French Catholics are protesting the commercialism of Halloween, in which "the monstrous and the ugly is exalted." How are they going about it? Well, with the aid of that symbol for purity and good, rock music. They're hip enough to be in league with reggae and R&B as well.

 
Some day I will write a short story, or an article, or a poem - something - using the content of this image as a title. Sadly, I have no idea what it'll be about.

 
A Christian haunted house. Yeah, I figure the sight of St. Paul's head bouncing around would get me to turn to Jesus.

 
The French speak to the kids of the world: A Big Mac makes an excellent Friday dinner. If you keep it to Friday you'll be a whole lot healthier. Or Sunday. Sunday would be fine.

Tuesday is great, too.

Don't leave out breakfast, the most important meal of the day. We still serve breakfast, you know.

And lunch. Never forget to have lunch.

 
You know, when even the criminal element begins to heckle their victims, I'm left to question if my postings here are worth the effort.

Oh, who am I kidding. What effort?

 
I am not spending enough time at the airport.

 

Posting another shot of Salma Hayek. Just ignore me.

 
Signals I'm not quite certain I'm picking up on: I saw a introductory philosophy book yesterday. It was based on the Simpsons cartoon. Obviously D'oh is far deeper than I imagined previously. Also, there was a book right next to it on the shelf which discussed the philosophy of the Matrix.

What, no one reading the IDG Dummies books any more?

 
"Najeh wants to put this behind him like he does linebackers in the NFL."

Ok, but does he crap on them, too? I would also like to note the generous nature of the gods in having Davenport play for the Green Bay "Packers". The sacrificial goat is in the mail.

 
For those who care about such things (you'd think I wouldn't be one of them), I've altered the back talk link on each post ever so slightly. Got tired of seeing all those (0) on the page. Or maybe I mean annoyed.

 
According to a recent study, British drivers on average release 912 pints of gas into the atmosphere over a lifetime. And no, I'm not talking about gasoline.

 
Student: "Teacher, where do babies come from?"

Teacher: "Well they come from - here, let me show you..."

 
A light breakfast on guff yesterday, wasn't it? Sorry 'bout that. I had some stuff to finish up with another project, got corralled into aiding my brother's girlfriend's father in a former knowledge base, spent time locked out of a certain locale, did some shopping and got around to cooking a nice meal, and ended up sleeping far more than I normally expect to.

But enough of this Web journal cliché by droning on about my day. To make up for my gufflessness, may I suggest a plate of Saddam's e-mail? If you don't find that palpable, then perhaps a quick meal?

 
The Register sees the light.

 
The title is rather catchy, but the content leaves much to be desired. Let me know when testing has ended.

 
Telephone conversation from the past:

Nameless co-worker: "Hey Kaf, want to do something tonight? I'm getting a group together."

Kafkaesquí: "No, not really."

Nameless co-worker: "Oh, come on! Go with us."

Kafkaesquí: "No, I'm really not up to it tonight."

Nameless co-worker: "You're becoming a lazy bastard, do you know that?"

Kafkaesquí: "Jesus! You make a phone call to me from the next cubicle, and I'm the lazy bastard."

 
"If a book is truly a treasure, don't lend it out."

Brilliant. Thanks for the genius booklending suggestions. Here's one from me: Before lending a book you want back, make sure to tell the lendee you want it back. Pretty good tip, eh?

 
Can't explain why, but I find something innately beautiful in Matchbox and Hot Wheels vehicles. To my general psychological makeup as a boy, no more and no less underdeveloped than the next, there was no finer toy on the Earth.

So when you can come up with an unique way of photographing those little cars, I'm there, brother.

(Ran over this one at riley dog.)

 
And for God's sake, no leg bends. That's the work of the devil. (The category today is either religious idiots, or lazy Ananova browsing. I'm not sure which.)

 
"He is not a Satanist," the police officer said. "And he can't understand why the people were so scared of him."

Well certainly not because they're superstitious morons. It wasn't that at all.

 

A little Rorschach image blog test: Explain why the stock photo above is used on a best fit career quiz. And no, the answer is not "obviously he's a vet."

 
[Cue Mission Impossible intro]

Your mission, should you choose to be confused by it, is to discover why my name appears on this page. Honestly, if you can just comprehend what the site is all about, you'll be way ahead of the game.

This blog will self-destruct in... oh, I don't know. Let's say at some undetermined time in the future.

 
It's sing-along time!

Doe, a deer, a female deer.
Ray, the teen who serves her fries.