Three Awards, A Meme, And A Fondue

[I usually put this at the end of these things, but this is a long one and some of you might not get there before you curse me out and leave. I truly and sincerely appreciate it when someone thinks enough of me to give me an award. Most of the insults herein are in jest - yes, even the ones concerning Eddie Bluelights. I will proudly display these awards with all of the others I have been given, proving once again that I'm a hypocrite and my ego is absolutely insatiable. And that's enough of that. Let's get on with the ass whippings.]

You people are sick bastards.

(Well, one of you is an Essential Bastard, but he's in a sickness category all his own.)

Have you learned nothing from history? Does the past hold no meaning for you? Are you completely beyond reason and asking for the literary equivalent of a red hot poker up your bum?

I guess so. Over the past couple of weeks, I have been given three awards and I have also been tasked with a meme. Obviously, some folks like being eviscerated. Fine by me. I don't often let my true inner beast run rampant, but when four dopes basically challenge me to let him out and slobber all over them... well, let's have some fun, shall we?

Our first contestant this evening on It Pays To Be Ignorant is Angie Ledbetter, otherwise known as Gumbo Writer. She hails from Louisiana, which is probably explanation enough. With little thought for her own well-being, she bestowed this sarcasm upon me.



It is The Noblesse Oblige Award.

(Why are half of these things in a foreign tongue? Do the people who make these up think that giving them names from a romance language will make the damned things classier? Wake up, morons! The last good thing to come out of France was Brigitte Bardot, and the only reason we liked her was because she left France. They eat snails, for God's sake. And the only reason anyone can stand to be around their odiferous country is because the cheese stinks so bad you can't smell the actual French people.

Of course, half the population of Louisiana has French ancestry, so do I need to go on? No, but I will anyway. This is the part of the country that gave us Zydeco music, which is basically accordion played by guys who couldn't cut it in polka bands. And they couldn't find enough snails to eat, so they did the next best thing and started eating crayfish, which are roaches that didn't have brains enough to evolve into land dwellers. What's up with that? Get a lobster and find out what a real crustacean tastes like, Étouffée-For-Brains.)

Here's some laughable stuff that supposedly pertains to me.

* The Blogger manifests exemplary attitude, respecting the nuances that pervade amongst different cultures and beliefs
* Their Blog contents inspire; strives to encourage, and offers solutions
* There is a clear purpose at the Blog: one that fosters a better understanding on Social, Political, Economic, the Arts, Cultures, Sciences, and Beliefs
* The Blog is refreshing and creative; and The Blogger promotes friendship and positive thinking

Holy shit! Is there some other Suldog out there that I don't know about and who was supposed to receive this award instead of me? Are you completely out of your gourd, Angie? Me? Respecting nuances, striving to encourage, fostering a better understanding of economics, and promoting positive thinking? I've done a lot of drugs in my life, but never anything as stupefying as what you must be on. Are you smoking those crayfish?

Of the many stipulations that come with this award (and which I'll mostly ignore) I especially love this one:

"Write a short article about what the Blog has thus far achieved – preferably citing one or more older posts as evidence."

So, it's a fucking essay question. OK, here's what this blog has thus far achieved. It's earned me about $300 for four years of writing, which works out to 8 cents an hour. Other than that, it's made me a pariah (which is something I've striven for most of my life, so I suppose that's alright.) I will cite these posts as evidence.

Ginger Or Mary Ann?

Boogers

What they're evidence of, aside from vapidity, I have no idea, but rules is rules.

I'd keep going here with Angie, because nothing is easier than denigrating Louisiana - hell, I could do 1500 words on muffuletta alone, even without resorting to double entendre - but I have other creatures to vivisect.

Next up on this edition of World's Dumbest Criminals is Eddie Bluelights. Eddie hails from the UK, and his hobbies include pretending he's Queen Elizabeth and fondling himself.

(No, wait. Eddie is actually a very nice guy, and he's a devout Christian, so he probably doesn't pretend he's Queen Elizabeth. Oliver Cromwell, perhaps. And fondling yourself is frowned upon by some denominations, so we'll change that to fondling ducks. Much better.)

Somewhere amid the tremendous amount of drivel he spews forth each day, he gave me an award (or, perhaps, two; it's hard to tell with Eddie sometimes. Honestly. You think I'm a verbose son of a bitch? Well, I am, yes. But Eddie takes bloviating to whole new levels. He is to superfluous verbiage what I am to freakin' crayfish how can you eat those things, Angie?)

Anyway, when he wasn't busy pleasuring himself while listening to Stanley Holloway monologues, Eddie gave me this:



Ready for more sarcasm? Here you go!

This goes to fellow bloggers who visit frequently and raise spirits with their kind words of encouragement, their beautiful images and their wonderful outlook on life. They make blogging a positive experience and continue to make life richer.

Oh, Saint Patrick on a pogo stick! Me, Eddie? I make your life richer? What a poor miserable bugger you must have been before! See, I would have figured Page 3 of The Sun might have made your life richer, but if it's me, well, I suppose there's nothing wrong with that, so long as you stay on your side of the ocean.

