Deutschland Deutschland über alles

München, Hochsommer, 38°C.

Auf gut bayrisch: es is sauhoaß! Mitten in der Isar steht ein Mann in Badehose und füllt einen Maßkrug mit Flußwasser. Als er daraus trinken will, brüllt ihn ein Münchner an:
"Hä, du, wos machst'n du do? Spinnst du vielleicht?
Du konnst doch ned des dreckerte Isarwasser saufa!
Da werst doch krank, kriagst an sakrischen Durchfoi und speib'n muaßt g'wiß aa drauf.
D'Hund und Katz'n scheiß'n eini, des is durch und durch mit Bakterien verseicht.
Konnst froh sei, wennst net draufgehst dabei!"

Der Mann in der Isar hält inne und ruft dem Bayern am Ufer zu:
"Wat ham se jesacht, Mann? Sprechen Se keen Deutsch, wa?"

Drauf plärrt der Bayer in perfektem Hochdeutsch noch lauter zurück:
"Gaaanz laaaangsam triiiiinken, daaaas Waaaaasser iiiiist seeeeehr kaaaalt!"

new fav website

The scary thing about this site is that there are actually pictures of real women with these Freudian wet dream phallic symbols out there.

best Strauß ever!

No really, I was investigating Richard, because he wrote the most famous piece of movie music ever made, and you absolutely must read the whack comments under the video. I thought he would be a good opposite to Herr Schönberg whose music is most certainly not schön, who I will subject myself to listening to soon. If I come back down of the big mountain. Alas, Richard was German, but he doth have a few Austrian name sakes. Which are described as follows by Wikipedia:

The origin of the name Strauß lies possibly in the Middle High German word strûz, meaning "fight". Alternatively, it may have been adopted for individuals with a long neck, in allusion to "straussenvogel", i.e. an "ostrich". Commonly misinterpreted as Straße or Strasse, the German word for street, many emigrants to America or England were renamed Street.

Seriously...

Petitionswut - Petitionmania

I am happy that my French is attrocious; otherwise this would have to be trilingual.

Das ganze artet jetzt wirklich schon aus. In den letzten drei Wochen habe ich 27 Petitionen geschrieben. Und auch abgeschickt. Nie war es leichter seine Meinung im öffentlichen Raum einzubringen und dafür sage ich ‚god bless america and the internet’. Unter anderem schrieb ich an die österreichische Außenministerin, wirklich der neue Titel ist zu lang (note to self: write a petition about this), um die Tibeter, wenn nicht zu retten wenigstens zu beachten. An Den Standard um für selbigen Zustand Presseaufmerksamkeit einzufordern. An meine US Congress Representaten um meinem Unmut über die diversen staatlichen Goldenen Fallschirme Ausdruck zu verleihen. An ABC (US Fernsehsender) um ihnen zu sagen, dass ich es zum kotzen, und baldigen schwitzen finde, dass sie nach der zweiten Präsidentendebatte Kohle- und Ölindustriewerbungen zeigen aber einen Spot verweigern der klarmacht, dass es auch mit grüner Energie geht.
Alle diese Dinge sind wertvoll, aber fragen tu ich mich trotzdem: Gibt’s eigentlich eine Antipetitionspetition?

============localized version==============

The whole thing is out of control. In the last three weeks, I have written and sent 27 petitions. Never was it easier to state ones opinion and have it heard in the public realm, and for that I say ‘gott schütze die USA und das Internet'. Amongst others I wrote to the Austrian Foreign Minister, seriously the new titel is too long (note to self: write a petition about this), to at least pay attention to the plight of the Tibetans, if not making an actual effort to help them. To "Der Standard" (Austrian NY Times like daily) to demand coverage of the same issue. To my US Representative in Congress to tell them how pissed I am about various government financed golden parachutes. To ABC, to tell them that I will vomit on my next cable bill if they continue to happily spout Oil and Coal lobby BS in Oil and Coal lobby ads after the presidential debates while refusing to show green ads that may show us that there could be better options to securing a positive energy future.
All of these things are valuable in and of themselves. But I still wonder: Is there an Antipetitionpetition?

