HolyJuan

Hillary needs $5... make that $10 or $4600

I was clicking through CNN and thought it was funny that there was a "Contribute $5 to Hillary" advertisement next to a story about Obama.

So I clicked the link and the Clinton page came up so that I could donate my hard working, white man dollars, but...

$5 is nowhere to be seen.

I see $10 and I see $4600, but $5 just ain't gonna cut it anymore!

From what I read, she'll need to trick an additional 2 million people into giving $10 or 4348 people into giving $4600 just to break even on her campaign debt. Good luck!

English words that cannot be translated into another language

I just finished watching a film where the cool, foreign guy causes the American chick to swoon simply by dropping a few words on her that cannot be translated into English. I then thought to myself, on my next trip overseas, what words can I use to charm the armpit-haired girls to get them in the sack?

Behold, a list of English words and phrases that have no translation overseas or in French Canada.

Misunderestimate
Thank goodness for the previous administration’s eight years of adding seemingly American words to our dialect. I dare you to find “decider” in a French dictionary or the Hungarian word for “strategery.” Many a Mexican immigrant has gotten into fist fights with their second language teacher over the pronunciation of "nucular" that they heard on the televisión.

Blow Job
Sure, there are translations in every language for the greatest gift a woman can give a man, but nothing literal; after all, only Americans would say “blow” when they really mean "suck" and “job” when they mean “can I have this one for free?”

Pillow Talk
In France, guys leave after sex. In Slovakia, they pull up their britches and head outside to trim the hedge. Only in America will you find guys chit-chatting after sex. The funny part is trying to translate this concept into a foreign language: “The after-sex speak, during which time the man lies about love, and the woman lies about orgasm.”

Tidal Wave
I’ve run into way too many high-and-mighty people who frown upon the American word “Tidal Wave.” When Indonesia was decimated a few years back, I was chastised for saying “tidal wave.” When a high-and-mighty says, “A Tsunami struck!” ask them, “What is a tsunami?” and watch as they look around before whispering, “A tsunami is a tidal wave.”

Taint
No one but Americans would have a name for the area of the body that ain’t the balls and ain’t the ass.

Chode
No one, save the Americans, would have a second word for the word taint.

Redneck
Other countries are small, and so they can only make fun of other countries. The United States is too damn big, and we like to pick on the people in our sister states, or, as it were with this definition, our sister and wife states.

Pocketbook
Just what the hell is a pocketbook? You’ll never know if you speak another language. Turns out it’s a satchel for carrying around your most important woman stuff. It’s not a book and it’s not small enough to fit into anyone’s pocket. In other languages you can roughly translate it to, “Over the shoulder satchel used to hide everything you want, but nothing you need.”

Pocket Pussy
Staying with the theme, here… Have you ever seen one of these cure-alls for the lonely man? Well, it doesn’t look like pocket, it won’t fit in a pocket and it certainly won’t hold your car keys. As for the pussy… I’m not sure. If this were to translate literally, you’d have a wave of Japanese men ordering “dirtied” Levis off the internet and then banging them. Oh, I guess we already do.

Bush OKs waterboarding because he once heard drowning was a peaceful way to die.

By - PAUL LOY, Press Writer

WASHINGTON DC - President Bush feels no remorse for waterboarding techniques used on detainees because he remembers hearing once that drowning is one of the most peaceful ways to die.

“I heard (drowning) is a lot like going to sleep and if there’s one thing these terrorist don’t need to be doing, it’s sleeping… which is why I also authorized sleep deprivation techniques.” When asked about the cruelty behind the simulated drowning, Bush brushed it off suggesting that “it is like an extended Baptism and these al Qaeda could use it.”

ABC News' Chief White House correspondent
Martha Raddatz interviews President Bush
for an exclusive ABC News report. (ABC News)

The high-level discussions about [the torture techniques] were so detailed, these sources said, some of the interrogation sessions were almost choreographed — down to the number of times CIA agents could use a specific tactic. At one point, Condi pulled out a whiteboard and started to draw diagrams of the torture techniques. One thing lead to another and by midnight, we were playing a spirited game of Pictionary. Cheney won with the word, “coagulate.”

