Aww, that's sweet. But a day late. And not my color.

 
Who kicked the Fox out? (oof, oof, oof, oof)

I believe it was the Ba(g)h(d)a(d) Men.

[Edit for old people: helpful 'I don't get it' link.]

 
Is this thing on?

 
Anyone up for cloned mutton chops tonight?

And speaking of animal clones...

 
Yeah, yeah. Happy Valentine's Day. Now you can't say I never remembered.

 
Someone from the Associated Press obviously reads guff. Except for the last part on Garrison Keillor (which I somehow missed...), the themes in their article on duct tape can be found in my posts from the past few days. However, AP's take on them is not all that funny.

Not all that funny at all. You know what I mean.

 
Yesterday, in his Whatever Column (more blog than column, but whatever), John Scalzi uses one of my favorite phrases: 'Speaking of the universe.' Though John used it because in his previous paragraph he was talking about the universe — actually, talking to it (just go read) — I tend to employ the phrase randomly, specific past reference to the totality of existence or not.

You see, it doesn't matter what I may explicitly be discussing; it always refers indirectly back to the universe.

 
I'm going to see it.

 
Whatever their mamby-pamby, tree hugging, 'let the inspections work' reasons are, some of the fascist-liberal press have the gall to claim that duct tape is not the end-all, be-all in protecting us against the present terrorist threat.

Such a view risks lives, and people who hold it are anti-American, anti-capitalist, pro Marxists and communists. Not to mention, they obviously have no home repair skills at all.

 
Ok, teachers. I'm with you in the believe that duct tape is one of God's greatest gifts to mankind (right up there with the Ginsu knife), but come on now, it's not meant for everything.

 
Don't forget that beyond its recently discovered talent at thwarting terrorist plans, duct tape can be put to the usual allotment of household and other fixit needs. And it cures warts, too.

Duct tape: it's the aspirin of adhesives strips.

 
Never fear! Duct Tape Man is here!


"Kids, remember what to do when an attack occurs: Duct and Cover."

 
With our recent The Color Orange alert hoopla here in the states, there's been a run on duct tape.

This seems appropriate, considering that 2003 is the official year of duct tape.

[update: If in the rush to turn your home into a bargain-basement HAZMAT lab you pick up more duct tape than you need, no reason to let the excess go to waste. Why shouldn't you look your best while sealed in awaiting the all clear signal? Just another way of saying "gas this!" to the terrorists.]

 
I imagine PETA will be picketing NASA now. Thank the Illuminati nothing from the shuttle Columbia fell on or poisoned any humans, right, PETA?

Right, PETA? Hello?

 
I'll assume most of you have seen the popup Web ad proclaiming "Free Coupons."

So, when's the last time you put down good (or even bad) money for coupons? And if/when you paid for them, where exactly is the benefit?

 
Heterosexual women: if your mate spends 60%+ over what you do for a Valentine's Day gift, apparently it's not because he loves you. No, he just doesn't want to seem like "a cheapskate." However, if he buys something of lesser or equal value, what would that mean? Like I don't know the answer... (Note all up and coming men: we never win. Ever.)

I'll admit we usually buy that gift at the last minute, but that's because we're men, not because we're thoughtless (we are, but that's not the reason here). Men wait until it's almost too late for nearly everything, no matter how important it is. It's genetic. Trust me.

On a side note: can a gift purchased at Wal-Mart really say "I love you?" I'm not too sure.

 
Universe will not come to an end; astronomy geeks everywhere breathe a sigh of relief.

(Found on the heat-death fan page Naked Writing.)

 
The following is my generic hate letter template. I created it for when I'm so pissed off I can't write straight, but still need to send something off before my ire subsides. I now share it with you on the oft chance you suffer from similar bouts of uncontrollable conniptions:

To [THE ONE I HATE],

I hate you. I hate you. Oh, how I do so hate you.

My hate is pure. My hate is fierce. My hate is effervescent. I'm unable to explain why it fits this last adjective, but it does. I cannot deny how truly bubbly and nose-tingling my hate for you is. It is a well-shaken soda bottle of hate which resides in me.

If my hate had weight, it could be mistaken for a sumo wrestler. If my hate had sex, it would be the town slut. A true nymphomaniac Japanese wrestling giant; that's my hate.