faux palin 4

I guess we should have seen it coming. Sore loosers throwing mud to see what sticks. I think she just got sick of providing voluntary donations to John Stewart, and decided to make them involuntary. I am nevertheless surprised at the gall the woman and her campaign's strategists have. Sadly the boss of her campaign was subjected to exactly the same kind of smear tactics in the primaries of 2000, and rightfully if bitterly complained about it. Are our and John McCain's memories really this short? Does the end truly justify all means? Are there really 10k Californians that will cheer these comments forgetting that their Hero's patriotism, exemplified by his horrifying incarceration at the Hannoi Hilton, was dragged through the mud by his own party only 8 years ago? This is not a Faux Palin, its a Faux John McCain, and while I respected him before, this respect is going down the utubes rather quickly.

problem solved

Dr ÜB just gave me a brilliant IDEA to solve all the problems we currently face in this world. Every human will donate 1 dollar. That will put together about 6-7 Billion. The way the value of my house has been dropping because Palin's Joe Sixpack signed an ARM and Paulson made 600 Million of his dumb behind it should be easy to find a cheap piece of land. We buy this land with the donation and park all the ignorant , foreign-hating, greed-promoting, money-stealing, lie-telling, religion-loving, teenpregnancy-having, dinosaur-with-human-living, environment-polluting people there. Where they can then continue their merry dance of subprime intelligence without bothering us the hardworking, honest, tolerant, progressive, green paragons of humanity. We can then live in peace and enjoy the fruits of our labor, without having to subsidize and bail the dumbasses out every 10 years.

Here is my bankaccount # *&%@^$^$ (ok, you didnt really think I was going to post it here). We just gave Henry "the money shredding machine" Paulson 700 Billion. Whats another 7 Billion for a truly good cause? You trust me, dont you?!?

faux palin 3

You know how I asked you to beat the first funi faux palin video I sent out? And how many opportunities have there been since then? I know, you can't count them either. But none of them get remotely close to this one. This is the funniest thing I have seen since Georgieboy said he wanted to help Americans put food on their families. If you just cant stand her, go start at minute 1:18.



Just a reminder:
American population: 3% of world population
American energy consumption: 25% of world consumption

Chinese car mileage: 43 mpg
USA car mileage: As of 2004 27.5 mpg, new rules enacted in 2007 say that by 2025!!! cars need to be at 35 mpg.

Again: China 43 mpg : USA 27.5 mpg.

Funniest thing is Palin's Joe Sixpack (debate) sits at home goes "Yeah man, screw them polluuutin Chinks, and them Arabs too, driving them nice cars while I pay 4 bucks at the pump."

schöne zahnhygiene

Ein Zahnarztbesuch ist immer etwas Nettes. Es kommt natürlich darauf an zu welchem Klempner man geht, aber prinzipiell macht es doch Spaß. Vor allem weil die Schnuckis in der Rezeption einen wirklich davon überzeugen wollen, dass ein Zahnklempnerbesuch das Beste seit sliced bread ist. Ich schreibe dies anscheinend von einer vollkommen männlichen Perspektive. Wie die andere Art damit umgeht weiß ich natürlich nicht. Also, jedes Mal wenn ich da reinlatsche denke ich mir, die Kleine ist so süß die kann doch sicher nicht mal ihren eigenen Namen buchstabieren. Geschweige denn meinen leicht slawisch angehauchten. Wie wenn sie diesen Gedankengang mit ihren weiblichen Waffen erahnen könnte, blitzt sie mich dann aber mit ihren zahnklempnergebleichten Beißerchen nieder. Ich vergesse daraufhin mein Vorurteil und wundere mich angesichts des Engelsstrahlen nur noch was denn der Grund für meinen angfressenen Restemotionalzustand gewesen sein könnte.

