Vote For The Extinction of Man

Maybe it was all the HP Lovecraft I read over June 6, 2006, but my gut reaction is to not vote for Mr. Hlatcu for Governor.

Perhaps it's his endorsement of a Mr. Yog-Sothoth for Lt Governor.

Or that his campaign is managed by a Mr. Cthulhu.

Or that in his hand while his TV spot aired was a leathery volume called the Necronomicon.

It's possible that Mr. Hlatcu is exactly what he purports to be: a Romanian immigrant who was lived in Alaska for 16 years and is an engineer by trade.

Or he might be an emissary of The Ancient Ones.

You decide.

lŠ! Shub-Niggurath!

Taint Misbehavin'

If you are not familiar with a "taint," it's that area of your tender vittles (to use a baseball metaphor) between Home Plate and the Dugout. Where to draw the lines indicating areas of the "field of play" will vary by your own league rules.

Or to be more specific (and to use a geographic governmental metaphor in picture form), the orange part is the geographical taint.

Anyway, have you ever had a zit there? You're all cleaning up after a visit to the "restroom" and you think to yourself "Hey, what's that? Oh the humanity, that's a zit! On the taint! A taint zit. Yeeeow!"

No?

Well, me neither.

Tweak Here, Tweak There

J-Bro pointed out that my template changes made it impossible to leave comments. Well, we don't want that.

Thanks, J, for alerting me before I crashed into the reefs of "nobody is commenting" and landed on the shores of self-doubt and depression. Or someink.

Listenin' to the Muzak, thinking about this and that…

How do you like the new design? It's not all that different but I added "not in a creepy way" somewhere prominent. I'll probably tweak it a little. I wonder if I can copyright "not in a creepy way?" Trademark? Hmm. If'n I ever start a business, I'll call it "Not In A Creepy Way Productions."

Someink like that.

Elvis Costello and the Attractions are on heavy rotation tonight. "They're saying things that I can hardly believe. They really think we're getting out of control."

Costello's Spike is one of my favorite albums from any artist. Every song is intricately written, plus it was my introduction to the story of Derek Bentley.

If you've never heard of Derek Bentley or Chris Craig, you need to go HERE and read the story (teaser: He was executed in 1953 and then pardoned in 1998.) Then you'll have to get your hands on the song "Let Him Dangle."

But tonight I'm listening to the "Greatest Hits" singles: Pump It Up, Radio Radio, Watching the Detectives, Red Shoes… aaaah, fun.

What else is going on? One week without sugar. I wouldn’t recommend it unless it's necessary which in my case, unfortunately, it is for a while. Oh well, maybe I'll lose some weight. I can't imagine how I wouldn’t since my main food groups used to consist of chocolate and nougat with the occasional peanut or almond thrown in if I was feeling like health food. I never thought I'd miss nougat but I do. I'd write a little poem, an ode to nougat, but I'm not in that kind of mood. I do like typing nougat though. Nougat, nougat, nougat.

The asshats down the street are shooting off fireworks again. It scares the bejeesus out of Sugar. Really, there is bejeesus all over my computer room. She's currently hiding under my desk at my feet as Kelli sleeps in the next room.

All is well.

Visit ? Pixie ?

Check out: Pixie's Temple

It's a fun little blog just waiting to entertain you !!

More Polymer Clay

I've had a lot on my plate the last week. I'll probably dribble bits of detail when I sit down to write seriously soon, but here are some new polymer clay creations, mostly copied right out of Dinko Tilov's book "Creating Fantasy Polymer Clay Characters."

I've learned some technique which will greatly increase the quality of my own creations as they come along. And I love the idea of using the buttons for armor.

With that, here they are.

The Light At The End Of The Tunnel

Yes, this is a lightbulb in a rectum. Rectum? Nearly killt'em.

What's Happening ?

Not much in my end of the world. Well, that's not quite true. I was sick to a certain extent all last week and went to the doctor. Without getting into a bunch of stuff it all comes down to more diet and exercise. Sounds easy, huh?

Well with the not-snacking thing in mind I have been playing around with the polymer clay with renewed abandon.

I bought a great book by Dinko Tilov (who has a great name at any rate) and you'll see my renditions of Dinko characters soon. Most of them have a little Eric twist to them but most are simply copies so that I can learn techniques. Yes, there are techniques to play-doh.

