Taking a few moments (about four hours worth of moments, really) to troll the internet at my favorite sites (which you can for the most part find linked right over there to the left), I came across some stuff from the San Diego Comic-Con that I'd unfortunately missed. I can't manage to watch it here at work, but I'll see to it that when I get home tonight I'll ingest it wholly, and undoubtedly be left wanting more.
In an unfortunate turn of events for misogynists everywhere, St. Lous mayor Francis Slay has turned down requests for September 2nd to officially be known as "Ike Turner Day." Ike Turner, 75 years old and best known for being the abusive husband of Tina Turner is erroneously quoted as saying "I'll punch that bitch in the back of the neck." Actually he said he didn't really care, he was already famous enough to have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and that all he was worried about was making the audience happy.
Ike, of course with his advanced age, is unlikely to smack around anything other than oatmeal mush and Geritol. Plans are currently underway to make September 2nd some kind of day, and other ideas have been pitched such as "Roid Rage Day" (in honor of Chris Benoit), "Lisa Marie Nowak Day" to bring awareness to mentally unstable astronauts everywhere, and "Jimmy Hoffa Day" where citizens from all over try to find Jimmy Hoffa's body.
In further "news," it seems that after 195 some odd million years, Sturgeons are still jumping out of the water. Not entirely understanding why reporting on the doings of a critter that's been doing the same thing for the better part of 2 million years is newsworthy, I suspect it's because in following the natural course of things the fish are hitting boaters all over a 40-mile stretch from the Suwannee to Manatee Springs near Orlando, Florida. In a reported 24 month period, there have been 12 cases of the fish that can grow up to eight feet long leaping from the waters of Florida's lakes and rivers and maliciously attacking boaters. For a fish that boasts a lifespan reaching nearly 200 years, one can only assume that the crotchety old fishes are simply tired of those punk kids being on their lawn.
In a bit of personal news, the job search continues. Sooner or later, somebody's almost certain to be desperate enough to hire me.
I relieve my disappointment at not having found a new job yet by reminding myself that "Happy peanuts soar over chocolate covered mountaintops and waterfalls of caramel. Prancing nougat in the meadow sings a song of satisfacion to the world."
Visualize Whirled Peas
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