America loves Michael Phelps!

He won 8 gold medals! He won his races by a combined 1/100th of a second! He has nearly exposed his pubic region to millions of adoring viewers on multiple occasions!

And now, he must marry Sasha Cohen.

Think of the greater good that would be brought unto the greater number of people by their gloriously unholy union. Those two could swim, skate, dance, and crabwalk circles around the rest of us while we would lift up their names in song and kneel before their graven images.

Think of how many Americans would pay premium money for a pay-per-view event televising a night of their precise, patriotic procreation! Their union would be the marital incarnation of America’s manifest destiny, and the world would bow in subjugation!

Barack Obama, let’s make this happen!

You want some orange juice?

I’ve got a tall glass of delicious orange juice right now. I just had a sip. It was tart and sweet, like a compliment from a hated ethnic rival.

You want to take a drink from my glass of orange juice? You’re welcome to it. I’ve drunk about a dozen full glasses of orange juice today, so it’s a safe bet that my bowel movements are pure liquid by this point.

It’s probably time for me to lighten up on the ol’ orange juice, but that ain’t gonna happen. You’d have better luck asking a stray dog to stop licking its filth-encrusted anus than getting me to set down my tall glass of refreshing orange juice.

I used to call it OJ, but then there was some unpleasantness surrounding that name in the mid-90’s. Do you remember that? It was the moment when it became clear that a substantial percentage of our nation’s people are basically insane.

Anyway, I still like orange juice.

Here’s a golden chestnut from the Rock TV vault - a promo for a Rock barn dance from 2000:

This video pre-dates my involvement in Rock TV, but it was always one of my favorites. I remember particularly enjoying the pumpkins arbitrarily setting on fire after they’ve been run over.

For those of you wondering, regular posting will resume next week!

Today marks my last real day of summer vacation.

Tomorrow through Friday, I will be working shifts at my second job, and my weekend is already filled up with various endeavors sure to leave me wracked with shame and ill-cheer. On Monday, I return to school for teacher workshops, the most pointless, needlessly cheerful exercise known to man.

This is it. It’s all over.

As you regular readers may be aware, it has been an epic summer for the wife and I. Our house was broken into, our car was stolen, no fewer than five calls to 911 were made from my cellphone, I formed intimate relationships with our insurance adjustors, and various financial benefits ultimately found their way to us. Our house was re-painted, a new door was installed, along with new windows and a new backyard fence. We visited family, were visited by old friends, and spent a lovely weekend with some close friends at the cabin. Also, I did my twirls for Mumsy.

All things considered, it’s been a good summer. There are many other good things that God has done in our lives over these last few months that I don’t have the time or the inclination to delve into, but suffice to say, we’re in a much better place in August than we were in in June. I’d also like to note that we are currently in a better place than sharecroppers were during the 1930’s dust bowl famine, though I suppose that goes without saying.

And so, in conclusion, I have scabies now.

In an effort to satiate your unquenchable lust for all things cabin-related, here are a few more photographs. These are from our friends the Bergs, who were apparently there.

Is this what Bridgette and I really look like when we’re standing together? Can that be right? Is our marriage a sin?

Brent escaped in the early morning hours a few times during our stay to fish in the cozy hamlet of Federal Dam, MN (note: not the Federal Dam, just Federal Dam). On Monday, he came back with this mammoth pike-beast, with the wiggling ability of the late James Brown and the eyes of Satan himself. Then he killed it with his knife.

After our propane grill broke, we had to improvise and cook over the campfire. In this photograph, Brent is wantonly watching the fire cook our burgers into tender brown patties of dripping loveliness. His grilling was supple, his smile was charming, and eagerness was inviting.

Todd was somewhat less thrilled, however…

The stinky men with the stringy mullets came to our house!

They made our sun room all dusty and banged on things. Then they installed new windows!

The one with the leathery skin and chewing tobacco did most of the work. He used loud machines to cut things and put them in our walls. Then he increased the energy efficiency of our sun room many times over by installing glorious windows that do not facilitate easy entry by teens wearing oversized white t-shirts and black do-rags!

We did not have to pay for these new windows - the cost was covered by our insurance company. They compensated us after we were robbed. The police let the boys go. Now they spend their days loitering outside a house on our block where marijuana is being grown in the basement. On an unrelated note, I’m glad that Minneapolis mayor R.T. Rybak is holding press conferences to announce that the city is spending $500,000 on designer water fountains.

Our new windows are the best! Thanks, dirty window installation men!