Neulich ist mir wieder mal so eine Emotionalzustandsmanipulation passiert worden. Ich bereite mich also gerade auf die unendliche Warterei vor, da taucht überraschend sofort eine blendende blonde Bombshell vor mir auf und lädt mich ein ihr doch bitte zum vorgesehenen Kammerl zu folgen. Mach ich doch gerne, stehe aber letztendlich vor der Wahl zwischen zwei Prachtexemplaren der Zahntechnik, wenn man das so sagen darf. Unfreundliche ZAHNYGIENE Schilder A und B an den Rückwänden der einstmals heftig in pubertären Schulungsträumen integrierten Rückklappfoltersessel begrüßen mich und verjagen vergnügliche Erinnerungen an eben diese. Wie bei einer dümmlichen aus den USA eingeführten Gameshow steht da jeweils eine Dame neben ihrem Ungetüm. Eine blendet und blitzt einladend, die andere schaut verdrossen aus der Wäsch. Die eine flirtet mich an und die andere erinnert mich an eine DDR Schwimmerin aus den 80ern. Verzagt drehe ich mich zum Rezeptionschnucki, denn das kann doch nicht ihr Ernst sein, aber das Schnucki zuckt - mit den Schultern und schwingt davon. Normalerweise würde so eine Wahl gar keine Qual sein, aber in diesem Falle fühle ich mich vom Schicksal verarscht. Was, wenn das Schicksal weiß, dass ich weiß, dass es weiß, dass ich weiß…?

Ich übergebe mich Fortunas Armen und wähle die Schöne, weil wenn es schon schmerzen soll, dann mit Stil. Es dauert nicht lange, und ich weiß, dass das Schicksal wusste, was ich jetzt weiß. Genau genommen weiß ich es schon beim Hinsetzen, als sich die Schwimmerin leicht hämisch abwendet, als ob das Schnucki und sie schon Viele, von alten, netten Schulungsträumen träumende, in eine Schicksalsfalle gelockt haben.

Lieber Leser, du verstehst, dass nicht alle Zahnhygienedamen gleich gemacht sind. Die einen liebkosen deine dentalen Taschen, diese Ansammlungen von Bakterien, diese Kloaken deiner Speisegewohnheiten. Sie haben es geradezu darauf abgesehen die kleinen Tierchen mit Zuckerbrot aus den Untiefen deiner verschmutzten Fresse herauszulocken, denn Peitsche kennen sie nicht. Die Peitsche ist einfach nicht Teil ihres Makeups. Nun, so eine habe ich noch nie getroffen. Der andere Typ Zahnhygienedame ist dir sicher so vertraut wie mir. Zuerst schaut sie missbilligend da du es gewagt hast, deine dentalen Angelegenheiten in so einen Zustand verkommen zu lassen. Dann greift sie sich das längste, spitzeste und furchtgenerierendste Klempnerwerkzeug welches sie diesseits von Peters Perlentor finden kann, und schiebt es dir unter den Kiefer bis sie bei den Halsnasenhöhlen wieder rauskommt. Manchmal schon auch direkt unterm Augapfel. Meist wird diese Attacke von einem leicht enervierten tsts begleitet, so als ob sie es wirklich leidig wäre einem ungezogenen Jungen immer wieder dasselbe sagen zu müssen. So weh es auch tut, du kannst deinen Schmerz natürlich nicht wegbrüllen, weil du damit beschäftigt bist, nicht im immer präsenten Spülwasserstrahl zu ertrinken. Was nicht so leicht ist denn sie hat deine Zunge mit ihrem praktischen Spiegelchen festgeklemmt.

Und genauso passiert es hier auch. Die kleine Süße wird im Handum- und Bohreraufdrehen zum Zahnhygienepublicenemy # 1. Ich krümme und wende mich zwar innerlich bleibe aber äußerlich stoisch, um ihr nicht die Genugtuung zu geben, dass sie ihr verhärmtes Wesen an einem weiteren Unschuldigen hat aufbauen können. Plötzlich hört sie auf mir im Zahnfleisch herumzusticheln, steht ruckartig auf und lässt mich einfach auf dem Rückklappfoltersessel hängen. Normalerweise würde mir das beim Zahnarzt auf den Geist gehen, aber dieses Mal bin ich eher froh. Sie hätte aber trotzdem den Sauger abdrehen können.

