It never fails.

Our central air conditioner shat itself at some point late yesterday afternoon or early last night and proceeded to start putting out room-temperature air.  This is a problem when you’re living in North Carolina, in late July, and it’s gotten into that fixed low-to-mid-90s-every-day pattern.

It’s a bigger problem when you’ve got two new computers in your bedroom pumping out a fair chunk of heat…and you can’t reach the windows to open them because of one of the computers blocking access…and the ceiling fan is trying to wobble itself right out of the ceiling…and you’ve got a Karazhan raid so both computers will be running WoW and heating up the room even more.

Hopefully maintenance will get over here and fix the AC today.  I don’t fancy running Tempest Keep tonight (another WoW raid) with the temperature about 85 in here.



We have two cats.  Both of them are purebred Maine Coon Cats; one of them we bought from a breeder in Georgia five years ago, and the second one was a rescue cat we received through the same breeder about six months later.  For our purposes here, we will call them, respectively, Fat Cat and Flat Cat.

Fat Cat is…well…fat.  Not only is he fat, he’s big.  Really honkin’ big.  He’s the feline version of an NFL lineman that’s let himself go to seed after a knee injury ruined his career.  In his youth, he was a big, powerful, athletic, twenty-pound graceful leaper of a cat.  Now, as he hits middle age, he’s twenty-nine pounds of gray-and-white tabby inertia.  He’s also dumber than a bag of hammers.  He’s lovable, he’s snuggly, he’s a big furry emotional sponge that doesn’t mind being cuddled when one of us is having a bad day.  But he’s rock-stupid.

All this description leads up to this morning at about 4:00 am, when I was awakened.

By Fat Cat lying down.


I don’t remember much about waking up.  I vaguely remember grabbing various Fat Cat appendages, trying to push the big pile of furry Jell-O off my forehead before my skull shattered.  According to my wife, I was randomly cursing, with the only coherent words being “CAT ON MY HEAD!”

After a few seconds, I managed to get my head free and sit up…in time to look back at my pillow and see Fat Cat, unruffled, lie down on my pillow (the entire thing) and look at me with this “durrrr, hey boss, dis is soft!” look.

His landing on the floor was not a gentle one.

The Gospel of St. Obama 3:16

God, I love British satire.  If only it wasn’t so close to reality…

And it came to pass, in the eighth year of the reign of the evil Bush the Younger (The Ignorant), when the whole land from the Arabian desert to the shores of the Great Lakes had been laid barren, that a Child appeared in the wilderness.

The Child was blessed in looks and intellect. Scion of a simple family, offspring of a miraculous union, grandson of a typical white person and an African peasant. And yea, as he grew, the Child walked in the path of righteousness, with only the occasional detour into the odd weed and a little blow.

When he was twelve years old, they found him in the temple in the City of Chicago, arguing the finer points of community organisation with the Prophet Jeremiah and the Elders. And the Elders were astonished at what they heard and said among themselves: “Verily, who is this Child that he opens our hearts and minds to the audacity of hope?”

Let’s face it.  The mainstream American media is giving Barack Obama a tongue bath the likes of which has never been seen before.  I thought that Bill Clinton had the reporters fawning (especially the ladies) but that’s nothing compared to the coverage the Obamessiah is getting.  John McCain goes to New Hampshire to talk about something and he gets one national reporter and the farm reporter for the East Podunk Township Daily Feedtrough.  Barack Obama heads off to Germany–not exactly a hotbed of registered American voters compared to, say, America–to do his best JFK impersonation and he’s got Charlie Gibson and Katie Couric Jello-wrestling to see who can wash his feet.  (Ew.  Oh God, I should not have gone there.  What has been imagined cannot be unimagined.  Ew ew ew.)

This goes hand-in-glove with the whole John-Edwards-visiting-his-babymama thing.  There’s still a complete media blackout on that.  Do you honestly think if, say, Mitt Romney or Tim Pawlenty got caught leaving a LA hotel at 2:30 am by reporters for the National Enquirer while his alleged mistress was staying there, that it wouldn’t be wall-to-wall on CNN right now?

I don’t mind my media sources being biased.  I don’t think there is such a thing as completely fair and unbiased reporting.  We’re human, and we’re all going to inject a little bit of ourselves into our writing whether we do it consciously or not.  I just want my media outlets to admit their bias and tell me where they stand.  I don’t want the New York Times to keep trying to blow sunshine up my ass and tell me they’re a bastion of fair and unbiased journalism when it’s blatantly obvious that their news pages slant almost as far left as their editorial pages.


Yes, following along with the herd…uh, flock…as my friends have done, I too have a Twitter account.  I just can’t possibly see how this could affect my productivity at work, do you?  Noooooo.

But his daddy worked in a meeel!

Yet one more reason why John Edwards is one of the biggest slimebags ever to come out of North Carolina:  caught visiting his mistress and babymama while his wife has terminal cancer.

I guess there really are “two Americas,” Silky Pony.  There’s the one where I stay faithful to my wife and don’t know how the hell I’m going to have enough money to make it to the next paycheck…and the one where John Edwards lectures us, then goes back to his fifteen thousand square foot mansion over in Chapel Hill, and gets a woman pregnant while his wife’s recovering from a double mastectomy.

Looks like you’ll have a lot more time to enjoy that palatial estate of yours, Breck Girl.  You just got blown off the list for Obama’s VP nominee…by your own libido and the National Enquirer.  Awesome.

Supposedly the Enquirer has pictures which will be coming out over the next couple of days.  And before anybody screams “tabloid journalism,” this story has been bubbling under the radar for months, especially in NC political circles.  It’s no less tabloid–and probably better-sourced–than a fair number of stories run by the “legitimate” media.

Reasonable doubt.

I don’t know anybody who likes jury duty.  I certainly don’t.  It’s something you don’t look forward to.  You tolerate it, as your “civic duty”…just another unwanted interruption, making you take a day or more off from work for a few dollars stipend from the state or county.

That having been said, it’s an interesting experience, if you get picked for a jury.  My past four days on jury duty in the Durham County Superior Court have certainly not been dull.

After all, it’s not every day you get to acquit a guy of possession of cocaine despite a drug dog finding drugs in his sock drawer, with a confession on top of that.

It ain’t exactly “Law and Order: Bull City,” but the rest is here.

Ayman al-Dilbert (or, “the Pointy-Headed Mullah”)

The “Q” is for “Quality”

A Message from the Director

Ayman al Zawahiri
Director of Change Management
Al Qaeda Industries Worldwide, Inc.


Hello, valued Al Qaeda associate! Welcome to the inaugural issue of Vistas, the new electronic newsletter designed to keep you informed on all the fast-paced comings and goings within our Total Quality Jihad family.

Go read the rest at Iowahawk.  Now.