For any of you unable to sleep at night due to the slowdown in Bruner Blog posts, I figured I should update you that I'm out of town, ushering in the New Year in Budapest. And what a glorious town it is. I haven't been back in two years and I'm now nostalgic as hell for it again, thinking of some way to either borrow thousands of dollars from my mom to buy an apartment or anyway arrange apartment swaps with friends in Budapest who may want to visit NY for a month here and there.

For those of you who might care (who would generally fall into my circle of friends who lived in Budapest in the early 1990s), I'm blogging more actively for the last few and next few days over at GenerationExpat.com. In any event, I'll resume pointless blogging here at Bruner Blog in a week or so, when I've recovered from my hangover and jetlag.

[This post has been deleted. Seemed funny at the time, but I've been advised otherwise.]

In a pre-vacation cleaning frenzy, I run across a note in which it's written in my own handwriting:

The @ symbol looks like a sperm in repose.

Can't argue with that. I am just wondering whether that was my own forgotten observation or whether I'm ripping off someone else without attribution. Whatever. Seems bloggable either way (if your standards are as low as mine, anyway).

Please enjoy the Bruner "Big Dick" Blog: All "Fat Ass" Bruner, All the licking Time, courtesy of Pornolize.com.

Out of curiosity, I ran Eurotrash through the system and strangely didn't notice any difference.

Via GGTH.

UPDATE:

András points out that Hungarian is one of the six language options for this service. So if you'd like your site/blog filled with filthy Hungarian obscenities, once again the Bruner Blog comes through for you.

• River of liver: AP reports:

Route 11 was closed for almost six hours Sunday after a tractor-trailer jackknifed, spilling roughly 32,000 pounds of liver onto the highway and a business parking lot.

• Help! Arrest my cat: KVIA TV reports:

A 56-year-old Lumberton man called 911 and demanded that police arrest his outlaw cat, but he was the one who ended up behind bars. Police reports show that Lloyd Gregory Coleman repeatedly called 911, insisting deputies come and arrest his fugitive feline. The cat, he said, had outstanding warrants. Dispatchers warned Coleman to quit abusing the 911 phone system, but he kept calling. When police arrived, Coleman invited them to search his house for the cat. ... The cat never surfaced, but a prescription bottle of marijuana seeds did.

• Hockey fights sans hockey: Canadian Broadcast Company reports:

Two men from Winnipeg want to make hockey fights the main event by staging "Hockey Gladiators" next fall. Organizers Mike Davidson and Darryl Wolski say 60 hockey players will pay an entry fee to drop their gloves and duke it out for prize money.

• Assault with a deadly cheddar: AP also reports:

A Cedar City man is accused of assaulting another man with a block of cheese. Police say the victim was struck in the face with the cheese Thursday.

• Exploding cream soda bath salts: AP reports:

Pam Edwards got...an awakening in the middle of the night when the Cream Soda Bath Fizz she bought at the Woodford County Kiddie Bazaar exploded.

All lifted from this weekend's Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me.

Just saw a demo of this on Letterman. Very, very cool.

Amusing. (Make sure your sound is on.)

Via Mark.

Apparently, Upsaid is having technical problems, so that Eurotrash's Upsaid blog has been offline for a few days, which is a damn tragedy, as it has become one of my favorite blogs of late. So in her anxious, blog-deprived state, she started a blog on Blogspot. It's ugly and feature-poor, but at least it's Eurotrash.

One word for you, dearest: TypePad. It frickin' rocks. As a man with too many blogs and experience now with several blog platforms, it's the best I've tried. Only problem is you have to actually pay for it, albeit only $150 a year for the highest-end service (or slightly more in monthly installments). Not much really for a hobby as rewarding as blogging. Plus, you can host your own domain with it, host multiple blogs (and multiple domains) off one TypePad account and many other great features (not least of which is amazingly responsive customer service from the always-helpful Brenna).

UPDATE:
She's back on Upsaid.

First, let me state for the record that I no longer am a pothead (as of six months or so). For friends who haven't spent much time with me in recent months, that may seem a preposterous claim, and I can't blame you for thinking so, but it's true. For some reason, 2003 was the year I decided to give it a rest, and it's stuck.

That said, I'm still a pothead in my heart of hearts. And somehow last night I found myself in a conversation with a few other potheads about a major peeve of mine: Europeans' instistance on rolling joints with tobacco. This is completely retarded! There should be a law against this. European's simply shouldn't be allowed to smoke pot if they're going to so denegrade it thusly.