Da verdunkelt ein riesiger Schatten mein erschlafftes Antlitz. Wie das Ufo über New York in Independence Day. Nicht einmal der Schmerzschweiß durfte mir vollständig abtrocknen. Ich höre bedrohlich dumpfe Musik, und während ich mich noch den Unterbewußtseinszwängen der modernen Unterhaltungstechnik zu entziehen versuche, vernehme ich eine Grabesstimme. „Die Kollegin hatte gerade einen Notfall. Ich übernehme sie jetzt.“ Angstschweiß bricht mir jetzt aus allen Poren während ich der soeben abgerauschten Teufelsengelin noch die schlimmsten Flüche nachsende (Ich erinnere mich nicht genau, irgendetwas mit ihrem Erstgeborenen muss es gewesen sein) während ich sie gleichzeitig innerlich anflehe zurück zu kommen. Ich würde ihr doch auch zeigen wie sehr ich in ihrer Gewalt stehe. Alles nur das was da auf mich zukommt. Aber diese mickrigen Flüche und dieses erbärmliche Flehen verblassen angesichts der schieren Angst die das Erzittern meines Sessels in mir hervorruft welches die Schwimmerin auslöst als sie mit vollem Gewicht in ihren Sessel sackt. Mir wird übel wie einem Hund der auf einer kalifornischen Erdbebenfalte kurz vor dem Big One sitzt. Mir fahren wirre Ausreden durch den Kopf die diese Frankensteinin der Zahnhygiene ablenken und mir so die Flucht ermöglichen könnten. Nichts hilft, ihre quadratisch-praktischen Löffel von Händen drücken mich sanft in den Sessel. Ich nehme an mir kommt das nur sanft vor weil ich kurz vor der Ohnmacht stehe. Die Schwimmerin beugt sich über mich, nimmt mein Kinn in die Hand, raspelt mir ins Ohr „Bitte etwas zu mir drehen“ und „öffnen“. Man kann sich nicht vorstellen wie wichtig es mir in diesem Augenblick wäre nein sagen zu können. Nein, heißt nein, verdammt noch mal. Auch wenn man es nur mit dem Reptilienhirn flüstert. Aber es hilft nichts, diese Rückklappfoltersesselzahnvergewalting geht tatsächlich von statten und ich kann nichts dagegen tun. Rein gar nichts. Ich ergebe mich meinem Schicksal, sehe Überschriften á la „Mann von Ex-DDR Schwimmerin im Rückklappfoltersessel ertränkt“ in den Boulevardblättern der Stadt und dann passiert das Unglaubliche.

Nichts.

Ich spüre nichts. Rein gar nichts. Sanft gleitet das Schalltechnologiezauberzahnhygienegerät über meine Dentale, unter mein Zahnfleisch, durch jedes kleine Hindernis als ob es Butter wäre und nicht monatelang mühsam angesammeltes Zahngestein. Die Feinmotorik dieser Maria Callas der Zahnhygiene ist erstaunlich. Ich glaube fast nicht, dass sie wirklich noch säubert. Wie könnte sie denn auch, mit diesen Pranken von Händen? Ein Grizzlybär wäre stolz auf die. Aber ich spüre doch nichts, wie kann das sein? Vielleicht poliert sie ja schon. Ich wage einen schielenden Blick. Aber nein, sie verwendet dasselbe Gerät wie die jetzt schon fast vergessene letzte Henkerin meines Zahnglückes, und ignoriert freundlich mein Schielen. Wo ich vor kurzem versuchte, dem Schmerz und der Schönen gegenüber stoisch zu sein, rinnen mir jetzt die Tränen des Entzückens, der Erlösung über die Wangen. Ich kann es mir nicht verkneifen. Sofort hält sie inne. Entsetzt fragt sie mich „Geht es noch, Gnä’ Herr?“ Sie, die ihre kleinste Handbewegung aufs Feinste abgestimmt hat, kann derartige Tränen nicht gewohnt sein. Ja, sie muss annehmen, dass sie, die Göttin der Sanftheit, mir Schmerzen verursacht hat. Ich sehe in ihren fassungslos verkniffenen Athletenaugen, dass ihr dies tiefstes Unbehagen, ja, wahrlich Schmerz verursacht. Ich bin so gerührt dass ich ihr nur weinend versichern kann, dass alles, wirklich alles im zahnhygienisch Reinsten ist.

