Oh, some like it hot, but I like it REALLY hot.

There's a lot of stuff I like about the idea of Senator Al Franken but am I a bastard because the thing that's exciting me the most is the prospect of seeing Bill O'Reilly's head explode?

You're going to make a great psychiatrist someday, kid.

If I was somebody that had a violent reaction to the sight of blood then I wouldn't become a butcher. Likewise; if I had a problem with actual practice of medicine I wouldn't become a doctor.

It's not that difficult of a concept. Honestly.

The men from Vulcan treat their women strangely. At least, people say that.

R.I.P. to Star Trek's Majel Barrett-Roddenberry (Nurse Chapel) who died yesterday from Leukemia. She'd had something to do with practically every Star Trek incarnation, including the new movie in which she was to be the voice of the Enterprise's computer.

Trek will never be the same without her.

He's an angry elf.

Ubermilf mentioned she's been a bit overwhelmed lately so in honor of her I'm posting Grandma Barb's Homemade Hot-Buttered Rum Mix recipe. We start making this around mid-November and usually have a batch in our freezer to spread holiday cheer.

Hopefully she can find some time to make up some of this and enjoy it.

Hot Buttered Rum Mix

1 cup or 2 cubes of butter
1/2 to 1 box brown sugar

Cream together

Add: 1/2 pint of French vanilla ice cream and mix. Keep frozen.

Hot Buttered Rum

1 heaping Tablespoon of batter, 1or so ounces of Rum, hot water, stir not shake. Dash of Nutmeg on top if you like.

It's not the lowest calorie concoction around, on the other hand after a couple of these you may find yourself running naked around the neighborhood wearing not but a Santa hat screaming you "Santa's got a candy cane," building snowmen in the neighbor's yards even though it's not snowing only to be brought down by a gaggle of elves that look suspiciously like state troopers and pummeled into unconsciousness. All of that burns a lot of calories.

If you're like me you might just prefer sitting down with a buttered rum and enjoying a David Letterman Top Ten list. In this case here are the top ten Christmas movies playing in Times Square--

10. The Stocking Stuffer
9. Prancer and Dancer Meet Lancer
8. Live on Stage! Bob Cratchitt and Mrs. Cratchitt Doing It!
7. The Night the Grinch Stole a Guy's Wallet on the `D' Train
6. Up Santa's Chimney
5. Miracle on 69th Street
4. Frosty the Butt Man
3. Rotating Pies
2. The Nutcrackers

And the number one Christmas movie playing in Times Square...

1.That Ain't Egg Nog!

That's it. Out you two pixies go - through the door, or out the window.

QUIZ- Which of these celebrities would you most like to see go away after 2008?

Or maybe his head wasn't screwed on just right. But I think that the most likely reason of all may have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

Mrs. Wormer and I have very strong opinions when it comes to naming babies. The sky's the limit, but we definitely feel that parents have a responsibility not to give children a name that will be a handicap as they go through life. (Actually, our personal bar to naming our kids was "what name would work if they were to become a Supreme Court Justice?" but that's just us.)

That's why I can say without reservation that these parents who named their kid Adolf Hitler can take their whining about the reaction to the name and shove it up their asses. Yes, the name is racist-based, one of their other children's middle name is "Aryan Nation" but naming their kid Hitler is also supremely selfish. As much as parents that we'd like to believe children are an extension of us they're also persons that are going grow up and live their own lives as their own individuals.

Why do anything from the get go to make those lives harder?

We'll have to outwit the fiend with our superior intelligence.

When I read the comments of the raving wingnut segment of the net about the Obama Blago and birth certificate "scandals," I can't help but think of the wisdom of Jack Handey who in his prescient genius had this to say:

"I can still recall old Mister Barnslow getting out every morning and nailing a fresh load of tadpoles to that old board of his. Then he'd spin it round and round, like a wheel of fortune, and no matter where it stopped he'd yell out, "Tadpoles! Tadpoles is a winner!" We all thought he was crazy. But then we had some growing up to do."

We may think the wingnut right is crazy, but then we have a lot of growing up to do.

But entertain if you will the unlikely idea that the average reader of Michelle Malkin, Matt Drudge, Reason or any other host of conservative blogs IS a few donuts short of a dozen. What does it say that our major news media not only entertain the ideas of these people but spend hours and hours building hypotheticals based upon their ranting under the guise of asking "honest" questions? What does it say about us if we continue to put up with it?

Should the people who dress up like Teddy Roosevelt and spend their days digging the Panama Canal in the basement really be the people setting the agenda of our national discourse?

Call ME crazy but I don't feel that those people who are really one step away from being caught in a butterfly net and stuffed in a rubber room should expect to have their opinions given sober consideration by the rest of us.

Perhaps I'm being too mean. Maybe it's just wrong of me to ascribe insanity to political positions that differ from my own. Personally, I think I'm being generous.

Because if they're not crazy then they're just really, really stupid. If it were up to them I'm sure they'd pick crazy.

If you ask me they already have.


(Bonus Jack Handeyism: "We tend to scoff at the beliefs of the ancients. But we can't scoff at them personally, to their faces, and this is what annoys me.")

I must get that hat back! Think nasty, think nasty, think nasty!

Liberality and Freida each story-virused me last week. Apologies it took so long but here are my contributions.

Here's Liberality's strain which I'm going to end...

