Most Delicious Body Of Christ

What's 6 feet tall, 200 lbs. and tastes better than a Eucharist wafer? It's the chocolate Jesus, of course.

I'd love to believe this Catholic League press release that says the public will be invited to eat chocolate Jesus, but, c'mon, it's the Catholic League. I'm too familiar with crazy to believe anything they have to say. But hypothetically, I could use a chunk to make chocolate Jesus scrotum chip cookies or some other similar delicacy. I wonder if my co-workers would eat such delights.

My sources tell me that after the Catholic League first complained, the artist did make a second Jesus to appease them. This one was made of white chocolate, which correctly ignores history in aligning with the Catholic view of a white Jesus. However, since both Jesi were depicted sans loin cloth and "anatomically correct", the white Jesus did not measure up and that is why the Catholic League is so upset.

A classic case of chocolate penis envy.

What About That "Exit Only" Tattoo?

On the bus that goes between the parking lot and the airport terminal there is this sign on the window (note the background signs that accidentally captured, too):Every window had either that giant "NON EMERGENCY EXIT" sign or a couple of big red handles on it. Is this a big problem? Are people becoming trapped in buses, desperately trying to open the windows without handles? Are the people sitting by the windows with the handles ignoring them? At work there's a door with a sign overhead that says "Not an Emergency Exit". If there's an emergency, can I use it? Even stranger, there's a button next to the door that unlocks it. It says "Emergency Use Only." WTF?

Or maybe it's me. Maybe I'm misreading the sign. Maybe the window is actual for non emergency exiting. I can see that since almost every time I'm on one of these buses I want to throw myself out a window. Any window. Even one that doesn't open.

One last trip/party related item. (Do not adjust your eyes or monitor, that picture is blurry.)
This is a small section of a card sent to my parents. The gist is that the couple sending it made a donation to a charity in my parents name. As you can see, the couple wanted to ensure that my parents knew that this was a generous donation, as opposed to just a plain donation so they actually wrote the word "generous" in.

How should that be interpreted? Is a generous donation inherently larger than a donation? If so, by how much? Is this the charitable gift version of a "guerre de penis"? (probably NOT work safe)

Non-emergency blog exit.

Allahu Akbar Security Guard

It just so happened that a couple of my cousins were on the same flight as me back from Florida so my parents drove the three of us to the airport this morning.

Going through "security" was, as usual, ridiculous. Remember, this is Florida in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week. Care to guess the average age of the potential terrorists trying to sneak through security?

We were on a regular security line. The line next to us, although unlabeled, was different. It had one of those machines that puffs air at you (like Alien Encounter at Disney) and can detect:

• a recent flatus,
• whether you're wearing deodorant (and hence whether you are French or not),
• minute particles of explosives.

If you are on this line, when you take off your shoes someone will start yelling at you that you and your shoes need to go through the puffer machine. While yelling, everyone in the next two non-puffer lines will start putting their shoes back on. This brings out a second yeller. If the TSA is allowed to unionize, I suggest the first thing they do is protect the yellers from being replaced by cheap, foreign-made signs saying whether you need to remove your shoes or not.

I get through the screening unscathed. I've lost enough toothpaste to know the rules by now. One cousin was not so lucky. Apparently she had some make-up in liquid form still in her bag. Liquid base sounds very suspicious. As a TSA employee went through her handbag removing all liquids and placing them in her quart-sized zip top bag, I saw another potential terrorist being patted down.

This woman looked to be about 90. She was in a wheelchair. Since wheelchairs can't go through the metal detector (hey, why not make plastic wheelchairs for the airport?) they have to pat these people down. All the way down. The even made her lean forward so they could pat her ass. They asked her to put her arms straight out to her sides but, apparently, she could not move one arm. The helpful TSA employee took that arm and held it out for her as she patted it down with her other hand. Whew! That was close!

Meanwhile, my cousin is now having her other bag searched because once they find one thing, God knows what else you might have. (There's another good idea. Hire God to check people's bags. For chrissakes, he's omniscient! He can detect anything; keep your shoes on, no puff required. You could even paint arms on the wings of the planes......maybe, I'll just stop here.)

More trip fun as I remember it.

