As previously discussed here, Dogette of Two Nervous Dogs and Laura of Fetch My Flying Monkeys have officially launched their new site in which they will provide advice on virtually any topic. They’re just that good. They will be assisted by the blogfamous Rachel Lucas of, well, Rachel Lucas. They are the Ones they’ve been waiting for.

So, if you’re wondering about what to do about that nasty carbuncle, or how to get your asshole brother-in-law to pay you the money he owes you; or, say, you’re racked with indecision as to whether you should buy that new Hyundai or take up snorting heroin, visit the Advice Asylum and fire off your question. Even if you’re too shy to actually ask for advice, you may well profit from the valuable advice these gifted ladies give, free of charge, to other people and the public at large. I found the child rearing advice to be particularly illuminating.

I had a case of the ass to begin with. I had been stewing over the detestable Harry Reid using my money to bribe Senators Nelson and Landrieu to vote for his stinking bill. As such, it was a particularly bad day to have to drive through the slippery street slop to in order walk among the troglodytes in the supermarket.

They didn’t disappoint.

Yo, asshole. What a swell idea that you decided to park your cart in front of the cheese display and lean on it while you had a meandering conversation with one of your buddies. You were too engrossed in your discussion of some silly shit to hear my “Excuse me.” It apparently didn’t bother you when I leaned around your goddamned cart like a goddamned contortionist to actually purchase some goddamned cheese. It’s a goddamned crowded supermarket, not the local men’s club. Jerk.

A special thanks to the fat-assed lady who felt she absolutely had to stop her cart in the middle of a busy aisle so she could make what was no doubt a very important phone call. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t calling Weight Watchers. Maneuvering around her was a special treat, given that the vengeful Supermarket God always sees to it that I wind up with a grocery cart with a dysfunctional front wheel, which only becomes obvious when there are a shitload of groceries in the cart.

This one was the clincher.

I rounded the corner of one of the aisles and was positively giddy to see that it was empty, except for one brofus, extremely unattractive woman troglodyte who appeared to be carefully studying a label on a can. My elation with coming upon a virtually unobstructed aisle was short lived, as I soon learned that the woman’s apparent rapt interest in the printed word on the can was a ruse to make it appear that she had not just cut a massive, maggot-gagging fart. Obviously, there was no way she could have outrun the spread of the noxious gas, which, in scant seconds, enveloped the entire aisle, so she opted for the “pretend not to notice the deadly gas” ploy. No wonder the aisle was clear. I damned near puked.

Other than that, it was a swell day.

Get a load of the comments from the progressive geniuses to the “The One’s Report Card – From 1970” post (reproduced in its entirety) here. As the “uninformed redneck” who authored this bit of SATIRE (hello?), I find it rather comical that so many of our self-anointed intellectual betters really are stuck on stupid.

El Cap has fired up PhotoShop once again, this time clearly placing me in harm’s way. Take a look.

This is important. Please take the time to listen and pass it on.

Thanks,
Jimbo

….. has started.

Feh!

As you may have noticed, I have not posted anything over the last couple of days. That is because I have been busy attending Christmas Year-End parties. A few of them were also retirement parties.

Yo, Jimbo did you say “retirement parties”?

Indeed I did.

Know why?

Because, as of this morning ……………

I

RETIRED.

I have been happily anticipating this for months, and now it is, as they say, “official.”

What are my plans?

Well, there is the new house, which is still by the Parkway, only about 70 miles farther south.

I expect that I’ll have more time to devote to the silliness of blogging, but beyond that, the world is my oyster. Who knows where I might turn up looking to have a cocktail or three?

Much has been written about the report card that The One gave himself during his interview with Oprah. PRS Operatives have obtained a copy of The One’s report card from 1970. Again, we have the exclusive.

Kahanua Elementary School — Report Card

4th Grade

Teacher: Mrs. Williams

Student: Barack H. Obama

Arithmetic: D

Teacher’s Comments: Barack’s arithmetic skills are sorely lacking. He cannot seem to distinguish between or among orders of magnitude. For example, he cannot recognize the difference between 1,000 and 1,000,000, much less the difference between 1,000,000 and 1,000,000,000. He doesn’t seem to have any interest in mathematics. I suggest that you consider hiring a tutor.

Reading: C

Teacher’s Comments: Barack reads at an acceptable level, although he has demonstrated a rather unique ability. He can open two identical books to the same page and separate them by several feet and seamlessly read the text aloud by looking back and forth between the books. I doubt that he will ever be able to put such a skill to practical use.

Composition: F

Teacher’s Comments: Barack was responsible for turning in three compositions this marking period, and we discovered that all three were written by other people. Two were written by other students and one (dealing with socialism) was obviously written by an adult. In the future, Barack will be required to write his compositions by hand in class in front of a proctor.

Deportment/Social Skills: F

Teacher’s Comments: Although Barack gives the appearance of being very friendly, he is actually somewhat aloof and tends to talk down to his fellow students. The students he does gravitate to tend to pose deportment problems of their own, often relating to honesty, which may explain why Barack has been known to be less than truthful on several occasions. Remarkably, when it becomes obvious to all concerned that a previous statement that Barack had made was untrue, he remains completely unfazed. Notably, Barack does not handle criticism well and often becomes defensive and argumentative. What is particularly upsetting is that he has been known to claim that, because of his African-American ancestry, he is not being treated fairly. I believe these issues should be explored with a child psychologist, as I fear that without direct and prompt professional intervention, Barack will not amount to much as an adult.

Mr. Recliner won.

PRS Operatives have managed to get their hands on a copy of Santa’s reply to The One’s letter to Santa. We have the exclusive.

Dear Barack,

I received your letter. I wanted to let you know that things have been pretty rough this year up here at the North Pole, and I’m afraid that they may get worse.

Do you have any idea what it costs me and Mrs. Claus to heat this place? It’s the North Friggin’ Pole! Your energy plans, which are based on the global warming climate change baloney, may cause us to freeze to death up here. If I thought that animal farts had anything to do with warming the planet, I’d feed my reindeer nothing but beans and beer!

Speaking of my reindeer, I used to feed them lots of corn. Now that much of the corn crop is being used to make ethanol for cars, I’m feeding them reindeer kibble. They hate it, and they’re losing weight. I’m worried that they won’t be able to go the distance on my Christmas rounds this year.

Speaking of my Christmas rounds, the sleigh won’t be as full this year, as I had to lay off a dozen elves to keep from going bankrupt. And, because I don’t know what else you and the boobs in congress still have in store for me and Mrs. Claus, it doesn’t look like I’ll be re-hiring anytime soon. To make matters worse, the remaining elves are talking about unionizing, which will certainly put me out of business.

So, Barack, on my Naughty Versus Nice Scale, you came up on the naughty, side big time. I will, however, make a brief stop at the White House to drop off a lump of coal in your stocking. Yeah, coal. I had to further screw up my cash flow in order to stock up on the stuff before you put the coal industry out of business.

Sincerely,
Santa

P.S. I know that you asked for a calculator that is capable of handling trillions. Instead, I’m thinking about bringing you a calculator that only goes as high as 50 so you can keep track of the number of states.

P.P.S. Oh, and you wanted a pocket mirror so that you could admire your ass from time to time. I don’t think you need a mirror. All you have to do is pull your head out of your ass once in a while and take a look.