The bus was more crowded than usual. It was bitterly cold outside, and I hadn't prepared for it. I noticed that a fair number of the riders were dressed curiously. As I glanced around, I stretched my feet and kicked up against a large, heavy cardboard box laying under the seat in front of me. (Splotchy)

The man who apparently owned the box glared at me and I moved my feet closer toward my seat and sat up straighter. Outside the wind was blowing hard and I watched out the window as the tree limbs swayed along the street and people clutched their scarves more closely about their heads as they made their way into the wind. We passed a building that had a flag pole and the flag it flew stood straight out and flapped angrily it seemed to me. I bemoaned my fate of having forgotten my hat, gloves and scarf on such a miserable day but I had been running late and had to get to the bus stop if I wanted to get to work on time.

After a few moments of surveying the frigid scene outside my window I returned my attention to my fellow passengers on the bus and noted with some alarm that one woman was so bundled up in her hat, coat, and heavy wool scarf that it was hard to even see her face. Another man sitting next to the gentleman with the cardboard box wore a jumpsuit which I found very peculiar indeed. He was sitting quietly with his eyes closed and seemed to be sleeping. My gaze upon him though brought his eyes open with a snap and he stared straight into my eyes with a most hypnotic gaze. His eyes were a bright light green. I had never seen such beautiful green eyes and could not look away. It reminded me of that famous photo taken of the Afghan girl, the eyes were so striking and fierce even. I tried to look away but it was impossible. (liberality.)

Those eyes! They burrowed into my soul and left it impossible to think, to move!

With every effort I could muster I closed my eyes but I could still see Jumpsuit Man's eyes piercing into my soul like twin lasers. Then I heard the voice.

"Don't be alarmed," said his voice. "I won't hurt you."

Were the words actually spoken? Was I the only one that could hear them? Was this telepathy or my imagination?

"Stand," commanded his voice.

I tried to resist but found myself rising to my feet against my will.

"Now reach into your purse and pull out your wallet."

So he was robbing me? I sighed to myself in relief. Such total command could've been so much worse.

"In your wallet is a playing card," said his voice. "Pull it out and tell me what it is."

Suddenly I was once again in control of my motor functions. In my hand was a playing card. It seemed like every eye in the bus was fixed on me.

"Um, the ace of spades," I said.

Jumpsuit Man took the card from me and held it up for the rest of the passengers on the bus to see. A loud round of applause greeted him.

Fuming, I sat down hard in my chair. I hate it when David Blaine rides mass transit.

Fin.

(Deanwormer)

-------------------

Here's the chain Freida's been infected with and my contribution-

The bus was more crowded than usual. It was bitterly cold outside, and I hadn't prepared for it. I noticed that a fair number of the riders were dressed curiously. As I glanced around, I stretched my feet and kicked up against a large, heavy cardboard box laying under the seat in front of me. (Splotchy)

I couldn't believe my eyes. Surrepticiously, I tried to establish, without giving it away, if anyone else had seen what I had. For ten years I had been looking for that box. What looked like an ordinary cardboard box to most contained something most precious. Only by the small golden "P" was I able to identify what I was looking at. (Freida Bee)

How the box got here, or how I happened to be on this bus with it now--these questions were immaterial. I just had to get that box. The bus slowed to a stop, so I steadied myself. Just as I was about to make a grab for the box, however, it moved. Someone else was picking it up to take it away! I had to stop her! (Dguzman)

What? This couldn't be happening--to get this close and watch some quick-footed little dwarf just up and snatch it away from me...no! I got up and just as I did the sweaty hillbilly in front of me stood up and stepped into the aisle. Moving like a bad mime imitating a man in a box he extended his arms and stretched, looking up at the ceiling as he did so. The dwarf with the box--I couldn't be sure if it was a man or a woman, but something about her seemed feminine--slipped out the front door and off the bus. I took a deep breath and slumped back down into my seat. (Bubs)

I sized up the chances of getting bodily fluids on me for a few seconds before I decided to risk it. I needed to get that box back.

"Sir, do you think I could get past you?" I ventured, standing stiffly, hoping to move near the front door to catch a quick exit at the next stop.

"Ah's gettin' off a' tha nex' stop," he said as he wiped his brow and placed his hand squarely on my shoulder.

"Well, fuck," I thought, getting more and more irritated each second his residual touch seemed to burn itself permanently into the fabric of my sweater. "I need to ask the bus driver about the next stop, really quickly. Do you mind?"

I could see he was challenged. His size alone made the bus an unfortunate place for him to endure, but I was concerned I would not be able to catch up with the thief who stole my box this time.

"Ah know these parts real good-like an' kin tells you anythin' you wants ta know."

"Sir, I really just need to be ready to step off the bus as soon as it stops," I said irritatedly now, as the bus jerked to a stop in its typically abrupt manner. I fell forward smack dab into his chest, catching a whiff of a strange smell that simultaneously made me gag and feel groggy only moments before I felt my head spinning as he caught my fall, grinning knowingly. (Freida)

"Axe," he whispered in my ear as I began to pass out. "Always gets the ladies."

I dreamed of a valley filled with dancing penguins. A dwarf with my box slowly pushed his way through the dancing birds. As I tried to follow the penguins slowed my progress with their fancy footwork and proclivity to dip their partners.

As I faded into consciouness I realized I was in small, cheap hotel room. Sitting next to me with my box on his lap was the dwarf from the bus.

He smiled a toothless grin and in a voice that sounded like Gary Busey after he'd just sucked down a balloon full of helium he squeaked "It starts."
(Deanwormer)

Anybody that wants to take that up feel free...

That really hurt! I'm gonna have a lump there, you idiot! Who throws a shoe? Honestly!

Wow. President Bush mentioned me in his press conference just after the shoe incident-

"It's like driving down the street and have people not gesturing with all five fingers. "

One of my proudest moments was having his limo diverted just a few feet from me and giving that ass just gesture he mentions.