It's satisfying to get things wrong, wrong, wrong, then right. I can definitely tell the difference in brands and types of polymer clay now. I have made myself a tool or two and have found the store-bought ones that actually work. Although there's something fun about having a pasta machine near my computer desk, I'm doing more actual sculpting so I use the machine less and less (no need for flat clay or straight lines).

Thanks to J-Bro, I'm listening to Peeping Tom's single "Sucker" in between my favorite Tom Waits songs (they are nothing alike). Peeping Tom is the new project of the lead singer from Faith No More and this single features Norah Jones saying dirty words. Love it! Thanks J!

As far as Tom Waits… it's all good. I can't get enough of "Eyeball Kid" and "Chocolate Jesus" and "Jockey Full of Bourbon" and "Time" and "Clap Hands" and "Blind Love." Oh and "Big in Japan."

If you've never heard "Eyeball Kid," here are the lyrics. But you really need to hear it to get the whole feel. It's funny and creepy and yet will make you think.

Well Zenora Bariella
And Coriander Pyle
They had sixteen children
In the usual style
They had a curio museum
And they had no guile
All they ever wanted
Was a show biz child
So on the 7th of Dec. 1949
They got what
They'd been wishing for
All of the time
He grew up in a trailer
By the time he was 9
He rolled off to join
The circus... telling fortunes
On the side

Hail Hail, the Eyeball kid

Well the first time I saw him
Was a Saigon jail
Cost me 27 dollars
Just to go his bail
I said your name will
Be in lights...
And that's no doubt
But you got to have
A manager that's what
It's all about
People would point
People would stare
I'll always be here
To protect you and to
Cut down on the glare
I know you can't speak
I know you can't sign
So cry right here on
The dotted line

Hail Hail, the Eyeball kid

Well he was born with out a body
Not even a brow
I made the kid a promise
I made the kid a vow
He's not conventionally handsome
He'll never be tall
He said "all you got to do is
Book me into Carnegie Hall"

Hail Hail, the Eyeball kid

He's just a little bitty thing
He's just a little guy
But women go crazy
For the big blue eye
They say how does he
Dream? How does he think
When he can't ever speak
And he can't ever blink?

I said Hail Hail, the Eyeball kid
Hail Hail, the Eyeball kid

Give it up and throw me down
A couple of quid
Everybody wants to see
The Eyeball kid

How dies he dream
How does he think
When he can't even speak
And he can't even blink
We are all lost in the
Wilderness we're as
Blind as can be
He came down to teach us
How to really see

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

So give it up and throw
Me down a couple of quid
Everybody wants to see
The Eyeball kid
Eyeball kid
Eyeball kid

What's happening with you?

This Week's Tenant: Recommended

In her words:

This blog is about the many things I discover online every day. Rantings and personal opinions included. Enjoy your stay and visit again!
-t-

The -t- is Tina, or positronic, and she's from Berlin, Germany.

Check her out, she gets some amazing amounts of traffic from this Blog Rental thing so I hope not to disappoint her. Really. Go there now!

Does A Bear Poop In The Woods ?

Well, as evidenced by an accident in the outskirts of Los Anchorage today, it will poop on the road if it is under the influence of a Ducati S2R.

Yes, a motorcycle vs. bear accident. Do you get a lot of those where you live? I swell with hometown pride (although not in a creepy way).

In the paper / scissors / rock world of collisions, apparently Ducati beats black bear.

The scenario: the biker, travelling 65-70mph crests a hill on what could only be described as a "country road," paved but pot-holed and no shoulders. On the other side of the hill is a black bear who is unaware he is about to become one with the Ducati legend.

Whoomp!

The damage to the rider: broken collar bone.

The damage to the Ducati? Nothing except it was a hair transplant recipient on the handlebars.

Damage to the bear: Undetermined since it fled the scene but it left a bunch of poop in the road. The bike literally knocked the crap out of the bear.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Kelli before and a year and a quarter after weight loss surgery.

I know the surgery is controversial but she's so much happier (and as beautiful inside and out as ever).

So Funny You Might Pee Two Drops

This post brought to you by the letter "T"

Check out this: The Gatorade Conspiracy

Really. It's hilarious.

For the short attention span crowd, you don't even have to read the post, just look at the pictures.

If you comment, tell 'em The Panic Blog sentcha.

This Week's Tenant: Imagination MADNESS

This is a blogger with a mysterious story to tell. Here's how she describes herself:

About Me

Name:Shy

Location:Hilversum, Netherlands

Who is Tracey (Shy)? I am an Aussie living in The Netherlands (Holland some of you people call it) I am 31 and a mother of a lovely little girl who turns 7 this year! My hobbies are anything to do with craft. Things I do to much of that is unhealthy? Whining about my ex and thinking of payback!

