The Dubya picture comes on the heels of the mosaic of John Ashcroft made entirely of porn images (the image has been taken down as I write this, but consider the link potentially very un-worksafe in case it ever comes back).
I feel the rural blood in me stirring. Dedicated to vintage tractors.
The American Red Cross is offering courses in pet first aid.
Then, we run into another thing that always seemed to me to be self-evident: that a ‘gift’ offered to someone at gunpoint ceases to be a gift. I mean, I like chocolate; but if someone grabbed me in a dark alley, slammed me up against a wall, put a gun to my head and told me to scarf down one of those giant Cadbury Dairy Milk bars or else he would blow my head off, I would have a hard time working up enough saliva to swallow. Even if I did manage to escape death by choking the thing down, I would probably have to go around back and barf it up the minute he was gone. And when I described the experience afterwards, my first words would not be “Mmm… chocolate.”
Salon has a neat weekly column called Wednesday Morning Download, which I’m using to fill up my MP3 selection. (Only 12 days and 22 hours worth of music so far.)
You’ll need to get a DayPass, currently by watching an Audi ad, to see it.
Manchester is one of five cities chosen to pilot a programme of tree planting that hopes to cut pollution. Which is nice, but, really, more people should get out of their fucking cars and walk, cycle or take the bus! Especially in cities where one dodgy traffic light can bring the whole centre to a halt.
This has been a common sense announcement brought to you by Team Spinneyhead.
As model boats go, a 30 foot long, two person model of the Graf Spee, complete with sound system and outboard motor that will push it to 15 miles per hour, has to rate as a hell of a project.
Terry Jones writes to Mr. and Mrs. Blair about young Tony’s poor understanding of his subject.