These top advisers signed off on how the CIA would interrogate top al Qaeda suspects — whether they would be slapped, pushed, deprived of sleep or subjected to simulated drowning, called waterboarding, sources told ABC news. Bush suggested that they be “grounded” from television, but his aids reminded him that al Qaeda really didn't have television. The President joked, “Well, they’ve got one positive thing going for them.”

A windy night in Denver

We did a high ropes course today and I am remembering the days when I could hold on to a post in gale force winds with no physical repercussions. I think I will be sleeping soundly tonight.

RIP Broccoli – 10/06 – 5/08

Broccoli died today. He was 1.5 years old, which in goldfish years is about 38.

Greg won him at the Fairfield County Fair in October of 2006. The game consists of me buying ten dollars worth of ping pong balls and Greg trying to throw them into small fishbowls of water. He made one in at the two dollar mark and my biggest fear was that he would make another one or more. Luckily he only made the one and the

carney dipped a random, non-floating goldfish out of the fish vat and put him lovingly into a plastic bag. As we walked to the car, me holding the plastic bag with him wanting to, I asked Greg what he wanted to name his new pet. Without much hesitation, he said, “Broccoli.” I made mention and repeated several times that goldfish get sick and die. Greg seemed to not care.

My old boss Orlando suggested I buy the SpongeBob SquarePants all-in-one tank. It came with everything a fish that was only going to live a month needed: Tank, air bubbler, tiny white rocks, and SpongeBob character to stick in the tank as your fish would need a friend to console it during its short life.

About six amazing months into his life, Broccoli began to act funny. He’d spin. All the time. Most of the time he would spin with his nose pointed at the tiny white rocks in the bottom of the tank. When we would feed him, he’d spin up to the surface and spend hours trying to get the food to go in his mouth. The internet said it was a parasite that fish get and there was no cure. I let him spin for about two days, hoping he would work it out. I told Miss Sally that I would give it one more day before sending Broccoli to the porcelain purgatory.

The next day, he was fine. No spinning. For weeks, I would quietly ask Sally if she replaced the sick Broccoli with a new Broccoli. She denied it. I believe her. Mostly.

A year after Broccoli became a member of our family, Greg and I went back to the Fairfield County Fair and we won another goldfish. This time I only bought two dollars worth of balls and Greg’s aim was still the same. As we walked to the car, he holding the plastic bag with me wanting to, I asked Greg what he wanted to name his new pet. Without much hesitation, he said, “Broccoli.” “But you all ready have a fish named Broccoli.” He shrugged. I made mention and repeated several times that goldfish get sick and die. Greg seemed to not care.

I made a point to not differentiate between the two Broccolis. I’d comment, “Broccoli is getting bigger!” or “I like Broccoli better.” Greg would answer whichever way he’d see fit.

Today, Broccoli was hovering sideways in the middle of the tank. I tried to resuscitate him by pushing him around in a bowl of water, forcing water through his gills. He was gone.

I called Sally and asked her what her opinion was on sharing the death of Broccoli with Greg. She said I should and we should flush him together. I called Greg in from the outside.

“Greg, remember how I told you that fish get sick and die?”

“Is Broccoli dead?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. He was a good fish.”

“Let me see.”

I held him up to the bowl I tried to resuscitate him in.

Greg said, “He’s not bones.”

I tried not to laugh, “Over time he would turn into bones, but not for a while.”

I said we had to flush him and we took him to the toilet. Luckily Miss Sally had just cleaned the bathroom or I would have felt a little guilty throwing him in a five year old’s pee shrouded toilet. We dropped him in and I said a few words about what a good fish he was. Greg flushed.