Why do they do this? God only knows. ("It burns better." Bullshit.) I have a theory that I'm sure it correct: habit, because this is the way they (and their older brothers and sisters) always smoked hash, which had been (or still is, for all I know) much more common on that continent than grass. Mixing hash with tobacco is fine. I have no problem with that. Lord knows I've tried, but, in fact, you cannot smoke just a joint of pure hash. You have to mix it with tobacco or it won't burn.

But grass burns just fine without tobacco. And critically, it tastes much, much better without tobacco. Marijuana is the ambrosia of smoke products. Cigarette tobacco is the McDonald's of smoke products. Rolling a joint with tobacco just demonstrates A) you're a cheap bastard and are trying to ration your pot to make it go farther, which is just tacky when you're sharing it with other people, and B) you prefer to get mildly buzzed and dizzy from nicotine rather than properly stoned.

I should just let it go, I know, but honestly, I'm still fuming (so to speak) about it this morning. Thank you for classical music and...all that other great stuff your contintent has contributed to world culture, but please, leave pot smoking to the experts. Stick to hash. Or, by all means, ruin your joints when smoking back in your own countries, but please, leave your quaint Old World customs back in the Old World, and when in Rome (as in Rome, Georgia; Rome, New York; Rome, Idaho; Rome, Illinois; Rome, Kentucky; Rome, Maine; Rome, Missouri; Rome, Mississippi; Rome, Ohio, or anywhere else in America), please, smoke big fat doobies the way Jah intended.

It is my great pleasure to announce GenerationExpat.com, a collaborative (hopefully) weblog devoted to those who lived in Budapest, Prague and other locales in Eastern Euro in the early 1990s.

Please help spread the word, and if your name or the name of someone else you know does not appear on the list of friends but should do, apologies in advance, and please advise.

Miki is having a party Saturday night at his fabulous pad in Greenpoint. Spread the word. If you need directions, email him or me.

Gives a whole new meaning to "Ho, ho, ho."

Via Fleshbot, of course.

If you're still looking for even more insight into how the mind of the dating woman works, Maccers provides "The Modern Drunk’s Guide to Dating (Women) Part I." The parenthetical "Women" is a bit confusing, as it's advice for women, not for men about dating women. But, of course, you can easily employ some reverse psyche and use these tips to know what mines to avoid, such as "8. Never date a man who drinks Cosmopolitans on your first date. He shaves his balls and wears stacks" (what are "stacks"?); "14. Never date a man who looks deeply into your eyes and tells you his marriage is fucked. So is his life," and "16. Never date a man who brushes his teeth after lunch. He will avoid cunnilingus."

Wow, are these creatures inscrutable.

I SAID CALL ME CRAZY!!!!!

(My stepbrother's joke. Funny guy, he.)

Along those lines, this New Yorker Shouts & Murmurs piece, "I Killed Them in New Haven," had me snorting and chortling on the bus yesterday, to the mild distress of some fellow passengers.

My adorable two-year-old nephew, Little Ricky, is learning the alphabet. Sort of. So far, he's got only a handful of letters, including "bada-boo" (for double-u). Isn't that cute as hell?

He also calls his aunt Lupe, "Poopy." Now that is cute!

The thing about stereotypes is that they are very often true. For example, what the hell is up with women and shoes?

I bought two pairs of shoes over the weekend. Adi has been after me to buy a new pair of shoes for over a year. I average about a new pair of shoes every two years. So, walking by an Aldo's store at 85th and Broadway on Saturday, I saw they were having a 30% off sale, and I just got a big paycheck, so I decided what the heck. Anything to make the wife happy.

I bought a brown pair and a black pair, as shown here. That's about all I could tell you about them. Actually, I'm even a bit self conscious about them. They're perhaps too stylish for me. That boxy, squared-off-toe look I've noticed seems to be popular, though I think it looks a little too pretentious for me. But whatever. They were cheap: $65 and $45.

This would definitely not be something I'd normally think to blog about, but I'm just stuck by the contrast between my attitude towards shoes (need to shod feet, nagging wife, sale) and a lovely lady blogger I keep tabs on, Maccers. After a breakup, she splurges several hundred dollars on a pair of shoes:

It's true I have never been this happy. Never been more excited to introduce a new object of my affection to my friends and even let them try them out. I have been waiting my whole life for this and it was so worth it. ... At the store walking around in them, the tears finally came.

