Homeless

I was returning to my car after having seen the excellent movie The Watchmen, when a man-sans-home (what you may call a bum, or homeless man) approached me. As you may know, many MSM's spend time in shelters and so share various methods of acquiring much needed queso fundido (what you may call money). N-T-Hoo, this gentlemen used the "I need eighty-five cents for the bus" approach. Solid, if unspectacular. I responded, "Do you sir, have change for a hundo?" Without missing a beat, the MSM began looking through his wallet, which was in fact a half eaten burrito. After flipping through some dry cleaning receipts and photos (which were in fact onions and bell peppers), he declared "Do you have eighty five cents for the bus?" I did. And I gave it to him.

Today's Decklaration: An ice pick is a weapon first, a utensil second.

An Open Letter to Some of My Neighbors

Shut up, shut UP, SHUT UP!
I'm serious. I'm talking to you, Guy in the SUV who rattles my windows with your music every day when you drive by the house. I wish one day you would stop and need directions somewhere and I would invite you inside to "mapquest it for you" and when you were sitting on the couch, relaxing, I would throw my cat Cosmo at your face. That is no picnic, just ask my brother.

And I'm talking to you, Neighbor Kids Across the Street. I don't know what is going on over there, I don't know whose baby that is, and I don't know why the eight- or nine-year-old never seems to be wearing pants. Just keep it down.

And you, Guy Walking Down the Street Screaming Obscenities into Your Cell Phone, knock it off. You are a fairly new phenomenon, but I can tell you I already have one Crazy Guy who circles the block endlessly, and while I may not exactly like the cut of his jib, at least he's relatively quiet.

Another thing, Neighbors. What is the story with the clumps and piles of fake hair that I find all over the place? Are girls deciding at the last minute that the piece doesn't work with the look, yanking it out, and tossing it in the street? Could it possibly be that I'm perpetually five minutes late to a tremendous girlfight? A fight where fists are flying and weave is being pulled out by the handful? It is a mystery.

And, finally, Noam Chomsky, I know you're not technically my neighbor, but I'm editing an 800-page book on linguistics and your name has come up on almost every page. You, sir, are starting to get on my nerves.

Decklarations Word o' the Day: widdershins (adv.) in a left-handed or contrary direction: contrarily; counterclockwise.
Usage: I will knock your ass widdershins around the block if you don't stop with that everlovin' music.

Bail this out.

Congress and the American public are livid over the bonuses paid to AIG executives, and rightfully so. As a young boy, my grandfather would warn me about certain evils in the world: Loose ladies, arrogant midgets, and the worst-of-the-worst, AIG executives. By the by, the bonus paid to these guys wouldn't get you a backup second baseman with a bum knee (who, by the way, plays in a stadium that your tax dollars built).

Todays Decklaration: Only famous people die skiing.

First Post

We'll just see how this goes.