your period."

Not a peep out of her the rest of the meal.

I just got an email from a friend who proclaimed that her gently used computer that I fixed and cleaned up so that she could give it to her family for Christmas made for what her young brothers declared to be the "best Christmas ever!" I'd swell with pride and joy if I were capable of feeling this thing you humans call "emotion."

But seriously, Merry Christmas to everyone.

Time Magazine releases their Person of the Year issue at the end of every year. Often it's controversial, and this year is no different.

Speaking of brown, my Christmas present this afternoon was finding my jury duty summons in the mail today. Federal court. Downtown Minneapolis. Traffic. Bleh. Why couldn't I have been summoned for podunk Dakota County ass rape court? I could practically ride my bicycle to the courthouse in that case.

I just got back a few hours ago from my all too brief excursion to North Dakota. As I mentioned earlier, we celebrated Christmas early this year because Mom has to work at the hospital (she's worked as an RN in the hospital in my hometown for 32 years) tonight and Christmas day. Such is the life of those in medicine. Not one of us cares which day we observe Christmas, as long as the family is together.

One thing that struck me as we drove the three hours from Fargo to Mom's place was there was hardly a spot of snow to be seen. This is North Da-fucking-kota we're talking about! I do not remember a single Christmas where there was no snow on the ground. In recent years, there have been one or two times where there was a lot of bare ground in the Minneapolis-St Paul area, but you could almost guarantee you'd see snow by Alexandria or Fergus Falls.

Maybe Al Gore was right! Maybe he DID invent tEh intr0-webZ!

I'm hitting the road for North Dakota for an early Christmas on Saturday (our mom is an RN and works Christmas eve and day). I wonder how many dead animal parts I'll see in the yard this year.

For those who have RSS/Atom bookmarks (Firefox or IE7) to my site or subscribe through services like Bloglines or Google Reader, you may notice older posts jumping to the top occasionally. I'm playing with a better way to deliver the blogcast and audio in general. At some point, I may also set it up so you can subscribe via iTunes (I played with that quite a bit a few days ago, but didn't quite get there). In the meantime, please be patient as the RSS feed order jumps around here and there.

For those that don't use RSS for this and other blogs, DO IT NOW! I particularly recommend switching to Firefox for your web browser. Bookmark the feeds in your browser, and scan dozens of blogs for new posts in a few seconds. You can also use it to quickly skim the latest headlines from news and other websites.

So I'm home earlier than I expected tonight. The rain, sleet, and coming snow led the two remaining diehards in the office to depart early tonight before the roads became too treacherous. I took tomorrow off, so that means I won't be back until Tuesday. I think I'm going to be working some late-ass hours next week.

I'm really lacking for funny right now. I've got nothing. I was full of bits this morning at work. Bits and shit.

You just can't avoid this video this week, but I don't care. I'm reposting it because it makes me laugh. This is the uncensored version, so put on those headphones if you're at work.

Some computer guys get a little perturbed about being the default source of tech support for their friends and family, but I actually enjoy it. I like to help. I'm a no strings attached tech support guy. Ok, so I kind of guilted my ex-girlfriend into buying me dinner recently for helping her with her boyfriend's iPod, but I was in a mood that night. I felt like a shmuck about it afterward. But I've been Johnny 5 on the spot lately with my friends. I helped Miss Employed on Sunday with a wide array of computer issues, and today on the phone, I calmed another friend who'd snagged the DVD-ROM drive on her expensive work laptop and bent the shit out of it. She can still use the drive if she really needs to, but it will have to be replaced. She was worried she'd have to ship it off to her company's IT guys to get it fixed, but I assured her she could do it herself and walked her through how to remove the drive. Replacing it is literally a matter of sliding the new one in. No screwdrivers, no fuss.

Then today I made a huge breakthrough in the project I'm on at work. And of course, immediately ran into two more problems, one of which is a dealbreaker. Time is running out because I'm supposed to have this thing ready to roll by the end of the year. I'm out Friday, and the office is closed Monday, so that leaves just 5 working days. I'll continue to put in those hours. So continue to expect short or no updates until the new year. Be patient. Maybe I'll see if Darren can do another blogcast in the meantime. God, I hate that guy.

Even during dating downtime, I usually keep up with my shaving for the sake of looking presentable at work, but I've decided to give facial hair a chance. It's been a few years. I haven't shaved in over a week. We've passed stubble burn territory into the land of soft but scratchy. In a week or two, I should have a pretty full toilet brush going. For the record, while my hair is somewhere between light brown and dirty blonde, my facial hair comes in kind of reddish. It's that Irish blood running through my veins. Perhaps I'll post a photo when things are farther along. I don't plan on keeping it though. Stuff gets caught in there. Crumbs, milk, cockleburrs, transients, etc.

