Anybody know any good jokes?

M.B. scored a 9 on the last round of trivia

not 8, as previously reported. Blog Free Springfield regrets the error and hopes he is happy now.

Infinitesimal Activism

PROFILES IN RAZORING or TRIPLE BLADE A GO-GO*
I’m not much for conspiracy theories. I believe the Holocaust really happened, there was no second shooter in Dallas and Paul McCartney is, in fact, dead. But every once in a while I hear a theory floated that just makes too much sense not to consider. Here is one of those:

When Gillette issues a new razor – excuse me, revolutionary shaving system – in the time leading up to the release they systematically reduce the quality of their previous cutting-edge razor. I don’t know if this is true, but it makes sense, doesn’t it. I mean, how many advances can be made in razor technology? How many blades and lubricating strips can be added to stand whiskers up and then mow them down? Maybe the only way to build a better razor is to retrofit its predecessors to suck in comparison.

This same theory holds that the best razor that will ever pass across your cheek is the free sample that comes in the mail. These, the conspirists contend, are made with the best metal that last the longest so that you’ll be compelled to pay the exorbitant price for another, which even in its early incarnation won’t be quite as well-made as the freebie that lured you in.

So there you have it. Let’s appoint a commission and start digging for the truth until Gillette offers us sufficient hush money.

TRUTH IN HOSTESSING

Saturday afternoon Victor had a swim party at the YMCA and I went to do a bit of freelancing at the Home Expo. After finishing my work I picked him up. Driving home we discovered that we were both feeling a bit peckish and I saw an opportunity for a rare outing for the family’s two senior males. A chance to discuss some long-neglected issues that the woman-folk don’t need to know about.

It being 4:30 and we being in the mood for a plate of Irish nachos, I figured we could sneak into D’Arcy’s before the Saturday night stampede. Bad guess.

Upon entering the Pint we were told by the hostess on duty that a 45-minute wait awaited us. After initially passing on their offer, we confabbed outside and decided we could get away with a late return home because, dammit, we’re men right? Meek men who rarely leave the house on weekends without the other three kids in tow, but that evening we would make a stand.

After re-adding our names to their waiting docket, a different hostess informed us that we were only looking at a 20-minute wait. Good – I thought, relieved – because we’re dead if we get home after 6:00.

We hit the head and then the bar where I ordered up a couple of beers – root for Vic and a nice stout for myself. No sooner did we have pints in hand then the pretty lights on our paging device began twinkling. Final wait time: under ten minutes.

So here’s my point, as if someone were actually asking for one. We, two well-behaved and decent-tipping chaps were about to head home after being told of a 45-minute wait. D’Arcy’s came desperately close to missing out on a $15 ticket plus tip and we almost missed out on a tasty plate of grub.

People, we simply must demand a more accurate accounting of wait time from our hostpersons if we hope to maintain a viable hospitality industry in this country. We’ve reached a critical moment in history; please join the fight.


SICK OF MY SICK
I never like getting sick, but I usually quickly resign myself to it, especially if it’s been going around and I’ve managed to keep it at bay for a while. I mean, who am I to expect never to host a virus?

But the illness that took hold this past weekend made me angry. I’ve been oddly motivated and productive recently, and had many important things to accomplish. But the headache, body aches and sore throat arrested my ability to focus. And the fever-dreaming and hallucinating-like sleep that tortured me throughout Sunday night made me fearful of the next slumber.

So I fought that flu and slayed it with the steely swords from a thousand warriors who . . . and here the metaphor escapes me. And so the blog ends.


*Tell me the movie from which I paraphrased this line and I’ll buy you a car or an ice cream cone.

Trivia Answers: Celebrity Endorsed

In a depleted field, Mike de la Loyola came in ahead of the pack to claim another crown, answering 10 of 11 questions correctly. Anon Com came finished at 9 with three players tying for third with scores of 8 (MB, Johann and Russ.) Doug game up lame and hobbled to a score of 4.