Go visit her and see what she's up against!

Imagination MADNESS,
Madness takes its toll. Please have exact change

Stranger Dangers

I was surfing around the news sites and I came upon a story involving
the dangers of pedicures.

According to the devil, er, I mean FOXNews,

“… recently in Fort Worth, Texas, … a wrongful death suit claimed a woman
died after contracting antibiotic-resistant Staphylococcus aureus following a
pedicure at a local nail salon.

This incident…parallels another, even more widespread calamity that occurred when 110 people who received pedicures at a Santa Cruz, Calif. nail salon contracted a potentially dangerous infection causing treatment-resistant skin abscesses and boils.”

Vanity, thy name is Flesh Eating Bacteria.

Oh and in the same article, here’s some good advice with regard to Botox and chemical peels:

“never have an antiaging treatment in someone's garage, basement, at
an ‘injectable party,’ or in a hotel room.”

Actually, if you attend an “Injectable Party” then you might just deserve what you get.

But that’s just me.

Lights Out Everybody

People have always been entertained by being told creepy stories.

Think of the novel or screenplay writers who have made the hair stand up on the back of your neck. Are you thinking of Stephen King, Clive Barker, Rod Serling, or Alfred Hitchcock?

Before these masters there was another person you might not have heard of:

Arch Obler

Crazy Dog Audio Theater Masterpiece Gallery describes him thusly:

"American radio’s premier horror series Lights Out began in 1934 and was soon taken over by the legendary Arch Obler the following year. Arch Obler is widely recognised as one of the best writers for audio of all time. He once famously insisted that ‘I write about human beings, not special effects’.

Obler’s work with Lights Out makes this series the precursor of TV shows like Rod Serling’s ‘Twilight Zone’. Part of Obler’s strength was in writing one-to-one, on a personal level, always aiming directly at the individual listener. For example he would write: ‘In a horrific time, in a horrible world, I have been asked to try and horrify you---all in fun, of course. … Now I know that you're not a person who is easily frightened. Monsters, ghosts, the dead. Who gets scared of that sort of thing anymore? You don't. Or do you?…’ "

His show began with a bell sounding thirteen times. In between the tolls of the bell and starting with the fourth toll the following words are spoken in a deep sonorous voice:

"It – is – later – than – you – think,"

followed by Mr O himself saying,

"This is Arch Obler bringing you another of our series of tales of the unusual and once again we caution you these Lights Out stories are not for the timid soul so we tell you calmly and very sincerely, if you frighten easily, turn off the radio now."

A gong clashes and the story begins.

These stories are great. Okay, so not all of them hit the mark but neither did all of the Twilight Zone episodes or Alfred Hitchcock Presents. But most of them stand the test of time 60 and 70 years later.

I just received 6 CDs of old radio shows from Darryl Hawkins at Old Time Radio including all of the Arch Obler recordings. Fantastic.

Where will you find me in the next couple of weeks during my spare time?
Oh yes, I'll be thrilling to the tales of the supernatural and the supernormal.

With the lights out, everybody.

You're so vain, you probably think this plate is about you

(note: all the plates I mention are Alaska plates. The pictures listed are provided because the state DMV will not display a vanity plate which has already been taken).

Yesterday someone encountered a license plate that only a few of us (me included) laughed at. Perhaps I’m just twisted.

Last week a coworker gave out a locate for a hit and run suspect vehicle. It wasn’t until she had spoken the plate during the broadcast that she realized what it meant. She was mortified to be taken in so easily.


Then there is my favorite Alaska plate which is still driving around town as if it were the most normal thing in the world.


And here’s my plate.


Then there is a fantasy plate, just for fun:

Dictionary Moment

Welcome to this edition of “Dictionary Moment” at the Panic Blog, brought to you today by the letter ‘Z.’

Z takes a call from a concerned citizen who wants to report his former buddy for drugs. Halfway through the conversation the caller says,

Caller: “…this guy, he’s got so much drugs, I’m talking about a LOT.”

Z: “On him?”

Caller: “Yep, he keeps it in…um… under his, y’know, scruples.”

Z: “You mean in his pants?”

Caller: “Yep. In his pants under his scruples.”

evidentally these are scruples

Later in the conversation the caller says,

Caller: “You have to get there fast, he has lots of girlfriends, crack ho’s, and they’ll keister the drugs for him. You know what I mean, keister, right?”