Die Moral dieser Geschichte: Trau dem blendenden Schein nicht und am Besten wäre es du traust die Sanfteste.

faux palin 2

Never again laugh about beauty queens who state that they want to go out and change the world to make it a better place should they win the contest. By for example shooting moose from helicoptors, smacking Pootin (how else to spell that ugly redneck UUU? Reminds me of nucular) in the head whenever he rears it out of soviet airspace and bringing her five nannies for her five kids to Number One Observatory Circle (sry, JFGI). You never know, it might all come true.

faux palin

Dunno if you all have seen this, since we have been busy running to WaMu trying to get cents on the dollar, but its funny. In a sort of nightmarish foreign policy equivalent to "I dont know much about the economy" McCain.

ode to pandora

Stop donating your money to craigslist. Forget about social networking. Loose those millions of different username and password combinations that you try to keep in your head (and hopefully not in one location anywhere!!!). There is only one site you need (ok, two counting this blog) for your happiness, for your self reflection, for finding a spot of peace for yourself.


Pandora is a misnomer for this site. There is no disease coming out of it. There is no addiction coming out of it. If you be looking for the evil, you are in the wrong place. What does come out of it is only a reflection of your mood, of your place in life, of you.

The music will morph according to your directives. And if you do it unconsciously, without following fads, and hit videos, it will reflect you. Of course if you do follow a fad, that is reflection of you as well. Give your thumbs up or thumbs down, be a small Caesar (this guy keeps coming back today) and the music will follow you around like a loyal little puppy.

lame phishing attempt

Seriously, you will have to do better than this if you want steal my ID.

aryan mum bitch slap

This is funny:










This is funnier:







Well, what else do you expect:






Apparently too much:





Aryan Mum Bitch Slap:

how to spend you economic stimulus check

Today I was imagining what to do with my economic stimulus check. I thought how nice it is that I will be getting back an additional $ 600 that I can spend freely on improving my economic outlook. Of course the smart thing to do would be to put it into a savings account, or even an IRA. But since I figured these are $ 600 less that the government will give to Israel to drop cluster bombs on little Lebanese children or use to launch rockets from ships into central Africa or -insert your favorite terrific sci-fi weaponry horror here - I should do something appropriate to make that initial divestment from governmental irrationality go a little further. I was going to get some compound interest so to speak.

The first thing that came to mind is that I should buy a gun and shoot a redneck. However, my logic-minded room mate Tom (you can’t beat him at this, he teaches LSATs at Kaplan) pointed out, that since I would thereby be joining the class of rednecks I really would not be lowering the total number of rednecks in this country. In fact, I would just be replacing one red neck with another, ergo keeping the numbers even. Additionally, since I would join the rednecks with this action, I would essentially be removing myself from the, what I deem as the normal, as in not inbred gene pool, actually lowering sanity levels, and keeping insanity levels even.

This bothered me; mostly because I already picked out a target. My neighbor whose church music I was forced to listen to one night. The next night, when he was up on his balcony talking to the local security weenie/snitch/despicable piece of horse manure, he followed the church music evening up with blathering about how the right to bear arms (all seven of them) is written in the constitution. He actually said “Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.” The security guy answered that he hardly left the house without his flak jacket anymore. Those roadrunners down here really are quite frightening, and you must protect yourself from the constant onslaught of their suicide attacks – against the grill of your car.

You can imagine my sincere disappointment; since logic now dictated a different course of action. So decided to drown my sorrows in Vegas and blow the night away with a bunch of hookers. Just because it is the thing that would piss the gun-toting, church-going, fun-hating, single-mother-producing redneck population off the most.

you are nothing but a cog!

In recent month I have had the pleasure to like working where I am. I generally like what I do and the people that I work with. But in the end it was always just a job. Just as I am just a resource for my current employer – no hard feelings. But lately simple measures on the part of my employer have led to an emotion akin to gratitude. Surprising I know, but stranger things have happened, like the Suns coming back from the brink of elimination. We were treated to free fruit at the entrance, and if you knew where to look you found yourself some free snacks, coffee and soda as well. Now all that free stuff is official, and available in the cafeteria. Unfortunately, my employer has decided that this is also a good time to implement a little segregation. Contractors are now not welcome anymore to enjoy those benefits. Understand, as a contractor I am used to zero benefits, comes with the territory. But giving me free fruit, in essence telling me that you care about my health, and then taking it away again is, I don’t know, cruel and unusual punishment? Don’t toy with me, you are not the god, I refuse to believe in, who supposedly “giveth and taketh away”.