I know this will be the best relationship of my life.

My favorite is Anna's comment: "Those make me all tingly in my no-no place."

Again, NYC, the lowest crime of any big city in America. Eurotrash, take note.

I mean, art. The beguiling Giles is having a show, Chelsea, Thursday. Do come.

We live in the basement. It's not as bad as it sounds, as the building is built on a hill, so out our windows at the back of the building we look out from a flight up above the street. But, when you enter our building, you take the elevator down to the basement. Or you can walk down the stairs...through the garbage area.

Yes, we dwell with garbage, or down the hall from it, anyway. But if you think that sounds bad, your loss. Steadily, we are furnishing our entire apartment with things our neighbors have thrown away. Not broken-down junk covered in coffee grounds and rotten cabbage. Stuff you'd actually want inside your home. Or we would, anyway.

Mostly, furniture and other useful stuff is left in the hallway by the elevator, not out with the bags and cans. To date, our scores have included the following:

• Two (working) turntables
• A coffee table
• A swiveling bar stool
• A giant cat tree
• A bookcase
• Another small table
• Other stuff

This weekend, however, Adrienne, who, it must be said, is the master dumpster diver in our family, scored the mother load: a 27-inch Panasonic TV (and video hutch/TV stand). Works beautifully. Great picture, and we're able to hook it up to our stereo, which we hadn't with the previous 19-inch Sony. Adrienne, ironically, has been grumbling about wanting a larger TV for several months.

Only complaint is no remote control. A universal remote from Radio Shack doesn't work for it. I was a serious remote jockey in recent years -- a poor man's TiVo. For the time being, I'm getting up off the couch for every channel change. It's a hard toke of reality, like a throw-back to the 1950s, but it's better than buying a new 27-inch TV. I assume I can ultimately buy a remote that will work.

My friend Peter Sherman came up with a brilliant idea this afternoon: now that we have Saddam in captivity, Howard Dean should consider inviting him to be his vice presidential running mate for the 2004 election. Think about the synergies:

• They both hate Bush.

• They were both against the Iraq war.

• Hussein has 25 years of experience running a country.

• He also has extensive experience in foreign affairs.

• Plus, Hussein is an intelligence expert and has even worked with our CIA.

• Hussein could help us mend fences with our estranged European allies, where he's so popular.

They could position themselves as the "Angry Ticket."

Another great idea Peter had was for the Fab Four to do a Queer Makeover of Saddam's spider hole.

Incredibly, this does not seem to be a parody, although it's obviously crying out for one (I actually discovered it via a banner ad on NYTimes.com). I've done my part and submitted it to Fark for ridicule; we'll see if they take me up on it (please, please, please, Drew, not for the Bruner Blog, but for your country). If anyone could please savage it in the meantime, I would have a merrier Christmas. The only reason I could think to buy it would be the pleasure I'd find shoving it in the box and never again openning it.

Fuck NYU. I can't believe that NYU is going to be so heartless as to put its own bottom line ahead of the value of the venerable arts institution the Bottom Line night club over a rent dispute. Moreover, I can't believe that there weren't some rich arts lovers that couldn't pony up the mesely $190,000 at dispute here (e.g., Bruce Springstien). I can only imagine that a year from now people going to be dismayed that it's really gone, like Penn Station, standing around scratching their balls wondering how it could have happened.

Shit, I bet bloggers could raise $190,000 in PayPal contributions if we put our mind to it...

Ever wonder how much of a lush you are? Ask the Drink-o-Meter. Take its results, however, with a grain of salt (or a fistful of RU21, as the case may be).

According to this stupid thing, I'm a "Homer Simpson," which doesn't sound good. Maccers, whom I must credit for this find, rated an "Ozzy Ozborn." Do you suppose that's worse than a Homer Simpson? I certainly hope so, as she's a much greater alcoholic than I am, judging at least by the exploits she blogs about regularly. In fact, it asked how often I go out for drinks, and I said once a week (possibly a slight undercount) and I said I have three drinks in such an outing (again, a possible undercount), and that rated a Homer? Come on, Homer has a lot more than three beers a week. Besides, it didn't even ask about all the drinking I do alone at home (I am graciously sipping a Maker's Mark as I type this).

