My bitchin sock-tan makes me feel athletic.

That's all I got.

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Somebody call a doctor

Because if you don’t, I’m just going to keep diagnosing myself with outrageously stupid and improbable diseases, such as: Lupus-I don’t even know what this is. I found a lump on my neck and decided it was lupus. Lupus just sort of sounds like a disease that would cause a bumpy neck. Toxic shock syndrome- I was convinced I had days to live after accepting a tampon from a stranger at a Macaroni Grill somewhere in North Carolina. Crohn ’s disease-I think Wyoming just doesn ’t have great produce. Fear of my fly being down-How do they have a name for a fear of peanut butter but not this? I swear it’s real, and I suffer from it. Social Anxiety Disorder-daily. Tramel confirmed this with her Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition ( DSM -IV), so this is legit. Trisomy X (also known as having three vs. two X chromosomes)-freshman year of William and Mary. I’m phenotypically normal and would be happy to believe that I demonstrate a slight statistical knockdown in...
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Economy Watch (Or, an Exercise in Parentheses)

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In light of recent news that our super great Government is now looking to give the super great US auto-industry $25 billion of the $700 billion bailout (imagine: 700 billion frosties ), I can’t help but wonder: WTF (What the f*ck)? I thought the money (my money, your money) was meant to stabilize the US financial system, not our crappy auto industry. I dig that a lot of people are employed making (bad) US vehicles and they’d “lose their jobs” (become unemployed), but come on. This is a clear case of “been there, done that” (in Latin: shouldus knowest betterest by nowest ) which resulted in little to no innovation on the bailoutees ’ part (read: shitty cars or big cars or ugly cars or the movie Transformers, basically a really long, really bad GM commercial that even Optimus Prime couldn ’t save). I owned a GM vehicle in college, and frankly, I’m thinking Nancy Pelosi should be lobbying the Bush administration to give me $25 billion as pay-back for my car breaking down all the god...
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nine to five

This is an homage to my work place (DMT) created in the midst of a desperately needed mental health break from the Nonsense that is my full-time job. And all jokes aside, my office really has been running the dishwasher on “rinse” for sodding months. Delicious. If you Google DMT, you get the other DMT, Dimethyltryptamine, a naturally occurring and potent psychedelic drug. My DMT, by contast, is not naturally-occuring and is more impotent than psychedulic. It also, interstingly, does not make it to Google’s first page of hits, unlike the following headings: making DMT, how to get DMT, saliva (my personal favorite), and DMT trips. My workplace helps social entrepreneurs implement social solutions. (If you know the term and/or regularly use the term “social entrepreneur,” go hang yourself). So, without further ado: DMT DC Perpetuates Plague with Bad Dishwasher Interpretation “This explains why my ‘Don’t Bother Me, I’m Crabby’ mug always has crap in it,” Associate Analyst and dish-user Ma...
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