(My goodness. Eddie really is a nice likable guy and I'm setting new standards here for defamation of character. Ah, what the hell. He insulted American Football, basically calling us all poofters. Seriously. Look at this:

This game seems completely devoid of any logic or rules whatsoever, and if they do exist, they are as yet totally incomprehensible to a gentleman of England who understands very well both versions of "Rugger" - both league and union. These games are entirely logical yet you Yanks seem to have modified the basic rules extensively for your version of the game. Please remember we invented "Rugger" at Eaton in Rugby and somehow you have turned it into a game where the field is covered with swarms of multi-coloured wild locusts attired in modern day armour, beating the living daylights out of each other, whether or not anyone has the ball and where there seem to be no rules or purpose or order whatsoever - explain yourself please, Sir!!! Are there ANY rules or is it just an excuse to beat the crap out of each other and pinch the ref's whistle? And why all the armour? Our lads don't seem to require it! Are your lot a load of sissies?

Would anyone who has seen the Cleveland Browns defeat the Detroit Lions 12 - 7 in an utterly meaningless contest during the sixteenth week of the season suffer such nonsense from a limey? Well, of course, they should, but no, they damn well won't! And neither will I! Here's what I wrote in his comments section, in defense of the NFL:

American Football rules are quite simple. The team that has the ball attempts to move it down the field to make a touchdown (goal), while the team that doesn't have the ball gets to hit them as hard as they can, excluding certain rules violations such as jumping with both feet onto someone's chest while he's down, or "taunting", which is doing a silly dance after you jump on someone's chest with both feet while he's down. The overall object of the game, of course, is to make money for the television networks. As for the "armour" (or, as we correctly spell it, "armor") it is there to make the players look bigger to the spectators. In reality, most of them are 5-foot-5 and weigh 140 pounds (that would be 165 centimetres and 10 stone in your curious systems of measurement) and it is only the addition of spikes, helmets, shoulder pads, hip pads, maces, bludgeons, and spears that make them appear more dangerous. We, as a people, are scared of rugby (the sport, not the school) and fear that someday you will all decide to sail over here and kick our asses. This is why our true national sport is actually baseball, which you would recognize as rounders, and everybody in England knows that's a game played by little girls, so there you go, but we like it.

That'll teach him!

Eddie gave me this, too.



Blecch. As I recall, it's the "Your Writing Reminds Me Of British Cooking Award", which is about as big of an insult to somebody's writing as freakin' crayfish, Angie? Are you cereal? Crayfish? I'd just as soon cover my ass with pollen and sit on a beehive as put one of those waterbugs in my mouth.

Our next guest on Let's Make Fun Of The Mentally Ill! comes to us from New Zealand, where men are men and sheep run scared. In her spare time, she crochets prosthetic wings for flies who had theirs ripped off by mean children. She has two dogs, six cats, and practiced animal husbandry until they caught her at it one day. Please welcome to the stage... Four Paws And Whiskers!

The meme she has foisted upon me calls for me to name six unimportant things that make me happy. And then I'm supposed to pass the meme along to six other unfortunates and make their lives as miserable as mine became when I got it. Well, here are the six unimportant things that make me happy, but I refuse to pass this blogging equivalent of chlamydia on to anyone else and risk receiving the same sort of ill treatment I dish out to the imbeciles who pass these things to me.

Six Unimportant Things That Make Me Happy

1 - Gratuitously insulting nice folks who give me awards out of the goodness of their hearts.

2 - Imagining the looks on their faces as they read this stuff.

3 - The thought that perhaps this time I've been nasty enough to forestall the eventuality of anyone else giving me an award and/or meme.

4 - Hello? Is anybody still reading this?

5 - Frickin' crayfish, Angie? Don't you have anything better to eat in Louisiana, like maybe some slugs?

6 - Put that duck down, Eddie!

(Hah! Duck down! That's almost an actual joke!)

In closing, I'd like to say that this has been an entirely horrific experience, the like of which I don't expect to encounter again until my next colorectal examination. And the next chowderhead who dares to give me an award I will personally hunt down, tar and feather, and pack up in a crate for shipment to Eddie, who, upon seeing such an astonishingly large duck, will probably die from delight. In the meantime, frickin' crayfish, Angie? I'd rather lick a pigeon, and so would Eddie.

Soon, with more better...

Oh. Right. That's only two awards and a meme. I promised you three awards, and a fondue as well.

OK, here's the thing. The third award presents me with a conundrum of sorts. See, that award was given to my other blog, The Talkback Button. Since that blog is an actual part of my job, I'm not allowed to curse and swear on it. As you might imagine, that makes it near impossible for me to adequately respond. I'm not quite sure how to...

Oh, hell, Fhina has outwitted me. I think I have to just suck it up and accept the damn thing gracefully, pretending (for the sake of my job) that I'm actually honored to receive a tiny dog sitting in a cup.

I think I'm going to puke.

(I've used this next joke before, but half of you just scan these things, anyway, so it will seem brand new to some of you.)

I am taking a short respite from posting. After being so abusive, I need some time off to get the beast back into his cage. I'll be back sometime next week, probably, since I almost always find something I feel the need to spout off about, but for now, I bid you a fondue.

(That may seem like a malapropism, but considering the cheese here, it isn't.)

Soon, with more frickin' crayfish.