A "Dean Martin" I wouldn't have complained about, though I don't know whether that's an option.

If you haven't heard yet, Adi has a new job: assistant editor of ABC's hit reality show Extreme Makeover. I know it sounds like I'm making that up, but really, it's true. See for yourself: she gets her first credit on tonight's show, 9pm (8pm Central).

God bless Mad Magazine. Fine print definitely worth a click-through for a larger view. ("Sticks his head up his own ass!")

More along these lines here.

More WNYC boosting, here's an interesting-sounding free event I plan to attend on Monday:

Media, Profit and the Public Interest: The Economist vs. The Nation

• Monday, December 15
• Columbia University
• Roone Arledge Auditorium in Alfred Lerner Hall
• Broadway, between 114th and 115th Streets
• 7 - 9pm
• Admission is free and no reservations are necessary

More details.

I just heard that tomorrow, Friday the 12th, Mark Palmer, the U.S. Ambassador to Hungary when the country transitioned to democracy, will be a guest on WNYC's Leonard Lopate Show. Palmer will be discussing his new book, Breaking the Real Axis of Evil: How to Oust the World's Last Dictators by 2025. I don't know exactly what time the interview will air, but the show airs from noon to 2pm. So for all you NYC-based Hungarophiles who read the Bruner Blog on a daily basis, set your radio for 820 AM or 93.9 FM.

Was just working away here at home when suddenly someting exploded loudly outside. I looked out my window and saw people running across the McDonald's parking lot. (I live just over the McDonald's at 125th St. & Broadway, lucky me.) They didn't seem to be running in utter panic, and the explosion was loud enough to get my attention easily but not so loud as to terrify me, so I didn't figure the whole McDonald's had blown up. Nonetheless, my mind immediately turned to terrorism, anyway.

I went outside and around the corner and could see a few dozen people rubbernecking from across the parking lot. A fire engine was already there and sirens signaled more on their way. As I approached but couldn't yet see around the corner to the source of the explosion, someone asked me, "That's not your Lexus, is it?" Not bloody likely, fella, but thanks for asking.

As I got close enough, I could see a car parked on the street in front of the McDonald's was smoking from its hood. Not a car bomb, apparently, as it was intact, just smoking.

What I gathered from a couple of folks milling around was that something under the street had blown up, like a gas main. The unlucky car just happened to be parked in the wrong spot. Seems to me that one of the fire engines was already on the scene before the explosion, as it was parked there as soon as I looked out my window immediately after the bang. For about an hour before the explosion, the lights in my apartment had been flickering, to my increasing annoyance. After the boom, they're back to normal. I should be glad, I guess.

Ah, life in the big city.

I just saw last night the remarkable film Hukkle (pronounced something like "huuk-leh," and referring to the sound of hiccups). Set in the Hungarian village of Ozora with actual villagers, the film is something truly original. Totally without dialog, it is a real tour de force of cinematography, sound editing and film editing. The story, such that it is, is paced very slowly, some kind of weird Hungarian village version of Blue Velvet almost -- in that something is rotten under the surface of this innocent-seeming place. Fantastically imaginative filming by, I'm please to say, a friend of mine, Gergely Pohárnok, who used to be a photographer for Budapest Week (the newspaper I co-founded and edited) before he became one of Hungary's leading lights in the cinema industry. Written and directed by György Pálfi.

It plays tonight and tomorrow only at Cinema Village. Check it out if you can. Here are the official web site and the IMDB entry.

UPDATE:
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention earlier, watching this made it clear to me why Hungarians are the third fattest nation on earth.

I had an observation I thought was interesting/funny, but then I thought better of blogging it. Maybe later.

The mind boggles.

Bologna Sandwich, 2004! Bolagna Sandwich, 2004! Bologna Sandwich, 2004!

Flu, headcold, upset stomach, sore throat and more adorable plush viruses.

(Via Mark)

While I'm at it, I'm an uncle for the seventh time (counting step syblings, anyway, which I do; and a three-time grand-uncle, for that matter). Congrats to Chat and Joanna on the birth of the beautiful Avril Jenna, who has a brother Seth two years older to look out for her in life, lucky gal.

I'd missed this earlier, but hearty congratulations to blogger Denise Howell on the birth of her son, Thanksgiving day (talk about being thankful). She actually posted while in labor. 22 minute labor. Who the heck has only 22 minutes of labor?? Anyway, I have a bit of a crush on Denise, so I couldn't be happier for her and her husband (in an odd and doubtless inappropriate way).

