Bad Seeds, Another Bad Seed, A Bad Kitty, Another Bad Kitty and An Ill Conceived Scientific Void (sans humor).

Before I get too wrapped up in the on going death match between me and this fuggin' blog software, I want to put this up, because I deem it important enough to do so. The recent incidents in Searchlight, NV have been very well articulated over at The Liberal Heretic. Very nice bit of investigative reportage.

Edit: I was going to post a photo of the union assholes in Searchlight, but I decided one dickhead (Pelosi) picture per post is more than plenty.

That said, on with the blog-faced insults that I have been hurling at the fuggin' Blogger tools set so that I can say this:

I'm pretty sure that while Pelosi is a dream candidate for an Alfred Hitchcock film and I'm equally pretty sure that she's an absolute nightmare for America - hell, the whole fuggin' planet for that matter. I would first picture her as Norman's dead mother in Psycho, but after that?

Rhoda in The Bad Seed.


















Novice-like photo-chopped by the Grackle himself.

Hailing from Texas (one of the Union's more conservative states), I have to say that this chick knows where she stands politically. My bet is she is aiming her ample guns straight at that bitch just above, or maybe just at Washington in general. Either way, I'm nominating her for Governor.



















Below is the Bag-of-Trix, when she was an innocent. She lives in my house and tolerates my wicked games unlike the missus that also lives in my house and is much less tolerant of said wickedness. More on that later, I guess.














Crikey. I'm out of blog time and there is nothing funny or scientifically substantial in this post. The training wheels are still on the ocean-going tricycle. Damn it all to Dark Matter!

Side Notation #1:
I'm getting really pissed over this 36 hour argument that I've been having with the minion living inside this blogging equipment. There should be an operating manual written in four or five different languages, so that I could at least have a bona-fide bitch session (profanity included) with that bit of inked up pressed pulp followed by a bona-fidied bonfire and then get on with cursing at the inner digital workings of blogging code.

Side Notation #2:
I forgot the redhead picture, so whip me, beat me and make me write fat checks...never mind that, the IRS representatives currently have one of my arms twisted up behind my back and Mr. Anderson is preparing to bludgeon my ball-sack with his government enabled foot. Assholes.