This Spam Comment made my day.

     Coming straight out of a Russia from a spambot identified only as “paris:”

Outsoles are made of enduring compounds and are in a Queer Street needle of left over shoe existence….

     It’s brilliant.  It’s actually a sentence!

     According to the rules of “Pirate Chicks” (I don’t date and/or do Pirate Chicks) I stay in line.  Mind you, those were my own rules, if for nothing else than to cut down on drama.  I love those girls, and I’ll stand up for any one of them at any time for almost any reason.
     Some conditions do apply — they make their own rules, and can make their own mistakes, and take their own consequences.  But I’d like to think we all know each other well enough that no lines will ever be crossed.  We do what we need to do, and we respect each other enough to step on one anothers’ toes.
     I like that.  It’s friendship.  It’s what we do.
     My Pirate Chicks.
     Cuz I’m possesive like that, and hey, like the Pirate Princess said, I was Pirate enough to Hijack the booty …

We are Mark’s Pirates because he said we are.  He sought out the treasure in true Pirate form and laid claim to the booty.  (In a manner of speaking, of course.  LOL  We all know you don’t date Pirate Chicks, Mark.)   All treasure is not silver & gold, mate.  Some things are better and worth a whole lot more.

     But, there’s this guy, Marty Ray.  He’s the one who brought the whole “Pirate” thing together with an annual Pub Crawl, complete with a designated driver (on a bus, with lots of Jell-O Shooters).
     Thanks, Marty Ray.
     He’s real Karaoke Afficianado.
     It’s not your plain-jane, “Hey, we gonna sang some sheeyit!” Karaoke.  Instead, he plays “popular” music in between, and pretty much keeps the crowd entertained.
     Tonight, I went to one of his shows, propagated by the ass, errrrrrrr, girl, in my Flirting 101 blog… (Ed – Sam: Yeah, that deserves a slap.  Oh, Baby!)

      I had a good time, actually.  I didn’t expect that.

      When I got there tonight at 10PM, the place was a little empty.  A few college kids, not much going on in general.
     But by 11:30PM, there was a line out the door.
     You sit around, being “old,” and just kinda watch for a while.  You have a laugh at the guys “trying” to hit on girls and getting slapped in the face.  You have a laugh at the girls swaggering out the door (even though they’ve been drinking Coca Cola all night) with the object of their affection.
     You have a laugh, basically, at the whole, “Been there, done that, and you are certainly a dumbass!” of it all.
     But I found that every ten minutes or so, some hot young thing would come up and ask me, “What am I drinking?” and I’d tell her how, regardless of that fact that she hates gin, she’d enjoy a Gin & Tonic the way I make them.  I’d instruct the bartender, and she’d love it, and pretty much offer me anything I desired.
     Else, one of them would come up and rub my closely shaven head, and tell me how sexy I am.
     Or, one of them would come up and just ask me, straight out, “Are you going home alone tonight?”

      When you’re old enough to be their father, that kinda crap just seems … weird.  And that’s a good thing.
     Then again … It’s a serious ego-boost to know that I’m still sexy at my age.
       But all in all, it certainly feels good to hear all these young kids singing along to the songs you know.   It also feels good to know that they’re making some of the same dumbass mistakes you made when you were their age.

     For all the stupidity of the night, I had a damn good time.

     I even gained a little faith in the future.
     I mean, at least they’re not fighting each other like we did…
     Maybe they will be a better generation…

     Certainly, they know how to make an “old man” feel pretty damn good by asking him to take them home.

     Especially after they’ve been drinking Coca Cola all night.

     You’re in a bar, let’s say.  The guy next to you says, “Oh, man, check out that ass!”
     “Go talk to her!”
     “Nah, I’m shy and quiet.”

     You pull out your trusty digital camera, and start snapping pics of different stuff going on, and offer to take a few of the girl.  When she turns around to walk away, you snap a picture of her butt.  
     When you come back and sit at the table, you show him the pictures you took of her.
     As she walks by, you show her.  Women love to look at their own photos.  She says, “Oh, nice pic, bad pic, oooooh, I hate that one…”
     Then you get to the butt pic.  “Ooooh, that’s nice…”
     She says, “Yeah, it is!  Whose butt is that?”
     “Yours,” you grin.  “But I’ll bet we can do a better one than that.”

     And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you get a hot young thing to climb up and lean over the bar and stare back at you seductively as you snap off a few more shots.

     Any questions?

     This article from the Britain Sunday Times …

[Tennis-star, Martina] Navratilova defended the “right” of sheep to be gay.

     *cough*

     Do gay sheep bleat with a lisp?

     Just before leaving to go out and do some onsite work, I got a Contact Email from a Richard Carrion:

This is a penis shaped fry bought from Jack in the Box restaurant 12/5/2006.  It’s being sold on ebay and already has 6000 visitors, 191 watching and $460 in bids.  That’s news, alright.  It still has 3 days to go!

     Thanks, Richard, for that interesting tidbit.

     I couldn’t help but be reminded of a thread on Tiki Central a couple years ago, making fun of a potato chip formed in the image of the great, stone idol Maoi… And the cartoon I made about its demise as the item was re-listed…

     I could make an animated GIF of a Jimmy-in-the-Box for this new one, but I digress.  😉