Z: “I think I can figure that one out. So he found more than one girl who will do this for him, huh?”

evidentally this is how one would start the de-keisterization process

In conclusion, chilluns, the lesson is this:

Girls may have no scruples but if you can find one who will keister your drugs, she’s a keeper!

This week's tenant: The Power of Denial

I like this blog. She describes herself as:

i have an IQ that rivals Einstein's, but instead of using my powers for good, i wreak havoc on the internet...and i like weasels.

She also misses poop colored M&Ms. You have to appreciate that. Go there now. It's some funny stuff!

I Don’t Know Much About Song Lyrics

I’m a smart guy. Ask me, I’ll tell you.

But every time I think I’m especially smart, it becomes crushingly obvious that I don’t know shit from Shinola.


This morning I’m singing in the shower (not loud, we live in a duplex) the Queensryche version of Scarborough Fair. Geoff Tate has such a great voice. I don’t. Yet I sing on.


So my genius idea was, instead of the traditional second line of the song, replace it with

“Lord won’t you buy her a Mercedes Benz;
parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
Her friends all have Porsches, I must make amends;
then she’ll be a true love of mine.”

It works. Okay, not exactly genius, but it works.

So there’s where the ignorance smacked me in the face like a loufa (or a falafel, if you are in the no spin zone).

I remember those “background lyrics” in the Simon and Garfunkel song which are not in the Queensryche version. All I remember is something like:

“Tell her to make me a cambric shirt
(blah blah blah blah blah, deep forest green),
Parsely, sage, rosemary,
and thyme…”

Of course this would translate to:

Lord won’t you buy her a Mercedes Benz
(blah blah blah blah blah rich leather seats)
Parsely, sage, rosemary,
and thyme…”

But to alter the lyrics, I had to find out the real lyrics. And was amazed at the darkness found within.

Here are the lyrics (as found on the internet):

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there,
she was once a true love of mine.

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt
(On the side of a hill in the deep forest green).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
(Tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground).
Without no seams nor needlework
(Blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain).
Then she'll be a true love of mine
(Sleeps unaware of the clarion call).

Tell her to find me an acre of land
(On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
(Washes the ground with so many tears).
Between salt water and the sea strand
(A soldier cleans and polishes a gun).
Then she'll be a true love of mine.

Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather
(War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
(Generals order their soldiers to kill).
And gather it all in a bunch of heather
(And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten).
Then she'll be a true love of mine.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there,
she was once a true love of mine.

Does anyone know about this second part? Is it a canticle in the sense of a Catholic sacred song?

This is the crap that will keep me up late at night. Oh yeah and finding the third and fourth songs to throw into the mix before going back to the repeat of the first verse.

This Week's Tenant: Stumbling Through Life With Grace

Here's what she says about her blog:


Now go clickey. Go on. Right HERE.

C'mon, it's chalk FULL of verbose banalities. Your read MY blog, you like verbose banalities. And, might I add, a little profanity here and there.

The Blender

“The Blender” is the working title of the book/screenplay in my head* about emergency communications.

The title refers to the atmosphere in the communications center and I find the metaphor apt on several levels.

First a little introduction:

The municipality in which I live is the size of the state of Delaware but has only about 250,000 people living in it.

Every 911 call from my community goes through our dispatch center first. My agency dispatches only police. Medical calls and fire calls go to a separate dispatch center. Fish and Wildlife, Animal Control, and the State Troopers all have separate dispatch centers.

There are two separate job functions dispatchers perform: calltaking and dispatching. Any given day (a 12 hour shift) you will be on a radio for between 4 and 6 hours and on the phones the rest of the day. Everyone's mileage varies but we try to make sure everyone gets a bit of some kind of radio every day (because frankly being a calltaker all day is frustrating).

A rough sketch of how it works is this:

If you call 911 or the police business line, you will reach a calltaker. 911 calls have priority and every other call goes in a queue. 911 calls can go into a separate queue if there are more calls than calltakers.

The calltaker will determine where you are and what you need (in that order). If the call requires an officer response, the calltaker will quickly and accurately load a call for service into the computer.

Our agency has two separate "main channels" and our service area is split geographically between those two radios. Where the problem is located determines which dispatcher gets the call for service.

The dispatcher will look at all of the pending calls for service and determine their order of priority (the computer assigns priorities based upon the general call type but the dispatcher will weigh exigent circumstances when prioritizing calls).