I think I'm done with Christmas shopping. I spent several hours with my friend Mary wandering like drooling consumer drones through the Mall of America. But even after about 3 hours there, I'd only finished maybe half of my gift list. I miraculously managed to find the rest of my gifts at Super Target over my lunch break today. Or so I thought. I changed my mind on one gift. I will remain somewhat vague so as not to spoil things for the recipient, it was a gift that most guys would dig, saying, "Dude! That's a GREAT GIFT!" But it was also the sort of thing you would have around for an emergency and not really use it regularly. Practical, but not memorable or fun. That's not my gift giving style, man.

I want to be the guy that hands you a box, and you open it to find a monkey jerking off onto a photo of a banana. "How adorable! That monkey that you gave me is conducting autoerotic activities in a box! High fives all around. Oh no--not you, monkey. You keep your spoogey little monkey hands to yourself." Shared group laughter follows. Tea is served in the alcove.

I really struggled this year with what to get for people. Even when I had a pretty firm idea of what to get someone, I seemed to have a hard time finding the actual gift. I was very close to saying screw it and getting gift cards for most of the people on my list. It's not that I think gift cards are a bad or thoughtless gift (give me a big old Best Buy gift card any day--seriously, NOW!), but since I don't have a large family or many people to shop for, I like to put at least some time and effort into gift selection. Gift cards for your favorite store rock, but there's something to be said for the tactile experience of ripping open a gift.

Which reminds me, tear open that fucking gift! Rip into it like a vegetarian into steaming tofurkey. Flailing fingernails, scissors, box cutters, and plasma torches are all acceptable means with which to open a gift. Exclaiming, "OOOOOOHHHH! What pretty paper! I'm going to save this!" then spending the next 10 minutes delicately attempting to peel the tape away without ripping the paper, folding it neatly, and filing it way in your scrap drawer is not the correct way to open a present. If I had known you would do that, I would have just spent another $4 and bought a roll of the same paper for you, as well. Don't waste my time. Open it quickly and let me savor your brief moment of joy so I can move the fuck on and watch tv.

This year I plan to discourage this sort of behavior by rubbing the inside of the wrapping paper with a few dabs of milk. I will then store the gifts in a cooler until it is time to open them. They will look as presentable as ever, but unless thrown away immediately, the paper will stink like severed deer balls within a day.

I received a check in the mail today. An unexpected check for an unexpected thing (that I should have expected but did not logically piece together). All I will say is that when it rains, it pours. And when it's dry, it's the fucking Sahara. That life rule can be applied to both money and women. When you're poor, you're poor. And when the good times stick a tongue up your ass, they waggle it around for good measure.

I really lost what I was going for there, but I think you get the point.

I'm really not in the mood to crank out a full concert review for this one (we'll see what tomorrow brings), but I went to the Three Days Grace concert at Myth up in Maplewood tonight. Psychostick and Army of Anyone opened for them. Psychostick--93x plays their song "BEER!" quite a bit. Once is enough. It's amusing. Qweeeeeehhhhhhh...ha ha...a song about how good beer is sung in a funny voice. Second time--qweh...ha. Third time--enough already. In concert--snore. They're whole deal, whatever that deal might be, is pure schtick. Hat's off to them if they can make it last.

Army of Anyone and Three Days Grace both kicked ass. And the chicks next to me were three syllable der-ruh-uhnk. I talked with a couple of them before they got so drunk they probably couldn't have sat to piss. Cute girls in kind of a skanky way, and much older than they looked. One was 34, but I didn't get the other's age. I have an idea she was younger than 34 chicky though. Dumb as rocks the lot of them. Though I can't say I complained much when they practically turned me into a stripper pole toward the end of the show. I'm sure Mary would not have been as tolerant of their antics had they been next to her instead of me.

Ok, I'm tired, but I'm going to run and get a few groceries and then hit the hay. I'm hanging out with Miss Employed for a while tomorrow and then doing some Christmas shopping with Mary. I have purchased a mere 2 gifts on my list. I'm really finding it hard to get in the Christmas spirit this year. I haven't put a single light or decoration up in my house. Not even dancing Homer in his Santa costume. Maybe the lack of snow and near 50 degree temps have something to do with it.

Traffic to my blog has been consistently been 2 to 3 times normal levels this week. What gives? Anyone? Any clues? Maybe it's because I use the f-word a lot and mix farty fart noises for ha ha's. No? Useless as tits on a backpack, the lot of ya. But seriously, I'm curious what the deal is.

While I'll be around this weekend, fair warning that next week my writings may be sparse to nonexistant. I have a project at work that is coming due, and 10-12 hour days will be the rule. In fact, that's pretty much what I've been doing this week. Yes, I still managed to piece together that commercial that sounds like someone's crapping into tupperware, but I don't think I'll be able to burn that kind of midnight oil two weeks in a row. How I suffer for my art. Actually the word "art" should have been in quotes in that sentence. Peace out, bitches. I need to get some work done.