Your answers.

1 – This shag-topped actress sang a jaunty jingle about chicken and Wessonality. Florence Henderson – Note to Russ: her hairstyle was commonly referred to as a shag. Very popular among Bay City Rollers.

2 – Bob Harris met Charlotte while in Tokyo shooting a Suntory Whiskey commercial in this movie. Lost in Translation – There’s a scene in this movie etched indelibly upon my mind.

3 – His booming voice reminds us that "This, is CNN." Emo Phillips. No, wait. James Earl Jones.

4 – Nothing came between Brook Shields and this brand of designer jeans. Calvin Klein – I think there was a double meaning to this slogan.

5 – This venerated thespian insisted that Paul Masson "will sell no wine, before its time." Orson Welles – I don’t think ol’ Orson was really that picky about how long his wine was aged.

6 – This actor has been the voice of Lowe’s and the Oppenheimer Fund, and also played a guy named Popeye. Gene Hackman – Popeye from the French Connection, not the pop-eyed spinach freak.

7 – Faith Hill, Tyra Banks, Keri Russell, Christie Brinkley and Ellen DeGeneres have all provided a face to this company. Cover Girl – Most of you dudes knew this. Strange.

8 – Bob Hope served as spokesman for Chrysler and this petroleum retailer. Bob "from Texaco" Hope

9 – A recent GoDaddy TV spot features this race car driver getting hit on by a comely female police officer. Danica Patrick – Very racy, indeed.

10 – Wilco’s The Thanks I Get was heard on commercials for this auto manufacturer. Volkswagen – I don’t begrudge any musician for selling out to a commercial since nobody’s paying for music anymore.

Bonus
He appeared on a billboard advising women to "Get a Mammogram, Man!" Bart Simpson – That wily, pro-woman, health conscious scamp.

Cohen/Cops/Chips: things that begin with C

As a rule, I don’t post the trivia answers until at least ten people play. At this rate,  you may never know who said, "Get a mammogram, man!"

No Take Backs
Perhaps the process for electing a lieutenant governor is flawed. Maybe the position itself is irrelevant. And I most definitely don’t want Scott Lee Cohen any where near the governor’s office. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t get screwed.

Party leaders shouldn’t get a do over just because they don’t like the way the people voted. Blagojevich got a second term despite proving in the first that he was a scoundrel.

Cohen revealed the domestic abuse arrest at the beginning of the campaign, but nobody paid attention. He spent a bunch of money on ads and persuaded more people to vote for him than the other candidates did. He won. The people of Illinois lost.

Breaking the Blue Line
The threat of layoffs to procure union concessions during budget negotiations is not a new tactic. I wonder, however, if any consideration is given to the atmosphere that is created when people’s livelihood is put into the hands of their co-workers.

There are 30 police officers who now know that a majority of their colleagues voted to give no ground. If they were so inclined, these unfortunate flatfoots could choose to believe that their friends on the force valued a raise over their fellow officers’ jobs. That could make for some sore feelings, could it not?

Where’s the Beef
On the whole, the Super Bowl ads were quite disappointing. They struggled so hard to connect with a certain demographic that it was almost exhausting to watch. These ads desire so to shock, amuse and titillate, but in the end mostly flop into a pathetic spot of lost ad revenue.

I realize that they’re geared towards the young and stupid at heart, but with the right ads I might be compelled to spend a bit more of my snack dollar on tortilla-based snack products. Come on, Doritos, sell my on some of your delicious nacho chips want don’t you?

That said, I did like the Google ad. It was sweet and simple. Although as an ad man friend pointed out, why does Google need to advertise?

The Letterman/Oprah/Leno spot was also well played. I don’t remember which of the three shows it was promoting, but it was timely and the punch line was sharp.

I don’t even remember many of the others. Commercial breaks were mostly spent trying to tame the 20 children amassed in the basement of our fine hosts.