No, Really, I Was

I was going to post something interesting today. I have a backlog of topics that have been piling up since last Sunday. Alas, it’s not going to happen. I have another fun day of editing ahead of me today.

So now you’ll never get my thoughts on Extreme Makeover Home Edition and how they traveled to the “devastated Mississippi gulf region” to hand out clothes to the poor displaced victims of hurricane Katrina who are still stuck living in crappy shelters. You’ll never know my surprise at just how many white people were living in those shelters when months of news coverage, speculation and political haranguing have led me to believe otherwise.

You’ll never know how I feel about morning news shows and their ridiculously inequitable coverage, like why does convicted murder (turned anti-gang activist) Stanley “Tookie” Williams get an 8-minute spot whereas innocent hostages in Iraq get about 20 seconds even though they were both about to die, or why does a baby being thrown out of a burning building get a 6-minute spot plus interview and the irrefutable and devastating effects of global warming get only a 2-minute package? I understand that a baby being thrown three stories to safety is compelling television, but doesn’t the eminent end of life as we know it deserve at least to have Charlie Gibson put his coffee down for a second? I guess mass extinction isn’t cute enough. Has the earth ever caught a burning baby?! No.

And you’ll never know why I’m beginning to think that “it wasn’t me I tell you…it was a band of crazed hippies!” might not be the best murder defense.

No, not today.


Fun Fact: I’m trying – I really am trying – to get a new TAM Cartoon up before Christmas. So to all of you who have been waiting for it…hold your horses!

And on a strange note – this just hit me – when I was a little kid I thought that the “horses” I just referred to were actually my genitals. Why? Well, I guess it’s because “hold your horses” was the response my mom gave me every time I had to go to the bathroom “really, really bad” and there wasn’t a toilet handy.

There’s nothing like holding your horses to get the pee-pee to go away.

Ironically, I still call my genitals “horses,” but for a much different reason.

Speaking of enormous genitals, I can’t wait to see King Kong to discover how they “tackled” that touchy “area.” Seriously, there had to be at least one production meeting about it, right?

This post is going downhill now...Sorry.