How to Avoid Being Murdered by Floyd the BarberPastor Doug has abandoned his "Complete Idiot's Guide to Being a Loser" to bring us this timely safety advice: How to avoid being murdered by a Dutch hedonist. Yes, if you heed Doug's counsel, you will be safe from those bloodthirsty Dutch Mary Cheneys. Here's Doug:
The spiritual, emotional, and physical levels, perhaps? But no, it seems that Doug is talking about the Frankenstein level, the Keystone Cop level, and the horn dog level.
The Aruban brothers wrestled against Fred Blassie? Hmmm, I don't know about that. But do I think the authorities should check his tip about Joran van der Sloot being a mad scientist who makes monsters from body parts taken from cadavers. That could explain what happened to Natalee: she's been used to create Elsa Lanchester. Oh, and when the BTK Killer was arrested, the police had DNA evidence, computer evidence, and enough other forensic evidence that they could have convicted him without a confession -- so, he had no reason not to confess. The "palm pilots" (what the heck does that even mean?) were presumably advised by the Dad of Frankenstein that without a body or some really compelling physical evidence, if they kept their mouths shut, they couldn't be convicted of murder. While it would be nice they owned up to their crimes (if they are guilty, of course), their lack of confession doesn't mean that they are somehow less moral than the BTK Killer.
Well, any Keystone Cops would be incredibly decrepit, since they'd have to be pushing 100 by now.
Talk about obfuscation! I assume that what Doug means is that Natalee should have ran away from the pencil neck geeks and Frankenstein. Or maybe he means that she would have been fine if she had run away with them voluntarily. Or perhaps he's saying that if she would have avoided all "little horn dogs," nothing would ever have happened to her. Sure, that would have meant never associating with her male peers, but it probably would have saved her life.
Yes, good-looking blonde girls can get all the action they want without ever leaving the hotel. Oh, and the Mango Brothers are apparently a Jimmy Buffet tribute band -- there is no info about them having added Lurch as a lead singer.
She was probably thinking, "I'm American, I'm upper-middle class, I'm on holiday, I'm a teenager, and I'm drunk -- nothing bad can ever happen to me."
Because statistics show that every girl who goes out with guys she just met will be murdered -- well, if they're foreign, and hedonists, that is. In any case, Natalee's probable murder is pretty much her own fault, because women should know better than to let men kill them.
Since 75% of 157 is almost 118, I guess Doug is implying that two of the missing boys are "little ladies." And reportedly, over 500 kids are missing from Florida's Department of Children and Families -- I guess Doug doesn't care about them, since most of them aren't blonde or middle-class.
True, Potsie used to duct tape girls and stick them in the trunk of his car, but he never did this to teens visiting Aruba. So, ladies, you girls have got to wise up!
Is Doug claiming that Howard Sprague and Floyd the Barber aren't weird? Did he never see the film Floyd: Portrait of a Serial Killer? And I bet the back room of Emmett's Fix-Up Shop is just full of duct-taped women.
Can you do that, my little accla tuercas? Anyway, here's the shorter version of "Doug's Safety Tips for Little Ladies": 1. Pay attention to your intuition.
And since most guys are rapists and murderers, you should distrust all of them. 2. Don't let guys put stuff in your drinks.
Is that how Doug got a girl? (Because if anybody had a hackneyed existence ...) And per Doug, if you keep guys from putting "roofies and ecstasy" in your drinks, you can avoid being "French kissed, raped, impregnated, kidnapped, or murdered by these slugs." So, my little chicita bananas, apparently it's drugs that cause pregnancy. And here's a tip that Doug doesn't provide, one that will do more to help you avoid being a victim of rape or other crimes than all the rest of Doug's tips put together: don't drink to the point of intoxication. 3. Learn to Kill
When exactly does the need to disassemble a man ever arise? (Well, maybe when you need to mail him back to the factory for repair, but other than that, wouldn't it be easier and quicker to just disable him or something?)
Doug isn't me, but I'm pretty sure he is packed, stacked, and ready to whack. Or maybe I mean "dirked, berserk, and ready to jerk." (Or possibly, "shanked, spanked, and ready to wank.") Hey, let's see what you and your rhyming dictionary can come up with -- it has to better than Doug's work. 3:32:01 AM  |
'Mommy Knows Worst' Via Instapundit, we learn about James Lileks' latest book. Mommy Knows Worst. We assume that it's a bio of America's Worst Mother™ (a trademark of TBoggCo; used under a licensing agreement whereby we give Mr. Bogg a penny every time one of the Gurdonettes says something delightfully whimsical). And that brings us to Meghan's latest column. It's about how Meghan showed everybody that she was the perfect mother by talking slowly and acting alabastery, until the day that she realized that she actually sucks at it all (she probably learned this by Googling the phrase "America's Worst Mother"). And then she further realized that despite her lack of competence, she had committed herself to home schooling little Ritz and Alfred LordT -- AND that she's also going to have another baby in September. And on top of that, she's hated her mop for the past 20 years! Yes, she once had hopeful, girlish dreams about cleaning floors with a nice foam mop, but right after they got married, her husband forced her to order the maid to use a germy string mop. Meghan realizes that she hates him too. (Okay, I made up that last part, but it may be true none-the-less.)
"Because ... I know about you and your sec--secretary! How dare you slink in after nine o'clock, claiming you've been 'working,' and expect me to ... to ... to cope with the happy demands of husband! You can make your own damned martini and cook your own damned steak, you ... you ... you Bill Clinton, you!" "Meggie, you silly, adorable, empty-headed, fat cow, you've known about the affair for months. So why all the waterworks tonight? Is it that time of the month? "I'm pregnant, you bastard, as you would know if you ever came home from work while it was still light." "Oh, I see. I take back the 'fat' remark then."
" My ... my promised female orgasm! I haven't had one the whole time we've been married! And besides, Lileks has apparently written a book about me, exposing my whole upper-class, faux British, perfect conservative mother scam. I'm going to chuck the whole thing, fake my own kidnapping, and take the next bus to Vegas." So, Meghan puts the children up for adoption, gives up writing (that last article WAS terrible), and becomes a slot jockey. She makes atonement for her past sins by babysitting for other mothers who need to go to the grocery store. No, wait, she just eats some donuts, and she's the perfect mother again. It's seems the whole delusion of incompetency was just a hallucination brought on by low blood sugar. So, Meghan gets back to the arduous task of ordering the foreign help to do all the scut labor involved in running a household and raising children, and Kathryn Jean Lopez has the NRO intern rewrite Meghan's crappy column in an attempt to make it readable -- and God is in His heaven and all's right with the world once more. SuperMummy rides again! 12:23:47 AM |
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