How McDonald's Saved The Future

Ah, legal laughs so dear to my heart.....

Somewhere, sometime today, I ran across a listing of this year's Stella Awards, the legal version of the Darwin Awards.

Somebody got to rhuminating on the McDonald's burn case so many years ago, (you know the one--lady pulls up to the drivethrough, orders one "liquid-hot magmachino," spills it on her lap as she screeches from the parking lot, sues the Golden Arches for her stupidity, wins $2.o million dollars) and it got me thinking about Tort Reform and its impact on society.

Just imagine--the McDonald's lawsuit never happens. McCoffee continues to be served at sun-hot temperatures......

...Rewind to the year 1992. Two robots are sent back in time to Los Angeles, one to kill John Connor, and one to save him.

Much R-rated action ensued. However, instead of this cross-dimensional confict culminating in a knock-down drag out in a smelting factory, Ahnold and the T1000 decide to resolve their differences over a nice cup of coffee at McDonalds:

Ahnold: Zere, you zee? Cyborgs and Too-minators can be friendz.

T1000: Thank you for helping me see that programmed and indiscriminate
killing of innocent people is as wrong in the 20st century as it is in the 23rd
century. Cheers!

(T1000 takes a drink, his eyes widen and he begins to melt.
Ahnold reaches out and grabs the polymetalalloy punk by the throat.)

Ahnold: ENJOY YOUR UN-HAPPY MEAL OF DEATH YOU
LIQUID METAL BAS-TAHD!!!

.....

(I know you laughed. Just admit it.)

Me fail English? That's unpossible!

Apparently I am quite the cunning linguist. Check out my scores, then try it yourself and confirm your inadequacy....

English Genius
You scored 93% Beginner, 93% Intermediate, 93% Advanced, and 77% Expert!

You did so extremely well, even I can't find a word to describe your excellence! You have the uncommon intelligence necessary to understand things that most people don't. You have an extensive vocabulary, and you're not afraid to use it properly! Way to go!

Thank you so much for taking my test. I hope you enjoyed it!

For the complete Answer Key, visit my blog: http://shortredhead78.blogspot.com/.

'Tis Dat Time O' Year Again!

On my way home from work last night, Tony and I discussed from long-distance our plans for that most Irish of all holidays: St. Patrick's Day. And as we waxed philosophical about the merits of getting right bloody drunk on Thursday verses Friday (no, I am not kidding about this), it got me thinking about our sense of entitlement on this festive occasion.

I understand this about this particular holiday. I am not Irish. I don't pretend to be Irish. I've been to Ireland, but nothing about that trip entitles me to feign a bond with the Irish people. This holds true for most of the people I know who view St. Patrick's Day as a right vested in heritage to drink until they are blotto.



None of this, of course, applies to our very own Spider (ne Daniel Feighery), who has recently applied for his real "Green Card" and Irish Citizenship.

But besides Danny Boy--what right do I have to celebrate what is essentially an Emerald Isle tradition? Then I got to thinking, "Well, maybe it's a Catholic thing!"



But thinking back to my halcyon days of youth in the Catholic grade school, I could not for the life of me remember anything about St. Patrick or the fact that we honor him with lots and lots of green beer. So, that thought was canceled due to....confusion.

That led me to my last, and most obvious conclusion: I went to Notre Dame! My devotion to Our Blessed Mother of Inebriation atop her golden perch grants me the divine providence to claim an Irish birthright and adorn myself in green from head to toe!


"No, really, he's my husband. He's straight--honest!"

But that can't be right--I celebrate St. Patty's Day because I am Fighting Irish through and through? Granted, the atmosphere is wonderful on a cold afternoon in South Bend spent chugging a keg of Natty Light in the parking lot of your favorite off-campus complex. But while everyone at Notre Dame celebrates St. Pat's, not everyone who celebrates St. Pat's went to Mother Church.


"Well, that lasted an hour!"

What is left then? Just the bare, brutally honest truth about this holiday, and all its implications for those of us out there struggling to come to terms with our own fears and morays regarding alcoholic tendencies, latent xenophobia and ramant jingoism coupled with a backlash against immigration, not to mention our willful ignorance of an island culture rife with bloody civil struggle over religion and nationality that has spanned hundreds of years. Are you ready to admit the truth?

So why do we celebrate this St. Patrick's Day?

Leprechauns. Magical Leprechauns make us do it, with their mind-bending sorcery.




There, I said it, the conspiracy is laid bare.

So when you are out next Thursday, shooting back a car bomb or kissing someone who thinks they're Irish, remember this: all your irrational, likely self-destructive behavior on this unremarkable day is being forced upon you beyond your will by mystical elven creatures with beards and an agenda.

Next time I see Warwick Davis and his lucky charms, I am going to stomp his little green ass.

Beers of Notre Dame

Ah, the weekend! When a young man's heart turns to fancy alcoholic beverages! This guide is what you need for a drunken debaucherous daytrip hungover through the Hoosier state.



Beer! "The Cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems!"

Friends and Foes

The lack of updates here is appalling, utterly and completely appalling! Am I spelling "appalling" correctly? Who knows!

Things Which Make Life Worth Living Today:

Yesterday, a few members of the Drunken Donkey vented their frustrations via electronic messages over what they perceived was dour neglect for the upper right and left corners of this vast country of ours (i.e. they whine because they are remotely located and other members have not been to visit), and over what I assume is their distain for my unintentional "hip-hopism" when I refered to my fair city as "NashVatty." This emoting was unexpected, but partially amusing. I had no real adequate response.

The payoff came later that evening, when my wife remarked during dinner that my friends were rather hormonal in their emails today.

God bless that woman.

Interesting Website of the Day:

My friend Melvin of Pena, a knight from days of yore at Our Lady du Lac, has sent me a rather amusing tale from his own blog wherein he recounts a rather hefty snowfall in my hometown of Mishawaka, Indiana. Melvin was always a good chap who, like the Donkey, was dedicated to fighting the forces of evil wherever they may strike. The mirth and merriment he provided to the squires in O'Neill hall were rivaled only by his compentency in the 8-bit Nintendo realm.

Major Irrelevant Fact of the Day:

It started when I moved to Nashville in late 2000 in the year of our Lord. Then last summer, Tony moved from Europe to Atlanta just three hours south. Now Kevin has been sucked in from Milwakee to the Middle Tennessee area, and Bo speculates that he shall arrive here in no more than five years.

It begs the question: am I the cornerstone upon which the Drunken Donkey is founded, to which all members are inexorably drawn?

Or, by way of another, less shallow and conceited query: does Nashville possess some heretofore undiscovered magnetic properties that pull my bretheren to this region beyond their unconscious will?

Only space and time will reveal the answer to this mystery. In the meantime, I am doing everything I can to prevent my hitherto unforseen powers from overwhelming me. Through beer, mostly.