To all you regular grahams playing like your shit smells like fresh linen, I'm wise to your game. You will never ever be as awesome as Teddy Grahams. You hear me? NEVER! You can't give me a friendly smile to brighten my day. You can't hold your arms out like you're going to give me a big hug. And when I imagine you doing a happy bear dance, you just look like exactly what you are, a shitty, boring rectangle squirming because it was caught in a lie. You can dip yourself in chocolate, form the outside of a creme-filled cookie, or fill yourself with melted Hershey bars and campfire-kissed marshmallows all you want, but you'll still be an imposter. God, how I hate you.

I had an anonymous troll leave a comment on this post today, but unfortunately I fat-fingered my mouse click and accidentally rejected it. No matter, as I found it interesting enough to warrant a post of its own.

"You have a very unhealthy fixation on your bowel movements. I've learned a lot being the mother of a gay son and a straight son, and think you should start examining your true sexuality."

So essentially what you are saying is the key warning sign to having a gay son is that he thinks talking about poop is funny. Or perhaps your son took it a step further and splashed around his own excrement and that of others. Then he turned to eating peanuty turds, and the natural progression was playing cock ambassador.

I don't think gay guys are mining for treasure back there. It's the only tight man hole available. They bang away at it in spite of it being a corn chute, not because of it. Any guy can understand that logic. I could have very reliable intelligence that a gorgeous woman's vag houses a tiny fruit bat and that there is a 10% chance that fruit bat will bite the end of my dick, giving me rabies. I will go to town on it anyway. Because I can get rabies shots. Just like that gay guy can just give his unit a good scrub with soap and water afterward. As guys, if it's a tight hole on something we're attracted to (or is simply willing to give it up), we'll fuck it.

Not that saying that helps my case. Or that I'm saying I have a case to present.

We here at afterglide are pleased to welcome Darren Halling as our new Chief Newsmolier. You may already have heard his contributions to the afterglide blogcast. He will also act as editor and contributor for news-related postings to ensure that afterglide publishes nothing but robust, high quality truth. We wish him well despite overwhelming personal distractions working against him, including an ongoing messy divorce and rickets.

Darren Halling is arguably the most trusted living journalist ever to live while being a journalist and is unquestionably the most trusted journalist amongst journalists who were being journalists without knowing they were doing it. He's confident, meticulous, aware, and is three quarters piss to a quarter vinegar. He does not rest until all of the questions are answered. He works hard for you and not because he desperately needs the money to pay child support and gambling debts.

Halling was born at age 5 in the quiet town of Hutchinson, Minnesota. He has several degrees, including a masters in Applied Newsmaneering from the University of Iowa and a PhD in Discrete Scoopsmanship from Harvard. He was a producer at WCCO Radio from 1975 to 1975 and the editor of the Cottage Grove Penny Pincher from 1975 to 1975. Welcome aboard, Darren!

viscerrhea \vis-eh-REE-uh\, noun: A viscous bowel movement too thick to be called diarrhea but so greasy that the amount of subsequent wiping equals, if not exceeds, that forced by lower viscosity diarrhea.

-Synonyms: viscashit \VIS-ka-shit\

Several times during the NHL season, I'm fortunate enough to be treated to a Wild game by my good friend Mary. She goes in on a pair of season tickets with a few other people each year. These are not nosebleed seats where if you vomited over the railing, it would take a full minute for the puke to hit the ground. No sir. Row 15, kitty corner to the side and a little to the rear of the goal the Wild shoot on twice during the game. Granted it's hard to find a bad seat in the Xcel Energy Center (and how apropos is that name for a sports arena--aren't you glad the naming rights weren't purchased by the Slack Lethargy Corporation?). I've offered many times to pay for my ticket, but she always refuses. So I pitch in on parking and buy her a hot dog and a drink. Let's see...that covers between a quarter and a fifth of the value of the ticket. So I guess we're even(?) Then again, I've taken her to many a concert and other things like the Body Worlds exhibit at the Science Museum over the years, so it probably comes close.

On Thursday, Mary took me to the Wild taken on the Calgary Flames. Unfortunately I was a little out of it from a wicked cold, so I couldn't fully enjoy it as much as I normally would. Before the third period started, I decided to head to the men's room to take a leak. There was a line for the urinals, and while I stood waiting, I got to enjoy the dulcimer tones of an extremely loud, obnoxious asswipe on a tirade about how the USA is #1, Minnesota rules, fuck everyone else, etc. to some poor putz from the Czech Republic. I have no idea what set this guy off, but he was being a complete horse's ass. The following is a loosely paraphrased synopsis of his monologue, which was in progress when I walked into the restroom.