For the second time in two weeks, I've baked fresh bread. Isn't that sexy?

I am a damn sucker for reality shows. I'm actualled bummed out that the tramp chose the pretty boy over the lovable schlub.

:-(

At least she wasn't a gold digger (for those of you who missed it, Average Joe turned out to be a geniune Joe Millionaire). And I suppose the lovable schlub is now NY's most eligible bachelor.

This pains me, but in all fairness, an updated is in order: it may be the shopper, not Wal-Mart, after all.

This is so mindblowing. A unanimous decision by a Louisiana school board to expell a student for having Advil in her purse. We live in a country that has lost its common sense.

Not to mention the 12 and 13-year-olds busted in Georgia for possession of parsley.

In case you are a friend and had heard about our planned party this Saturday, it's canceled. Fear not, though; I bought an awesome pair of speakers a few hundred dollars' worth of dance music in anticipation of the party, so it will be rescheduled soon, probably mid to late January. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, if you're a FOE (friend of Elizabeth), I've been advised to spread the word that she's having a birthday party this Thursday. If you're really a friend of hers, and not just some freaky stalker of hers (of which I'm sure she has plenty), drop her or me a note asking for the details.

Am I alone among liberals thinking that Howard Dean is a bad joke? As my mom said, I'd vote for a bologna sandwich against Bush, but if it came down to Dean versus a bologna sandwich, I may have to think about it, particularly if it were right before lunch time.

First of all, in the words of Rocky Horror Picture Show fans, where's your fucking neck? Has anyone else noticed the guy goes straight from ears to shirt collar?

Okay, that's not a real reason not to elect the guy president, but honestly, my dislike of him was immediate and visceral the first time I saw him, in the first debate. Perhaps more germane, of all the self-satisfied smirks in the political world today, Dean's is second only to Dubya's.

I don't claim to be any great political thinker, and I'm going to have to pay closer attention to atticulate exactly what it is I don't like about the guy. But then, I have a blog, so I get put my opinions out there. More than anything, I just don't think Dean is the guy who can win against Bush.

On pure policy message, my favorite Democrat is actually Carol Moseley Braun, though I realize hers isn't really a serious campaign. In terms of electability, I like Clark. When he announced, I really thought he was going to sweep the field. I don't understand what happened.

And now Gore comes out to endorse Dean. I'll be more than happy to eat these words in the future, but I'm really afraid this is the beginning of the end for the chances that we'll see the end of a Bush presidency next year.

UPDATE 12/9/03:

Letterman summed it up tonight: The guy who didn't beat Bush endorsed the guy who won't beat Bush.

I was going to offer my own paraphrased transcription of this from memory from last night, but I see Gothamist beat me to it. As one who has never blogged yet about Paris Hilton, I must insist it was very funny.

UPDATE:
Here's the episode via Real Video.

I've been meaning to get another tattoo for a while. If I had a vagina, I'd seriously consider getting one like this (though I suppose it might be a bit of a downer for one's sex life).

At last, an international political policy that makes sense.

This conservative hooha may have a point.

Golly, I love (and miss) the muppets.

I like my women like I like my coffee: a latte!

Spoken by Pepe, a crawfish character I don't remember from the original TV series.

Ananova reports:

A man has been buried up to his head by a brush turkey after he fell into a mating hole belonging to the bird in Australia.

The bird is believed to have tried to bury the middle-aged man in a mating ritual. ...

The man was left in the hole for some time until a passer-by saw him and alerted emergency services.

Several fire crews attended the scene, fighting back laughter as they extricated the man from the hole.

Where's a digital camera when you need one?

From Izzle Pfaff (an excerpt):

(The WIFE opens the oyster. Inside is a LEXUS car key sitting atop a dispiriting grey mass of former oyster meat. The WIFE squeals.)

W: What? Wha--? Is this . . .?

H: (Beaming) That's right. It's a gorilla-cock huge Lexus, my darling. Merry Christmas!

W: AAAAAHHH! Oh my God! This is . . . I love you! I love you! I . . . ah . . . hold on. Aren't these things around fifty thousand dollars?

(Via Anil)

Taking customer service concerns to a new level ("I got your special sauce right here!"):

A woman who ran down a McDonald's restaurant manager after she didn't get mayonnaise on her cheeseburger was sentenced to 10 years in prison Thursday for aggravated assault.