Midas Touched Me Here And Here

I brought my car in to get inspected today. I had a coupon for $34.99 at Midas which was pretty cheap. I think it was about $50 wherever I took it last year.
I had planned to wait around for it but I had some stuff at work I wanted to do. Despite the fact that I no longer care about my job on a conscious level, something in my subconscious will not allow me to do a half-assed job. There used to be someone I could talk to to get pointers (he was actually able to do a full-assed job) but he no longer sits near me. Another guy that does a half-assed job also moved recently due to his promotion. I've got nobody to ask for help.
I dropped off my car a little early then walked the 1.5 miles back home. I had thought about running but decided to wait until it warmed up a bit (from 20).
Here's the unbelievable part: they called at 11 to tell me my car was ready! In all of my years of bringing my car in for any kind of service I have never had the service people actually call me. I've always had to call them only to find out "Oh, yeah, it's been ready for a couple hours. Didn't we call you?"
I decided to run back, taking a circuitous route to make it around 3.5 miles. There was one customer in the waiting area who was nonplussed to see someone walk in wearing shorts and no jacket. The service manager was unfazed. As he got my paperwork together, I realized I had left the coupon in my jacket at home. Damn. Oh well, how much could it be?
"$27.40 with tax," said the manager. I paid and thought, "What in the? Would they have charged me more if I had brought the coupon? Weird."
I noticed one of my road atlases sitting on the back seat and when I turned around to put it away, I noticed that my History of China CD's were missing. Aha! No wonder it was so cheap, they stole my friggin' CD's right off the back seat!
Of course, a minute later, I found them under the front seat where they had obviously slid during the "stop short brake test". Since I found them before going back to the store to confront them, I only felt like half an ass. Now, if I can just apply that to my work...

The Hole In My Ass

Yeah. That's my ass. Try not to stare.

This is the third pair of jeans I've worn out on the left ass cheek. My bony ass is apparently non-symmetric or I favor my right cheek. Which cheek is your favorite? This is somewhat related to my recent NYC Marathon blog post about keeping my weight up. Obviously the problem has expanded while my ass has not.

Not long ago I was mostly only eating one nut but now I have cashews, almonds and peanuts (yes, they're legumes, I know) in the house. So, I am working on increasing my ass cushioning.

But the larger problem is that these jeans are at their most comfortable right now. And the hole certainly was not there (or at least not this big) this morning so it is growing rapidly. I tried with a previous pair of jeans to patch them with one of those iron-on patches but that ripped after two wearings. You would think that someone would want to make a product that would keep my ass in my pants, right?

Ideally, I'd keep one of these holey pair of pants and use it for patches on the next holey pair but that would require a sewing machine which I don't have access too.

Signal Ahead

Every area of the country has some unwritten rules of driving. I'm told that in Boston, when a light first turns green, people turning left will make their turn even though they have no green arrow. In Florida, if you want to get somewhere fast, you need to surf the ever-present ambulances. In Seattle, cars actually yield to pedestrians.
Around here there are still some rules I don't quite get. At a 4-way stop, the first to stop is the first to go only if the first to stop is not making a left across the way of the second to stop. In this case, the first to stop is supposed to wave the second to stop through or vice-versa. The first to wave is the second to go. I don't know what happens in a wave tie. I refuse to wave because I actually know the rules for a 4-way stop.
On my way home, if I go a certain way, I'm traveling west on a street that has an intersecting north-bound street. For people traveling east, there is only a small turn lane and that can sometimes cause traffic to back up a little going east. Quite often I'll get behind someone (or several cars behind them) traveling west who will stop at the intersection and start waving cars through. I suppose these people think they are being polite and doing a good deed but, in fact, they are not.

1. They are nearly causing an accident by stopping on a through street for no (good) reason.
2. They are being rude to the people heading west who then stack up behind them.
3. They are causing a logjam of westbound traffic that eliminates the westbound traffic gaps that normally occur so that the next eastbound left turner (the one who missed Mr. or Mrs. Politeness) is stuck for quite a while.

Let me know of any unwritten traffic rules where you live.

Post Up

This post is for all the people that told me that I'm not updating my blog often enough.

Non Sequitur

In case you are interested, I've started yet another blog; this one is only temporary. You might enjoy it if you're the kind of person that sits around on the first Sunday of November every year and watches 5 or 6 hours of non-stop NYC Marathon coverage on TV. Personally, I only know one person so pathetic but he is already busy writing the blog.
Mostly it'll be one of those diary-type blogs. I ate this before running today. I wore these shoes. I ran this far. I threw up previously referenced food. That sort of thing. Anything funny that pops up, I'll post (or at least link to) here. There's a link to the new blog over on the side.

Check Out Ann's Ugly Crack

Normally, a person who is a member of a group is allowed to use slurs that would be considered offensive to that group (and that group only). Only black people can use the n-word. Jews can use the k-word. Handicapped people can use the c-word. Only women can use the other c-word. Only Italians can use the d- or w- words. And only Albanians can use (or pronounce) the sh-word.

Some categories are not so clear. For example, can Ann Coulter us the f-word? Not the f-word, the other f-word. The pork of f-words, so to speak. Now, it's true that I didn't realize Jaye Davidson's character in The Crying Game was a transvestite until he dropped trow, so maybe I'm not the best judge. But check out that Adam's Apple! Tranny or no, she needs a chondrolaryngoplasty.

Is That A Banana In Your Video Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

This took longer to upload than it did to film and edit....and it shows.