Broccoli’s limp body somehow fought the current and would not go down at first. In the end, he disappeared. After the waters calmed, Broccoli, the fighter that he was, stuck his head back up from the pipe and with his dead eye looked at us as if to say, “Is that all you got.”

I, of course, said this out loud and Greg and I laughed, making up new lines, mimicking Broccoli. “You can’t flush me suckas!” Greg’s was, “I’m swimming in the toilet,” which he thought was pretty funny.

The tank re-filled and Greg flushed again.

Broccoli swims alone in his tank in Greg’s room. I reminded him to only put in half the food he did the night before.

Weight Loss Could Save Billions And Lower Gas Prices

ATHENS, OH - Researchers at Russ College of Engineering and Technology at Ohio University have calculated that if every adult in the United States lost fifteen pounds, the savings to the economy in gasoline alone would amount to three billion dollars over the next year.

Cascading savings from the weight loss would also include fuel savings on fewer shipments of food, reduction in health care costs, as well as a reduction in gasoline demand which in turn would cause an overall drop in gas prices of approximately eight cents per gallon.

Roger Good, PhD, is the lead researcher on the project. “We Americans are hauling around a lot of extra weight. Getting rid of fifteen pounds of it will save fuel and, in turn, lower fuel costs.”

But wouldn’t the loss of consumption hurt the economy? No f’ing way says enthusiastic Ralph Connor, graduate student, “The need for more nutritious foods would replace the monetary loss from the quantity of fatty foods. Maybe the Ho-Ho people will come out with a soy version of the treat!”

Other areas of the economy would see a positive spin from the weigh loss. “You would also see a spike in the retail industry as smaller Americas seek out new clothes,” smiled Dr. Good. "Indeed, our research shows that the only business segment detrimented [sic] by a slimmer, trimmer America would be the health club / fitness industry. But really, with revolutionary home fitness solutions like Billy Blanks' Tae-Bo, Bowflex and the Hawaii Chair, traveling to gymnasiums is an idea whose time has come and gone, which ultimately contributes to further decreases in fuel consumption. It's a snowball effect."

Though the researchers do not think everyone has the willpower to stay on a diet, they believe that liposuction could be utilized to remove fat from people who are unwilling to voluntarily go on a diet. “We are working with Pacific Natural Energy (PNE) to see if we can actually turn human fat into biofuel with a device called ‘the FatBox.’” Plans are in the works for mobile liposuction labs called “Suck Trucks” which will be powered by the human bio-diesel. Connor whispers, “Some of these patients [hand gestures indicating a fatty] could power the Suck Truck for a week.”

Kate's Arm

My niece broke her arm, just like her Uncle Doug did when I was her age. I jumped off a swing and landed on my left arm. She was using a stool/chair as a ladder combination and lost her balance which took out her right arm.

I broke my left arm again my Junior year in football practice. After it healed up, and it came up in discussions, I would tell people how I broke the same arm twice and how you could feel the two sets of raised areas where the bones were mended. Now that I think about it, I'd also show people how my arm was bent funny because it didn't heal exactly right the first time when I was a kid.

My Junior Year broken arm cast was a full cast all the way up to the shoulder. After a few weeks, it was removed (those things get stinky) and a forearm cast replaced it. Because my arm had been stuck in that bent position, it wouldn't straighten out. The doctor said that was normal and that in a week or two it would start to work itself out. I'm sure I was supposed to follow some rehabilitation schedule.

Later that night, I was in a graveyard with two friends egging cars. We thought the eight foot fence would keep any of the drivers from coming after us, but we were wrong. When we climbed into the graveyard, it took me about five minutes to get over the fence with that cast on and my arm not bending. As we raced through the headstones with two guys starting to chase us, I didn't think about my arm and we all scrambled over the fence in about two seconds.

At the rendezvous point we were all out of breath from running and laughing. With my hands on my knees, I noticed that my left arm was stretched out straight. Who needs rehabilitation!

About two years ago I was home looking through some family photos and saw a photo of a six year old me with my cast... on my right arm.

Memory is a funny thing.