I hope by now it's become obvious how large and unwieldy my hate for you is. In fact, it's of such vast size as to be practically immeasurable. Or in other words, it is of measurable dimensions, but so big, so cumbersome that the time and effort required to measure it far exceeds the limits of my life.

To finish, this will probably be my only hate letter to you. I may write again, but fortunately my hate is very short-lived. It's probably all the weight.

Kindest regards,
[YOUR NAME HERE]

 
Blasphemy! Or is it blasphency? Postfane?

If the anti-idolators are caught, I wonder if Jesus will take their case. Probably not.

 
In regards to articles like this one: I believe it should be Yahoo!'s, and not Yahoo's! .

 
I'm feeling particularly unfunny. Not that I've lost the talent to be funny - heh, don't make me laugh. No, it's that more and more I stumble upon various linkable absurdities and pratfall-level reporting of current events, but find no interest in twisting a comic sentence or two around them. I'm experiencing a dearth in my mirth. There's no profundity to my jocundity.

In fact, I'm tending to lean towards the mean these days.

Part of it has to do with the unfolding political events, both here in the states and in the wider, increasingly more bizarre world*. Yeah, wouldn't you love to know where I stand on the issues.

Part of it is unemployment. I'm not just without a job, but without a job for a goodly number of months due to a serious shortage for the job categories I'm experienced in. In a pinch I can sweep and dig and ring out a register for a paycheck, but too many employers have that overqualification phobia.

Part of it is attributable to the winter season now enveloping this region and its effect on brain chemistry. Have any spare Prozac to loan me?

It's definitely a little of each.

But mainly it's because CSS sucks. And not in that good way.

* The correct response phrase is "It takes one to know one."

 
Only now have I come to realize that there's a fine line between not giving a rat's ass for someone else's opinion, and wanting to take a shovel to the side of their head. A very fine line.

 
Instead of figuring out a joke about cordless telephones, I'll make it easy on myself and just post the link.

 
Meta-Blogging Day... *plink*

As I was coming up with a final Meta-Blogging Day post, I realized that if I composed something about how I've been thinking about a post dealing with meta-blogging - which is intended as a look back on a day of similar blog entries, such a recursive process would not only be the perfect last post on the topic, but in a way the only true Meta-Blogging Day post.

Yes, my head hurts.

 
~ Give me that ole time Meta-Blogging ~

There are several blogs which have been birthed from the virtual womb of Blogger and made from my Intergenetic seed. In other words, meet my other blogspring:

My first Blogger weblog has a birthday coming up at the end of the month. Ever since guff came around, they've competed for my attention. Its subdomain should be familiar, but I've always referred to it by its middle name. Happy first birthday, Blurried Musings.

Zen Trip was an offshoot of birthday boy, but it quickly fell into disuse. The gulf between the effort required to put into thinking through material and the final payoff of that work was far too wide at the time. Maybe I'll turn it back on one day. Maybe I'll be richer than Bill Gates one day.

The blog with no name was stillbirth on arrival (hence it's unlinkable). The less said about it the better (unless spoken in a highly demeaning manner).

The Blog Recorder is - or soon will be - my attempt to give back to the weblogging community in some small way. If you noticed the slowdown in my posting regimen on guff the past few weeks, this is the reason.

And finally there's buhlog, a foolish little endeavor of a blog dealing with... not much, really.

 
More Meta-Blogging Day coverage...

I'm not new to the blogging sphere of Internet activity. In a former, more technically-oriented life I even cobbled together (for pay!) a couple crude precursors to the (admittedly far more impressive) weblog engines out there. However, only for the past year have I taken to the publishing side of blogging in any serious way. Before that there were a mere few hit and run affairs available for public consumption.

If I am to be completely candid in all this, I'd now link to the remnants of those online diaries/journals/etc. But a little mystery is good for any relationship.

 
Meta-Blogging Day on guff continues...

Later today I'll be changing the official, showing-in-the-browser-titlebar name of this here blog back to the original guff. Primary because I'm up for it, but also it appears Dave is in the clear and no longer in need of Zilla support. And just what would a Zilla support look like?

Anyway, prepare for the massive blogroll renaming!

 
Today is Meta-Blogging Day on guff!

(That means Friday's post was a few days early. Sorry 'bout that!)