Ever eaten a Milk Dud?

You should eat one sometime. They’re awesome. A small dollop of caramel covered in chocolate. You could probably buy them at a lot of stores. I bet they’re cheap.

I eat Milk Duds when I go to the movies. Sometimes they’re kinda tough, so your jaw gets a good workout, but I don’t mind because they taste so good.

My wife has already ruled out the name Milk Dud for one of our kids.

I’m not totally sure why they’re actually called Milk Duds. As far as I can tell, they’ve got nothing to do with milk. I checked the ingredients and found things like “tapioca dextrin” and “resinous glaze”, but no milk. Maybe the milk is implied in the name itself. It doesn’t bother me though, because I don’t even like milk. If there were some sort of milk-flavored candy, there’s virtually no chance that I’d like it. Unless they tasted like Milk Duds, that is. Those are awesome.

Ever seen a dog eat a Milk Dud? It’s really funny because they chew it for a long time. Also, the chocolate isn’t good for them, so they barf. That makes it funnier.

I recently took a Meyers-Briggs personality test through a workshop at my job, and I found it very illuminating. After spending 30 minutes taking an exam of seemingly innocuous questions, my results showed that I was an “ESTJ”, which stands for extrovert, sensing, thinking, and judging.  They then handed out a booklet filled with remarkably precise bits of insight about my strengths and weaknesses.  Here’s some of what was included.

• ESTJ’s are androids created for physical pleasure.

• I display high energy and commitment to get things done.

• ESTJ’s probably like pasta, but maybe they don’t.

• I contribute to groups by crushing the weak in cruel, Darwinian fashion.

• ESTJ’s can irritate others by neglecting pleasantries to get to the bottom line.

• The song “Stairway to Heaven” is about ESTJ’s

• I can get annoyed when others lack focus, stray off task, or waste time.

• ESTJ’s can summon the elements of fire and wind from their fingers.  They can’t do shit with water, though.

• ESTJ’s act quickly and decisively, sometimes to a fault.

• Famous ESTJ’s include Paul Simon, Slobodon Milosovec, and the elusive Sasquatch.

• I can get frustrated if others are unwilling to take a stance on an issue.

• ESTJ’s like romantic comedies where people don’t like each other at first, but they eventually fall in love.  Also, there should be a cute dog in the movie.

• I may irritate others by shoving them into public water fountains and laughing at them.

• If it weren’t for ESTJs, we’d all be speaking German right now.

I sure do have a lot of books!

Some of my books are about real people (Harry Truman), but some other ones aren’t. It’s all part of the variety of life! I read them when I have time or when I want to learn about things and stuff. I also read them in the bathroom. Generally, I open a book and start to read whenever the electricity goes out in my home.

I have books of all colors, shapes and sizes! Some are thick and complicated, others are just a few pages long and strewn with obscenities. Some of my books have colorful paintings of the Monitor vs. the Merrimac sea battle on the cover and others depict young people of all races smiling and laughing together. Those books are mostly just college brochures.

I also have several magazines.

One of my books is about Native Americans. What was up with those guys, with their semi-nomadic lifestyle and whatnot? What ever happened to them, anyway? I’ll just assume that their situation resolved itself in a satisfactory manner.

Well, that’s all for now! I’m going to go do drugs!

So apparently there’s been some hubub about a couple cartoons…

Both Kevin and Adam have already done some fine satirical work on the matter, so I don’t really feel there’s anywhere new I can go with the issue. Having said that, I have written a letter to several Danish newspapers suggesting a few other cartoon ideas that might raise the ire of various irritable types:

-A drawing of a crucified Marmaduke.

-A suicide bomber has arrived in heaven, but he is flummoxed when he finds out that he will not be tended to by a team of virgins, but rather by Little Jeffy from Family Circus!

-Malcom X driving Dale Earnhardt’s #3 car to victory.

-A Jesus-fish being dipped in tartar sauce.

-A depiction of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad molesting Fred Basset (the cartoon dog) at gunpoint in a Nazi concentration camp.

-The pirated version of Calvin peeing on Che Guevara, outlined in the Chevy logo.

-A comic strip where Cathy, frustrated by her love life, becomes al-Qaeda’s #2 operative.

Any other suggestions?

If you asked me what I loved most on this good earth, I’d say God and my beautiful bride. If you persisted, and asked if there was anything else, I know exactly what I’d say.

I’d tell you that I also love the Union.

Yes sir, I do love the 50 stars and 13 stripes of our Union. If you don’t mind me saying, our Union is the finest republic in all the land. It’s way better than Spain. In fact, the Union makes Spain seem about as pleasant as a bum puking up brandy.

I’ve got a message to those of you who take umbrage with the Union: you keep your fat mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you. By that I mean that I’ll shoot you in the mouth with my gun. It will hurt like hell, and you’ll be sorry that you ever spoke a cross word about the greatest nation in Christendom. Yes sir, someday all traitors will be wiped away by the hand of God, like the secessionists of old. On that sweet day, Jefferson Davis and Cindy Sheehan can make out with each other in hell.

And if that doesn’t happen, then the terrorists have already won.

And so it begins. February.

The month of the damned.

These accursed 28 days are a pus and blood-ridden boil that blemishes our otherwise beautiful Julian calendar year. All glory and laud to the good Augustus Caesar who thusly shortened this vomit-laden month in order to lengthen his namesake month to a full 31 days (to match the length of his uncle Julius’ July). So let it be heralded to all: February blows.

To my mind, February recalls images of stagnant swamps reeking with drowned goats. It is redolent of raging lava pits and decaying fortresses, having long ago abandoned their stead. For others, February brings to mind the cruel murder of Abraham Lincoln, even though that occurred in April. For a few pathetic souls, February means the coming of Valentine’s Day, the most accursed, damnable day of the year (next to Canadian Thanksgiving). Indeed, I would rather be cooked alive than eat another flavorless candied heart carrying a grammatically incorrect (though amorous) two-word message.

And so, my friends, as I lock the deadbolt that will seal me inside my hidden bomb shelter for the duration of this lunar cycle, I wish all of you my best. You are better citizens than I for enduring the hopeless malaise of February. I hope to emerge on March 1st a gaunt, sallow man bearing glad tidings that February is again a full 11 months away.

Let me know how the Timberwolves do.