"WOOOOO! The USA is number fucking one in the fucking world, man! Canadians and everyone else are a bunch of losers. And people like you will NEVER be American! I was born and raised an American. The USA RULES! And Minnesota is the greatest fucking state in the nation. WOOOOOO! No other fucking state is as great as us. We have hockey in our blood, motherfucker! My little boy is 11 months old, and I'm going to have him on ice skates soon. That's how we fucking do it in Minnesota! WOOOOOO! And that's why...*burp*...that's why I named my little boy [name of little boy] after [hockey player]. Because that little fucker's going to skate and play hockey like his old man. That shit's in our blood, motherfucker. All the other countries can kiss our fucking ass! WOOOOO!"

At this point someone who could have been his very embarrassed friend or a pissed Xcel employee grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the bathroom. The room immediately went up in uproarious laughter with a buzz having the theme of, "what an asshole!"

Evidently this guy wasn't done though, because a minute or two later he was back. "And the thing about America is it's NUMBER FUCKING ONE! WOOOO! That's right. You guys know what I'm talking about..." And this continued for several more minutes before he finally left but could still be heard shouting nonstop out in the concourse. It was at this point that a gentleman toward the front of the line clearly explained what had just happened for those who had entered the room toward the end of departed drunk's outburst. "The guy came in here, cocked off for over ten minutes, and never even took a piss!"

That is the closest approximate spelling I could come up with for the noises that have been coming from my body all day. Sniffling, coughing, nose blowing, mouth breathing, throat gurgling joy for all of my coworkers who surround me. I hate dragging this shit to the office, but I recently reinstalled everything on my computer at home and don't yet have it set up to readily work remotely. And I'd call in sick, but there is too much to do on the project I'm working on. So for now, I say BRAAASNRRRRAGGHHHHHFFFFGGHHKK. BRAAASNRRRRAGGHHHHHFFFFGGHHKK to all.

Oh, wait. Yes it is. Somehow my frozen chocolate covered banana experiment didn't turn out quite like I expected. Yes, there really is a whole banana in there somewhere. It tastes much better than it looks. Though there's no way I'll finish that tonight. The good news is that my body will waste minimal energy changing its color and form before it returns from whence it came.

Speaking of getting back to the inconsequential, I just took a disturbingly massive dump. It hit the bottom of the pot and still was not completely evacuated from my bowels. So for a moment in time, I had a large brown kickstand hanging out of my sphincter. Then it broke off, fell forward, and brushed across my taint while the rest kept coming. It all came out in one freakishly gargantuan solitary turd. This is astounding considering I took a fairly healthy dump at work today. The human body is a wonderous thing. Now if you'll forgive me, I just realized I forgot to wash my taint.

If it weren't for the fact this broad was stupid enough to light matches on a plane post-9/11, you might actually feel sorry for her. An entire commercial passenger plane was grounded because she farted. If she had simply let her shit off SBD style, she'd only be embarrassed over cutting one on a plane and having maybe 5 or 6 other people smell it. But her dumb ass had to light matches to cover it up, causing an unnecessary panic, diverting the plane, and making her asshole vapors national news. She deserves every flush capillary in her silly-ass head.

As my late dad used to say, the fox smells it's own hole first. But he didn't say anything about about the fox lighting matches to cover the smell.

I promise to return to fluff of no consequence very soon, but I wanted to comment on sad news of the discovery of the body of James Kim. You may have been following this story in the national news lately. He, his wife, and two young daughters became stranded in the Oregon wilderness while returning home from a Thanksgiving trip. Finally this past Saturday, he left them in a desperate attempt to find help. On Monday, his wife and children were rescued, but the search for him continued.

Kim was a senior editor for CNET.com, a computer and consumer technology news and review website. He wrote regular reviews of digital music products and appeared regularly in vlog postings to CNET's sister site Crave. He also appeared each week in a segment broadcast to Tivo subscribers.

I had come to enjoy Kim's writings and appearances and trusted his opinions on digital entertainment products. Such an offhand and indirect connection seems trivial, but today's news hit me like a punch to the gut. I feel terribly for the wife, baby, and 4 year old daughter he left behind.

It's amazing the bonds we sometimes unknowingly form with people we've never met or likely never will meet. Perhaps that's why the community of bloggers seem to huddle together. We somehow feel involved in each others lives (and in some cases actually do become involved). When one of us feels joy, we celebrate with them. And when one of us suffers tragedy, we feel as though it were happening to a friend or family member. So here's to James Kim. He will be missed.

I don't mean to brag--well, yes I do--but I have perfect teeth. My teeth are straight and well-cared for (the same description would be apt for my entire person). They are smooth, largely free of plaque, and the incisors inscise while the molars mole the bejesus out of my food. Watching me take a bite out of a fresh, crisp Braeburn apple is like wa