In this spirit I should be forgiven for taking the following memo seriously:

"Following the announcement that the free fruit will now be for blue badges only, it has been decided that all drinking fountains on the third and fourth floors will also be blue-badge exclusive. However, green badges who wish to drink during the day will not be restrained from bringing in their own water bottles. In order to apply a consistent policy throughout the building, elevators 2 and 3 will be off-limits to green badges. Since you are not getting any free fruit anymore, we thought that you should maintain your health by walking the stairs. Finally, all bathroom stalls will also be “BLUE ONLY”. Urinals will remain open to Green badges for sanitary purposes, but Green Badges wishing to defecate during work hours are encouraged to bring in their own port-a-potty. In order for this segregation to be clear to all there will be signs “BLUE ONLY” posted in all relevant areas. And we are not referring to your eye color here, that would be racist.”

There really are signs like that :(

America, my favorite catholic schoolgirl

have at first blush nothing in common. In fact many of you will yell “Au contraire!” After all, wasn’t it hard for JFK to convince voters that it is ok to vote for a catholic? Funny, that. And it surely has to be depressing for the pope to visit the USA. One mass in Rio has 100 times more attendees than three weeks of christmas here. Similarly, and to this day, I, being the eurotrashy anti-religionist that I am, do not understand how people here are all part of one christian sect or another but can’t stand what is the original christian sect. The ones who got thrown to the lions way back when.

But as with all things catholic, many contradictions have to be weighed and balanced against each other. If you disagree, just read on, and at least have a good laugh. This might be hard for you if you are either American or catholic. If you are both, and still laugh at the end of this, congratulations. Please send me a note and I will try to insult you better next time.

So let’s get to the second blush, the one where we get down to the nitty-gritty or as an American cartoon character would say the “the gigidy-gigidy”. Here, I believe, the similarities between the USA and a Catholic School Girl can not be denied. Even though catholics are weird to you Americans, the prim and properly boring nature of your relationship with your lust is decidedly catholic. You need to be more at peace with it.

For example:

• The USA always thinks that she is being attacked by an evil doer who wants to take her virginal (you think nobody else has it) freedom away by force. Girls here think that what they have is constantly craved by the next guy, and only to be given away under certain tightly defined circumstances. With which I have two problems: first, who says I want it so bad that I am willing to convince you that you do too? Second, when will you grow up and learn that it is yours to enjoy instead of give away? The tightly defined circumstances you are yoked to have nothing to do with your own needs or wants, and everything with certain catholic-seeming societal dogmas. Liberate yourselves to enjoy yourselves. Since you are still running into the glass ceiling, you might at least have some good sex, which contrary to local popular believe is your own to achieve.
• The USA always has the biggest guns, just like Pamela Anderson’s breasts.
  
• The USA always comes to help those in need, but only after imposing strict none-preventative measures of birth control. Reminds me of, I don’t know, every girl that I ever was with in this country. Sho really wanted to be there with me, just not really at the same time as me, if you catch my drift… out. If you did not catch it, let me quote Billy Connolly, “20 wild horses could not make me go the other way!”
• Every once in a while (read: all the time) the USA goes on a bloody rampage, causing mayhem in various more or less uncivilized places around the globe, and then spends years feeling guilty about it. If that doesn’t remind you of a catholic school girl nothing will. Mayhem = epicurean pleasure principle, or what feels good must be good; where the Nation drops bombs in righteous anger, and the girl discovers that her body is a temple of untold, numberless and mind-blowing pleasures. Uncivilized places = with a boy. Years of guilt = self explanatory.

So, now that we can all agree that if one would want to define the USA by way of an example from our human experience, the closest we can get to a true simile is a Catholic School Girl. The only cure for this lamentable condition is a thorough undermining of all previously, misleadingly so, held puritanical notions in order to help you establish a peaceful relationship with your lust. Barring this, a good fucking will do.

