Yes, the Wiseass Jooette has struck again.

I give her credit for being be foolhardy enough having the Moxie to show up in Princeton on April 5th to explain to peeps from Jersey why living in Brooklyn is such hot shit.

I learned of this from Elisson.

Damned shame that Zonker has called it quits, but I’m really not all that surprised, because it appears that Life 101 has significantly cut into his blogging time. It could also be that blogging didn’t seem to be enough fun to be worth the time. In either case, despite my sadness at seeing Thunder and Roses close down, I completely understand.

Typically, bloggers “meet” online and become cyber friends. In rare cases, cyber friends get to meet in the real world (sometimes called, unflatteringly, the “meat world”). For me, it was the other way around with Zonker. I met him for the first time in Helen, Georgia in 2004, where he showed up without knowing a soul, and no one there (including me) had ever read his blog. Within minutes, he was one of the gang.

Since that time, I have been in his company at blogmeets in Jekyll Island, Tennessee (a couple times), Austin, New York City and most recently again in Helen. He manages to be a consummate gentleman and an ass-kicking party animal all at the same time, which is to say that he can seamlessly move from a serious discussion to wearing a mullet wig, fake tattoos or, most recently, devil horns, and it all works. Zonker is the guy who bought the dirndl that Velociman sported to everyone’s side-splitting delight in Helen last year (pic creds to Sam).

As a writer, he is among the best. He could dash off hilarious material, fire off a memorable rant, and occasionally tear someone a new asshole. Good stuff – all of it.

I will miss him in the Blogosphere, but he will remain a good friend in the “meat world,” and that’s a good thing.

I must confess that the politics and politicians of the day have drained me of my energy. I don’t think I need to explain.

With that in mind, I thought I would post something that I have enjoyed watching multiple times. It doesn’t speak of race, gender or enthnicity, but rather it screams of talent, honed to a fine edge by hard work, dedication and discipline.

Enjoy.

Via C&S

Just when New Yorkers (including one Brooklyn Jooette) were getting all smug and shit about Eliot Spitzer nosing out Jim McGreevey for the title of “Slimiest Governor” (with the help of a Jersey girl, I might add), a new McGreevey story splatters into the fan. This one allegedly involves Jim McGreevey, yet another young, male aide/travel companion, and Mrs. McGreevey in a series of post-TGIF-dinner threesomes.

OK, New York. The ball is in your court.

I took this photo of the window of one of our local Italian bakeries during a ground pound on Sunday.

I had no idea that St. Patrick loved him some excellent cannoli.

As much as I bitch about New Jersey, this is an example of one of the things I love about the place. “St. Patrick’s cannoli” — very cool.

Technodoofus note: The picture is blurred becauseI was hurrying to take it, as the store was open, and I didn’t want the owner to think I was a terrorist, or just some nut who needed his ass kicked. What I thought was a photo turned out to be a three-second video. My buddy Mike, the computer mavin, helped me turn it into a sort-of-a photo.

No, it’s not some Nigerian e-mail scheme. I’m thinking more along the lines of just how much the Clinton Machine would pay for a genuine picture of Senator Obama sitting in a pew during one of Reverend Wright’s now-infamous anti-American, racist rants.

I figure it would be enough to buy that dream house you’ve always wanted.

I will be in Princeton, attending this gathering of blabbermouths, where I shall see some old friends and make some new ones. Maybe I’ll even have a couple a few more than a few adult beverages.

So, sign up already.

Just returned from an evening at the thee-ah-tah, where I saw Steel Magnolias. We have a subscription, so we get the season’s tickets mailed way in advance. Came home from work, gobbled down a quick dinner, grabbed the tickets and headed out the door absolutely convinced we were on our way to see “Kiss Me Kate,” a Cole Porter musical. Only when entering the thee-ah-tah did we realize that “Kiss Me Kate” is the next play of the season.

“Steel Magnolias” was good, but I was ready for a musical. I suppose I have made worse mistakes. It ain’t easy being a patron of the arts.

PRS Operatives had listening devices placed in a Garden State Supermarket in connection with a classified mission. As sometimes happens, we were surprised by the following conversation that took place in the middle of the night when there are hardly any customers in the store:

Celery: Yo, what did you think about the Eliot Spitzer thing?

Mushroom Who’s Eliot Spitzer?

Celery: Jesus, you don’t know anything about the Eliot Spitzer and the prostitution ring mess?

Mushroom Nope. Don’t know anything about it.

Celery: Damn, you are really ignorant. Were you raised in a cave or some shit?

Mushroom What kind of racist remark is that?

Celery: It’s not a racist remark, asshole.

Mushroom Yes it is, punk-ass bitch.

Celery: No it’s not!

Mushroom Yes it is, and don’t give me any of that “It’s not easy being green” booshit either.

Celery: Speaking of shit, you were raised in it, Dickwad! Bwhahahahaha.

GARLIC: Yo, youse guys! SHUT THE F*CK UP! I’m tryin’ to sleep heah.

Celery: (whispering) Now there’s a real asshole.

Mushroom (whispering) Yeah, no shit.

Celery: (whispering) Probably mobbed up.

Mushroom (whispering) Word.