The dispatcher keeps track of the locations of all officers on duty and assigns available officers to pending calls.

Seems pretty easy, right?

Not so much.

The way my book/screenplay is set up (again, at least in my head) is to follow a dispatcher from the recruit phase to the senior dispatcher phase.

The question is: does anyone care? Would you be interested in reading about the process of being subjected to the blender every day (with some wacky stories thrown in for spice)?

Do tell.

*by "screenplay in my head" I mean and on this blog as well. Creative commons license and all that. Don't get all cheeky about stealing my stuff.

Strangeness from Scottsdale

Two notes from Scottsdale, Arizona:

Through MySpace I got in touch with one of my best friends growing up and he happens to live in Scottsdale. I had forgotten I even had a MySpace account until I got the email that he’d sent me a MySpace message.

Fantastic. I’d mention him by name but people freak out when I do that unexpectedly (Hi Sherrie Dion!).

Anyway, great to hear from you, visit the blog often. As soon as the new website material comes up, I’ll pimp your band like a … well, like someone who pimps something really hard.

Second, I ran across this story on MSNBC online:

SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. - The name of a new restaurant in Scottsdale is stirring up trouble. The Las Vegas-based Pink Taco Mexican Restaurant is scheduled to open its second location in downtown Scottsdale in June.

Nearly half a dozen people in the upscale city recently expressed their objection to the name, claiming it's a derogatory slang term for a portion of the female anatomy.
In late April, the city received four e-mails, three of which bore no names, objecting to the restaurant's name.

One of those e-mails stated: "The City of Scottsdale has a very fine reputation around the world. Let's keep the standards high. Let's let what plays in Vegas stay in Vegas."

Scottsdale Mayor Mary Manross has said she is offended by the name and went so far as to ask the owner to change it, although he refused.

Restaurant spokeswoman Lisa Perez said the company's name comes from one of its menu items.

Perez said the company has not received any complaints or objections about its name.

The original Pink Taco is inside the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas.

The Scottsdale City Council on Monday recommended that the restaurant get a liquor license.

The application was sent to the state liquor board, which has the final say.

Maybe it’s because Alaska prides itself on the establishment
“Skinny Dick’s Halfway Inn,”

but I think this is a big bunch of wasted newsprint.

And “nearly half a dozen?” If “nearly half a dozen people” makes up much of the mayor’s core constituency then she’s got worse problems than a saucily named Mexican restaurant.

Jesus (in this case pronounced “hay-suess”) wept.
~~
Oh and if you happen to be driving through Tempe and your car starts making strange noises, go by Greaser’s Auto.
Tell ‘em The Panic Blog sent ya.

created with Newspaper Generator

Oh and this story is completely ficticious. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is completely coincidental and ... okay, who am I kidding... but it's satire so get over it, "Hank!"

I Like Bag Pipes

There's something about hearing bag pipes that makes me smile.

The only exception is when they play Amazing Grace because it reminds me of police funerals. The longer I work at my current job the more likely I've have to decide whether or not to go to another police funeral. I don't even want to think of that.

But back to the pipes. I have no desire to learn how to play bag pipes (which is unusual because if there's something I like there's a great possibility that I'll have or will soon spend way too much money and way too little time trying to learn it before giving up in utter frustration. See: my guitar. See also: my other guitar.)

We have calls at work from folks who find themselves living too close to the bag piper's practice field of choice. I load a call but always think "c'mon people, have you no soul?" It's like living in a brownstone apartment and having a guy on the floor above playing soulful saxophone on the fire escape. You have to love that.

Okay, so I've never lived in a brownstone apartment and after a couple nights of soulful sax I'd probably want to take a shot at the guy on the fire escape, but still.

This is why I don't own firearms.

On an odd side note, I was going to make mention of the fact that I loved the bag pipes but wasn’t so sure about the whole sporran thing.

Then I had to look up how to spell sporran.

Then I had to ponder why in hell, when I don't know exactly where I left my car keys last, I know a word like "sporran." For the love of dog, where do I even learn these things and why do I retain them when I can't reliably remember the name of our next door neighbor (who I refer to as "Jimmy" behind his back because I have no idea what his name is and I have to call him something when Kelli and I discuss the latest neighbor antics.)