USA needs you Mara

We need more politicos like Mara in the USA. Not just because she would slap our homegrown public personas in shape real fast. If our puritan closet freakish men and women would be distracted by tits and ass a little more, maybe they would forget about figuring out new ways to drop scifi weaponry on stone age civilizations.

You think I am kidding? How many murders does a child see on day-time TV before age 14? How much tits and ass does the same child see? Which one of the two viewing habits is more naturally conducive to peace, love and happiness? How many years did the average continental European, the one you think of as a perverted freak, spend in some leafy jungle or some scorching desert chasing some imaginary enemy? How many children of your tits and ass hating nation have you sent to die in those places?

If your boys, your men and your leaders would be a little more comfortable with sex, with nakedness, with themselves, it is quite possible that they would not feel the need to go out into the big world and prove themselves as real men in the only way they have seen and learned from a young age.

Instead they could revel in the joys of their's and their lover's body - I just wanted to write that at least once in my life :) Does that sentence make you a little uncomfortable? Is that why you laugh a little forced now?

Don't get me wrong. I am not talking about hard core porn on day time TV (that should only be on late at night:) Being an American that is naturally the only way you can think of a naked body. To you it always is dirty, it always is demeaning, it always is something that your little girl/boy would never do. I am talking about a scene on TV, where it is implied that two people just got down, but somehow the girl covers her breasts after coitus. Now, why would a girl cover herself AFTER she just fucked the living daylights out of the hunk, whose hung you would definitely never-ever-never-ever get to see on American TV (now I realize why the girls always look so surprised)? The result is that you think to be naked is unnatural; it makes you think what just happened was dirty and wrong.

Instead of this farce it would be nice to see people act the way they really do after having sex, when waking up in the morning, when going to the master bathroom or when doing any number of things in life that happen to involve some degree of nakedness. It would also be nice for your children not to be subjected to endless gory repetitions of bullets exploding out of heads, knifes slashing throats and land mines leaving a fine red mist behind.

So let's bring on Carla Bruni, I mean Sarkozy, and lets bring on Mara Carfagna. If you don't like their breasts, maybe you can go for their lovely names. And maybe one day your son's eyes won't perpetually pop out of his head on his first Euro trip. And maybe a couple of years later he won't come home in a body bag.

PS: Do click on the image above.
PPS: Do run this query with your teeny-weeny adult filter off.
PPPS: I wouldn't actually vote for a girl that decides to go into politics because she only placed 6th in the Miss Italy competition. If I lived in Italy, that is. Strikes me as a bad choice for a future legislatress. On the other hand, here in the USA, she would be a welcome addition to our... uhm... body politic
PPPPS: Ok, If I would vote for her, I would watch C-Span even more than now.

confuse and castrate

Sex in the City is not a TV show that I watch diligently. So when my Dutch friend told me that she sometimes thinks that our lunch conversations resemble those of your dear heroines, I was naturally inclined towards suspicion. Because, or maybe in spite of this, during this particular lunch we chatted about the reasons for humans having such an enlarged thought processing unit, when compared to other mammals. Namely, the seemingly futile effort that both human species have been engaging in for eons: to find a rudimentary understanding of the other.

This conversation happens after another one of my episodes of Dating the American Woman, which usually provide hours of highly entertaining plotlines. Never mind the details, just know that it’s funny and that most of the time I try to tell myself that I enjoy contradictions. If you picture yourself starring in the movie “Sideways”, with a bottle of wine, and a feeling of emptiness where your cojones would usually be located, you are halfway to the embitchenated state that the American male finds hisself in. Which is what I try to avoid.

As a small side note: I have not seen this movie. My prejudice against movies about the castration of the American male is large and my patience limited. All I remember of the trailer are doe eyed dudes in convertibles drinking red whine and wondering where their balls went after the last one chopped them off and sacrificed them on her Altar to Confusion. Unfortunately, the girls here think they can bring the same strategy of Confuse and Castrate to the euro trashy boi that I am.