AP reports.

Looks like something you'd expect to see on Eurotrash, but I found it on Get, Give, Take, Have. It's actually just a nasty-looking fish.

Haven't seen a new post from Kim Jong Il for a while, which is sad.

Oh...my...God!

I'm speechless. (The story itself is incredible enough, but make sure to read all the comments, especially numbers 17 and 22.)

UPDATE:
I have been advised by a few readers that this post is so upsetting that I should not have linked to it, and that I may lose regular readers as a result. Therefore, proceed at your own risk. (To provide some context, it is basically women sharing shocking stories about bowel movements.)

Some sanctimonious gits in England run what they call the Plain English Campaign, annually dolling out a "Foot in Mouth Prize" for some mangler of the language. This year they awarded it to U.S. Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld for his memorable quote during a war briefing (MSNBC/AP report):

''Reports that say that something hasn't happened are always interesting to me, because as we know, there are known knowns, there are things we know we know,'' Rumsfeld said.

''We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns — the ones we don't know we don't know.''

Yes, it's slightly confusing, especially as he prefaces it all with "as we know," but it would take a small mind not to understand what he was saying. Moreover, when I first heard it -- live, I think, or around the time of the original press conference, anyway -- I thought it was a pretty intelligent philosophical thing to observe.

That is to appreciate not only what we know we don't know (astrophysics, for example, in my case) but also the things we don't know we don't know (I'd cite an example, but obviously I don't know what I don't know, though I'm constantly discovering it).

Believe me, I'm no fan of Donald Rumsfeld at this point, but to assert that his quote above is nonsensical is either the product of a very stupid or closed-minded people or, as I rather suspect, a lame attempt at a veiled political point: Rumsfeld (and by extension, Bush) is bad.

As all nine of you Bruner Blog readers must know by now, I suck at spelling. For some reason, it took me till today to ever experiment with Blogger's built-in spell checker. D'oh!

Anyway, I observed this great irony: it didn't recognize the words "blog" or "blogger."

Dork asked me to provide more recipes here. I can't remember having provided recipes before, but I do love to cook and live to serve Bruner Blog readers, so here you go. I actually heard this on NPR from some chef of a fancy Chinese restaurant and just made it today, and it was delish.

I went to an Asian market and bought wonton skins. Then I mixed together the leftover gravy, stuffing and some chopped turkey. I also brought out the rest of the cranberry relish (another great recipe itself, from Joy of cooking: a bag of fresh cranberries, an orange, including its rind and a cup (or less) of sugar, blended in a food processor and chilled for two days) and some of the leftover sweet potatoes.

I added a small bit of cranberry relish and sweet potatoes to the middle of the dumpling wrapper and topped it off with a dollop of the stuffing-turkey mix. (I found that putting the cranberry relish on the top had it bleeding out the seams, so that's why I started with the relish under the stuffing as I perfected it.) Seal it up (there must be a real technique to this, but I just folded the corners into the middle, which worked fine) and fry them in a table spoon of butter. The skins are obviously made to brown nicely without a lot of oil, so you don't need to deep fry them, just saute them.

Yummy!

I wrote the post below on the back of a bank deposit slip while riding the bus, just after leaving the doctor's office, while the incident was still fresh in my...mind. It occurred to me it might be funny to leave the bank slip on the bus for some other rider to read and marvel at.

Then I thought it would be a cute promotional utility for bloggers if some clever coder out there developed a widget that let you take a given post and convert it into a format that you could then print on standard Avery labels, including the URL of your blog. For longer posts, the widget could cut off the post with "..." at a certain number of characters, depending on selected font and point size.

Then you could take provocative-sounding posts like mine below, simply print them on labels and leave then on bathroom walls, bus seats, etc., as a promotional gimmick for your blog.

I believe I have too much time on my hands...

An older gentleman stuck his finger up my butt this afternoon. He was gracious enough about it; indeed, he was a medical doctor. That didn't make the experience much less unpleasant, though.

Don't worry, I'm fine, thank you. Medically, anyway. He prescribed Raisin Bran and Metamucil.

I believe I will need to go to the Bulgarian Bar this Saturday and paw very drunkenly at pretty women in their 20s to recover from the indignity.

...seeing an episode of Seinfeld I'd never seen before.