THE GURGLING COD

Party in the USA Normandy

FYI:

and

 

The first image is a still from Patton. The second is a still from the Miley Cyrus jawn "Party in the USA." What am I trying to say? Not sure, but I think it means it's just another Guiteau Monday.

 

Don't Ever Antagonize the Horn Donut!

FLA doctor fired from public health job for pointing out that donuts make you fat.* Who is running things down there, Don Koharski? Evidently, it's just another Guiteau Monday.

*If, you need to, like, send the FLA surgeon general a fruit basket or something, here's how.

Hope you choke on that salmon, Gov. Sanford

Generally speaking , The Cod loves hockey, even/especially minor league hockey, and The Cod loves the concept of the mayoral/gubernatoiral bet for playoff series. But what if such a bet involved the two worst people in the world?

When the South Carolina Stingrays take on the Alaska Aces in the East Coast Hockey League’s Kelly Cup finals, there will be more than a title on the line.For the state’s two governors, it will be the first in a number of potential battles.That’s because Govs. Mark Sanford and Sarah Palin, both rumored to be presidential candidates in 2012, have placed a friendly wager on the series’ outcome.If the Stingrays win, Palin will send some Alaska king salmon to the Palmetto State. If the Aces come out on top, Sanford will be sending the former vice presidential nominee shrimp and grits and she-crab soup from Tristan Restaurant in Charleston.

Yes, in one corner, it's the wolf-killing loon who pimped her daugher to People Magazine as an advertisement for teen pregnancy.* In the other, it's the Romney Manque who held the children of his state hostage by turning down stimulus money while teachers were getting furloughed and fired -- so that he could call himself a "fiscal conservative" when he runs for office in 2012.

Short of that rumored schnitzel vs. borscht bet on the outcome of Stalingrad, I can't imagine how one of these would get worst. The Stingrays prevailed, so it's salmon coming to SC. Hope you choke, gov. It is, as the Bangles would tell you, just another Guiteau Monday.

And speaking of Stingrays....

*YMMV, so wrap that shit up, kids!

Someone's in the kitchen with Poe.

I know these are not the best of times for the newspaper racket, but Sam Sifton's agit is spilling into the receipts:
1. The morning or ideally the day before cooking, prepare the dough. Using a hand whisk, combine the flours, yeast and salt in the bowl of an electric mixer. Switch to a wooden spoon and stir in 1 1/2 cups cold water and olive oil until a rough dough forms. Set the bowl on the mixer and, using the paddle attachment, mix on low speed for 1 minute. Increase the speed to high and beat for 4 to 6 minutes, until it becomes a wet and vaguely menacing mass. (If it forms into a ball, lower the mixer speed to medium-high. If not, stop the mixer to scrape down the sides once.)
Vaguely menacing? With more time and talent, I would write the dialogue I imagine between Sifton and Dough, which I imagine would read like a version of the "Tell-Tale Heart" as retold by Steingarten. Feel free to have a crack at it in the comments. It is, after all, just another Guiteau Monday.

Fun with ontology...

It's a little early in the morning to have your very existence called into question:
But good advice, I suppose. It is, after all, just another Guiteau Monday.

(Michelob) Ultraviolence

Are these the Last Days, or is it just another Guiteau Monday? (Via Goldenfiddlr.)

Even better than endless salad and breadsticks? I think not.

It's hard to know where to begin with this pitch for Playboy's Girls of the Olive Garden(NSFWish) , which the Golden Fiddler tumbled upon. Is it the question of why it is the shock troops of America's obesity epidemic that are being thus featured? It is it the implausible statement that looking at pictures of seminude employees of a faux Italian restaurant chain could somehow be "Even better than endless salad and breadsticks"?  It is it the charmingly 1995ish appellation "cyber club" for the online presence of what once was actually an influential print magazine? Is it the fear that somewhere, in some dingy corner of the Internet, there are naked pictures of Olive Garden patrons?

Or is it the general sense that this might be the best evidence yet that these are, indeed, the Last Days? Or is it just another Guiteau Monday?

How artists saved Paducah, Kentucky

Take up the White Man's burden--
Send forth the best ye breed--
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild--
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half-devil and half-child.

Take up the White Man's burden--
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain
To seek another's profit,
And work another's gain.

Take up the White Man's burden--
The savage wars of peace--
Fill full the mouth of Famine
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
The end for others sought,
Watch sloth and heathen Folly
Bring all your hopes to naught.

Take up the White Man's burden--
No tawdry rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper--
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go make them with your living,
And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man's burden--
And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better,
The hate of those ye guard--
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light
"Why brought he us from bondage,
Our loved Egyptian night?"

Take up the White Man's burden--
Ye dare not stoop to less--
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloak your weariness;
By all ye cry or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent, sullen peoples
Shall weigh your gods and you.

Take up the White Man's burden--
Have done with childish days--
The lightly proferred laurel,
The easy, ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers.

Three meats of the apocalypse

This snap, from the good people at TTL, gets more disturbing the longer you consider it.

Is it a giant lobster and chicken hanging out with a regular-sized cow? Is it a really small cow, and regular-sized lobster and chicken? Moreover, why are they such good friends. If they are above water, how does the lobster breathe, or perhaps the lobster has dragged chicken and cow to a watery grave? Do they know where the truck is going? In any event, it's just another Guiteau Monday.

A plague on both their clam shacks

Slow out of the box, what with the crushing of the spirits of youth and all, but never too late for a Guiteau Monday. First, an out-of-court settlement in the Case of the Purloined Clam Shack Concept. There really seems to be no winning with this one. It's pretty clear that Ed McFarland ripped off a lot of ideas from Rebecca Charles, but also clear that the lawsuit is without merit, as its own assertion of "plagiarism" indicates. According to Eater "Charles sued McFarland last summer for plagiarizing her restaurant concept," but it is not clear to me how one can plagiarize a restaurant concept. A restaurant concept can be original in a particular case, but in general, there is not the presumption of an original idea, executed by an author, that one has in, say, novels. As something that can be plagiarized, "restaurant concept" seems about like a lawsuit claiming that someone has plagiarized your "lifestyle." (Peter O'Toole, but I digress.) 

Further, it is not even clear to me that plagiarism, qua plagiarism is illegal per se. If I claim authorship of a work in the public domain, say, Moby-Dick, I am a jackass, and might lose my job, depending on what it is but what law have I broken?

Unfortch, it seems like the one had the deeper pockets than the other, and there's a settlement, rather than a conversation. To make matters worse, recognizing the groundless nature of the suit puts one in the position of rooting for the underdog, who clearly ripped off his former boss in a tacky, but not illegal, way. However, it's hard to imagine rustling up a legal defense fund for this case.

And to make matters worse, the butterfly wreath. A sixty-nine dollar juggernaut of mumsyness from the good folks at W-S!