The husband of my Dutch friend is the envy of all men in my group. What is usually referred to as a woman’s insanity or propensity to wreck dramatized havoc in an otherwise pleasantly uneventful life is seemingly absent from his. She tells me this is so because Dutch men do not put up with the drama, they will simply leave when the girl tries to throw them for a loop. Before you cry wolf, know that when the guys try something that doesn’t fit into the rational pattern of human interaction developed by the low-landers the women do the same thing.

Now imagine young leetle Hansje, walking down a tulip infested street in a village just next to the canal, and this lovely leetle Marietje comes rolling along on her bicycle (which my Germanic grandfather grudgingly returned as part of the last war reparations in 1998). They see each other. They like each other. They agree to meet for coffee. They drink coffee and … (one month interlude here, they are good people, not HOs) kiss. They agree to meet again. Before that happens she lets him know that she thinks it’s not a good idea to keep going in that kissing direction, that she needs more time. But when they meet again, instead of this being true, it is only a matter of proving Hansje’s honorable intent; the game that ensues is a test. If, and only if, he jumps through any number of emotional hoops, he will get to kiss her again. If not, she will deny him. Now, if this would happen in Castration Central (CC) Hansje would gamely try to pass the test, jump through the Emo-Hoops and please his leetle Marietje to no end, just to get some satisfaction. Which, of course, he can't get. But since this is the low country he decides to keep his cojones around a little longer and moves on to a Marietje that puts her money where her mouth is… namely, between her legs (I don’t actually mean that, it just flows nicely, she can put her money in a piggy bank if she so desires). This being her fifth Hansje, Marietje learns that drama is unacceptable if she wants to hold on to a Dutch guy. And Hansje is similarly relieved of whatever silly macho notions he had about how to act around Dutch girls.

Seems to me that for the low-landers it is not about dominance, about castration or about who is on top. Instead it simply is alright for them to demand respect and to give it.

Which explains why the Flying Dutchman is the only one who doesn’t chime in when we share stories from the trenches of dating in CC, and why I am looking for a Dutch mail order bride catalogue. Feel free to send me one at any time.

spousal matchup

Today I enjoyed watching speeches by the democratic presidential spouses. To make a long story short, I think Mrs. Obama is a skilled orator. She is self possessed, she has good cadence and she knows English much better than the current Prez, even though he is married to the first librarian. But putting her up against old Billy is like putting me in sumo ring with the current Yokozuna.

For that reason I think it would be fair to establish a handicap for presidential spouses. Similar to golf, where a player’s handicap allows all players with different skill levels to play against each other competitively this would level the playing field in the spousal matchup of 2008.

With that in mind I propose Bill Clinton, who after all is used to addressing the nation and the United Nations, to be categorized as a handicap -2. Which on the Illetschko-Volo Electoral Spousal Scale means that he may not use the letter L. This should put him on equal footing with Michelle Obama, who may use all vowels and consonants indiscriminately. So when she rhetorically asks the crowd “Why am I leaving my kids at home running around with my husband, running for president?” Billy Goat may only respond by saying “Goba cimate change is neary as bad as No Chid eft Behind”. With the successful adoption of this scale you can look forward to Mr. Clinton introducing his wife with “I woud ike to introduce my wife, Hiary…uhm. My wife Senator Cint… this is just not fair! My wife, the junior senator from New York.” It should add much needed levity to this year's presidental contest.

In other news, Bi Cinton compained heaviy about the imiatations of the ietschko-Voo Eectora Spousa Scae as impemented in this very bog. He obviously thinks it is a “Repubican Conspiracy”.

der depperte

Ein Depperter geht im Wald spazieren, auf einmal steht mitten am Weg ein wunderschöner Pilz! " A Schwammerl, a Schwammerl!" sagt der Depperte und beugt sich hinunter, um es zu pflücken.
Auf einmal kreischt das Schwammerl:" NEIN, bitte pflück mich nicht, ich bin ein Glücksschwammerl, wenn du mich nicht pflückst, hast du drei Wünsche frei!"
Der Depperte sagt drauf:" Mhmm, I mechat voi gscheit sei! " - "Pffff-blitz" und er ist es.
"I scheiß mich an!" Pffff-blitz- er kackt sich an.
"Maaaa, bin i deppert!" Pffff-blitz
"A Schwammerl, a Schwammerl!"