If you want to get your learn on, here's the history of the sporran (from http://www.scotclans.com/story/img/sporran.jpg) :

The origin of the sporran goes hand in hand with the traditional highland kilt, since the attire didn't come with the convenience of pockets a leather pouch became a useful means of keeping together all those valuable items such as money, food, musket balls and the teeth of any unsuspecting rival clansmen!

The opening of the sporran (the cantle) was hinged and fastened at the top and this was secured to the sporran by leather thongs. These are represented by the leather tassels & chains, which can be seen in the modern sporran design.

Sporrans generally fall into three categories: Daywear sporrans, which are generally of leather and are worn as informal dress or hunting, dress sporrans, which are made from sealskin, musquash, rabbit, badger etc and are purely formal items and semi dress sporrans which are designed to be a compromise of the two.

~~

Be sure to click on my renter Erks. She's a kick in the sporran.

This Week's Tenant: You know what ERKS me???

I offered out my spot this week for a total of 10 BE credits. This is astoundingly cheap considering what kind of click numbers I've been generating the last couple of months. So this is another week of experiments.

I picked

You know what ERKS me???

because she's got a new blog and because it's very funny. Click her. Now. You'll be glad you did.

You must see this !

Okay, I found this on 1 Cup Humanity, 1 Cup Profanity. Check out the site, it's fun.

WWW.SHAVEEVERYWHERE.COM
View it, play around with it. It's very very creative and funny.



you'll be glad you did.

Half The Size

I'm a Doors fan, baby

I've mentioned this before but I'm going to mention it again.

The number one security precaution you can take is to lock your doors.

Seems simple, right? I mean when you are home too!

I don’t care if you live in a town where you've never locked your doors at night or if you can leave a big pile of money on the porch and you know it would never be taken or if you can let your frisky 'in-season' collie run all over town off her leash.

If you lock your doors the bad guys will have a hard time getting in. Even the president has a problem with locked doors.

Today a caller reported that a drunk and cracked up woman stormed into the caller's house (which was also occupied by the caller's two young children) and announced "I'm fucking drunk and I need some fucking tin foil to smoke some drugs." The caller gave the woman the foil just to get her out of the house. The caller proceeded to lock her door and call me.

While talking to me the drunk cracked up woman crouched by the caller's fence in the front yard and smoked her drugs in the foil then staggered down the street.

The caller was appalled. I would be too.

But guess what? Drunk cracked up women don't get in my house because my doors are locked. They can knock but (and here's step two) I don't have to let them in.

One can speak through a door with great ease and clarity. Try it sometime. It's fun.

I'm not trying to sound superior to anyone or give an unwelcome lecture but for the love of dog, lock your doors!

Thank you.

~~

You'll find VaVaVoom has an open door policy. Click on her blog and then go on in. Although if you get weird her dingo will eat your baby.

~~

Photos:

Cypress Hotel Doors

Locked Door

Bush

Cats

Why So Blue, Panda Bear ?

Milky Way commercial. You know the one. Or if you don't, click HERE and you can view it.

I hate it. I think it's... well, it's just wrong. I'm not even sure whether I think it's disrespectful of asians or of women in general but I just cringe every time I hear "Why so blue, Panda Bear?"


It's worse than the creepy plastic Burger King and that's saying quite a bit.


~~~

If you are indeed a blue panda bear, click to visit VaVaVoom ! You'll be a happy Koala!

Daughter of TV Bounty Hunter 'Dog' Dies

May 20, 11:44 PM (ET)
HONOLULU (AP) - A daughter of reality TV star Duane "Dog" Chapman was killed in a car accident a day before her father's wedding, a spokesman said Saturday.

Barbara Katy Chapman, 23, died Friday night near her home in Fairbanks, Alaska, said Michael Feeney, senior vice president of A&E television network.

Duane Chapman's wedding on the Big Island went forward as planned Saturday after the family consulted with a preacher and agreed to celebrate her life at the ceremony, Feeney told The Associated Press.

The star of "Dog the Bounty Hunter" married his longtime sidekick, Beth Smith. The couple have been together for 16 years and have two children.

The wedding will be featured in an Aug. 14 episode of the show, about Chapman and his tattooed crew of fugitive finders.

Barbara Chapman had not been expected to attend the wedding, and the circumstances of the accident were unclear, Feeney said.

She was one of 12 of the bounty hunter's children. She is survived by her mother, Lyssa Greene, and her 4-year-old son, Travis Drake-Lee Chapman.

I don't like the show. I 'm not a big fan of what I know about the man himself.

But this is very sad.

Plus I did not know about the Alaska connection to Mr. Chapman.