Every year I look forward to the Buffalo Beast's annual countdown of the 50 Most Loathsome Americans. This year's nominees are even more deserving than previous honorees, although Nicole Richie is a an odd choice in my mind. She's so irrelevant in the grand scheme it's hard to take her seriously as "loathsome." I personally wouldn't give her anything higher than "extremely annoying" or possibly "nausea-inducing." GWB takes top honors as the country's number one most loathsome individual. Desperate for an explanation of how we ended up with this amoral dimwit as "the decider" not once, but twice, the authors suggest one explanation for his (supposed) election and (supposed) re-election is the country's enlightenment about providing opportunities for the mentally handicapped.
... of our main stream media (MSM). Only a die-hard, glass half-full type could possibly come up with this headline: With One Year To Go, Bush's Legacy a Mixed Bag. His legacy is a "mixed bag?" Isn't that like calling a dismally gray day where only one teensy ray of sunshine manages to briefly sneak through "partly sunny?" Of course, it's a matter of perspective. If I were KBR or Halliburton, for instance, I would no doubt robustly celebrate his "legacy." For the rest of us, though, not so much.
Story out of Florida: Baby Jesus gets GPS. And I didn't even know he could drive!
Turns out is a perfectly legit theft-prevention measure, but you gotta admit the headline is an eyebrow raiser.
Again, most of the pictures I post are courtesy of Cute Overload. The picture in the middle, however, is our own tragic "Rudi" post-surgery for a gash she got from trying to help herself to apple cider from a glass jug (Why? Because it was there). Not sure where the first picture came from. I found it on my desktop--just another gift from the Tongue Fairy, no doubt. The kitty "hammock" picture is from Cute Overload--an absolute daily requirement for anyone who likes animals or needs to exercise their smile muscles.
I'm reading The Letters of Noel Coward by Barry Day and finding myself inspired to compose verse. I'm sure Mr. Coward would be proud. The first selection, Ode to Meghan's Stomach, is an ode to my daughter Meghan's stomach. The inspiration for this piece comes from my daughter, Meghan, and her upset tummy. Meghan has two horses (Falcon and Shadow) and three spleens (not yet named). The spleen situation is a condition called polysplenia that can happen to people with PCD (see links at right).
WARNING: The following poems may be (or pretty much should be) offensive to anyone with good taste and serious literary sensibilities. You've been warned.
ODE TO MEGHAN’S STOMACH
“What’s wrong with Meghan’s stomach?”
Said the pony to the mare,
“Could it be the painful waistband
On her cotton underwear?”
“Or perhaps it’s just a symptom
Of bad habits she’s acquired
Like breakfasting at Starbucks
So she starts her days out wired.”
“And remember,” said the pony
“That she’s not like you and me.
We walk around with one spleen—
She walks around with three.”
“Could it be that the discomfort
Is a matter of no space,
For all those little splenules
And the stuff that they displace?”
“Or maybe,” said the mare
She’s been jostled to the max
By all our fancy stepping
When she’s riding on our backs?”
“I guess we better cool it
And tiptoe ‘round the ring
Until we know for certain
What’s causing this strange thing.”
“Or play at being sickly
Moan and role our eyes,
Hang our heads, limp around
Languish in our ties”
“Turn our nose up at our food
And turn down every treat
Until she’s gone away from here--
At which time we will eat.”
“I think that plan is brilliant!”
Said the pony to the mare,
She’ll certainly not ride on us
If she thinks that we’re impaired.”
“And then her painful stomach
Won’t be jostled to the max
By bouncing this and that way
While riding on our backs.”
This next selection, Waiting for My Presents, was written while I was waiting for my presents--to arrive from my dear friends Lynn, Ken and Mikey Ehrne in New York. Why, oh why does it take so long?....
Waiting For My
Presents
A ChrismaSurpaHannaday Poem by Michele Manion
Waiting for my presents
To come in a big box
From New York State
At parcel rate
Delivered to my block
And it would be quite grand
If UPS,
With much success,
Would put them in my hands
Waiting for my presents
And that's why I'm inspired
To write these rhymes
And pass the time
Until they've been acquired
Waiting for my presents
And wouldn't it be very
Appropriate
If I should get
A rhyming dictionary!
Some more adorable sleeping pics courtesy of CuteOverload.com
Aren't they sweet when they're sleeping?
Every now and then I just can't help myself. Doing my morning news browsing, I ran across this actual headline from a Denver news station:
Officials Test Dead Squirrel That Bit Child
Obviously, this was too good to ignore. I was compelled to write to the station editor:
"Hate to be a grammar Nazi, but how exactly does a dead
squirrel bite a child? I actually thought that there may be some
weird, exciting twist to this story, like the injury was caused by
postmortem squirrel spasms or something. Alas, after reading the
article I was disappointed to discover that this was not the
case. I have to assume, then, that the squirrel was not in fact dead
at the time of the "alleged" bite, and that this is just an example of
sloppy editing. Thank you, Denver 7, for providing a good giggle (the visual was priceless) and for inspiring me to write a new
series of children's books featuring a reanimated squirrel (Hairy
Squatter?) engaged in a monumental personal battle of good vs. evil.
Hairy must fight his dark impulses--represented by rabidly biting
innocents--to fulfill his destiny of defeating evil rodents (
e.g. "Vole-da-mort" aka "he who must not be maimed") set on taking over the world. What do you think?"
