Friday Dog Blogging

Hey!  No flash photography while I'm working on my beauty sleep

 See?  I've been cute from day 1!

Jocelyn, we're done playing horsey!  Do you wanna know why?...

...'cuz I'm too sexy for my fur,

too sexy for my fur, too sexy!

Alright primadonna, cut the crap or I'll have to use my Mean Face^tm on you!

What?  I got a little carried away with the Mean Face?  Sorry!

Junk from between the sofa cushions

Manhattan Infidel kinda/sorta cried uncle. I s'pose that a threat of Blog War from me is about as scary as a fat kid threatening to snap you with a rubber band.  "It's one of the wide ones!  It could too leave a mark!"  Thanks to those who backed me on this crusade against Wham! and injustice.  

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The pResident spoke many words from his oval orifice last night.  The extent of his suckitude is well documented and I can't think of anything to add right now.  

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Below is a post that has been simmering in drafts for a few days.  Usually when a story idea isn't going anywhere, I just get frustrated and delete 'em without posting.  This is one of those stories.  It isn't very long, it isn't very funny, and the longer it sits the more stale it becomes.  It should just disappear forever, but my inner sadist wants to inflict a little pain right now. So here it is:

NOTE:  Taking a cue from Obama's recent interview on the Today Show, this post makes gratuitous use of the word "ass" in the non-donkey sense.  Consider yourself warned.

 [Elderly Shaolin monk] "Ahh, Turdblossom, we have been expecting you!"

[Obama] "Turdblossom?  Why can't I have a cool name, like 'Grasshopper'?"

[monk] "Name 'Grasshopper' die inglorious death with the man Carradine."

[Obama] "Whoa!  If you think that's a glorious death, then I must be headed for the Hall of Fame!"

[monk, rolling eyes] "Turdblossom, you are distracted.  Must regain focus.  Tell me why you here."

[Obama] "Ain't you been following the news?  The oil spill, Iran, North Korea, Gaza, my poll numbers are staining the toilet bowl, the economy, Michelle just wants to party all the time, I keep slicing my fairway woods, etc, etc.  Everything sucks.  I gotta start kicking ass.  But I don't know whose ass to kick!  I seek the wisdom to know where to start."

[monk] "Wise man say 'best to be ABLE to kick ass before setting off on a mission of asskicking.'  Turdblossom, you are nowhere near ready to begin this."

[Obama, angrily] "Watch what you're saying, old man.  Or I'll have to show you how we do things on the South Side."

[monk, extending open handful of pebbles] "Turdblossom, when you are able to snatch these pebbles from my hand, you will be ready."

[Obama] "Oooh!  I like that shiny one!" 

Obama lunges for the pebbles, but the monk quickly snaps his hand closed, catching Obama's fingertips.

[Obama] "Owww!  Sonuva...!" [shakes hand in pain, pulls out cellphone] "Rahm, have my manicure appointment bumped up to today.  Yeah.  Little problem down here, I'm gonna need it sooner than normal.  K?  Thanks." [hangs up]

[Obama] "That hurt!  What was the point of that?"

[monk] "I try to tell you, Turdblossom, but you no listen.  When you able to snatch the pebbles, you will be ready.  Now we begin the training.  Paint this fence.  No, up and down.  Like this...  Ahh, yes, you are learning already..."

Weeks of training go by, and the oil spill continues to spread...

[Obama] "I think I'm ready to try snatching those pebbles again."

[monk] "Turdblossom, have you read Art of War?"

[Obama] "Nah.  I'm more of a Rules for Radicals kind of guy."

[monk] "Yes, I know.  Had you read Sun-Tzu, you'd have known that the greatest victories are those that are won without even firing a shot.  That is the ancient Chinese tradition."

[Obama] "I don't get it."

[monk] "It is also the modern Chinese tradition.  You see, I have a freshly painted fence, a freshly sanded floor, and a bright shiny car.  And you are still a wuss!  Ha-ha!" 

1, 2, 3, 4, I declare...

... A BLOG WAR!!!

One of my favorite things is when one blogger gets ticked at another.  Ace is a master at this, routinely beating up on LGF and Andrew Sullivan.  Good for lotsa laughs.  But now I find myself embroiled in one of my own.  You see, a certain funny guy who calls himself Manhattan Infidel put up a post the other day that caused a Wham! song to get stuck in my head.  I told him that wasn't appreciated.  Instead of doing the polite thing and apologizing, he instead switched into full-auto mode and blasted me with the entire song.  To me, this is a declaration of war.  It is a heinous offense.  Force must be met with force.  So, I beseech thee my readers:  click above and hasten over to his site to tell him what you think.  Suggested replies include something humorously derogatory about the NY Yankees.  Or something comically lauding the Boston Red Sox.  Unfortunately, my readership overlaps his quite a bit, meaning this could get ugly.  But I know you can do it.  I'm countin' on ya!

From my inbox

Here's a little something that was forwarded to me.

Some people have the vocabulary to sum up things in a way you can understand them.

This quote came from the Czech Republic.

Someone over there has it figured out. We have a lot of work to do.

"The danger to America is not Barack Obama but a citizenry capable of entrusting a man like him with the Presidency .

It will be far easier to limit and undo the follies of an Obama presidency than to restore the necessary common sense and good judgment to a depraved electorate willing to have such a man for their president. The problem is much deeper and far more serious than Mr. Obama, who is a mere symptom of what ails America. Blaming the prince of the fools should not blind anyone to the vast confederacy of fools that made him their prince. The Republic can survive a Barack Obama, who is, after all, merely a fool.
It is less likely to survive a multitude of fools such as those who made him their president."  

I agree with this sentiment. I also think the "multitude" of fools is shrinking down to a manageable number of fools, as more and more people realize (belatedly) that rather than a Lightworker we've elected just an inept narcissist ideologue.

What can brown do for you?

Still swamped.  No time to write.  Thankfully I have a super-cool UPS driver that gives me ideas.  He pointed me at this wild rant.  I can't figure out how to embed it so you'll have to follow the link.

I dunno who this Manning guy is.  I know I have some readers in Louisiana - maybe they can put me some knowledge about him. There are no swear words, but it is, well, let's just say the guy doesn't mince words.  Hee.


UPDATE:
Snarky Basterd found a YouTube version and
OregonGuy hooked me up with the embed code.

I Love Big Brother Oil

The disaster in the Gulf is rightfully a big news item.  It is a legitimate disaster.  Every reasonable action to halt the spill and mitigate its effects should and must be undertaken immediately.

That said, a quick gooble search reveals that there are over 4000 platforms active in the the hurricane-prone Gulf of Mexico.  The reason this spill is so newsworthy is because such accidents are SO RARE!  In the time I've taken to type these few words, it is almost assured that somebody somewhere has died in an auto accident.  They happen all the time.  Hence, they don't get much attention.  Maybe a little tiny blurb in a local paper.  But an airline crash?  Headlines, weeping and gnashing, extensive coverage.  Because they are infrequent.  So it is with oil spills. 

Consider the difficulty in extracting this product from deep beneath the sea.  Transporting it to a refinery.  Selling it to me for less than $3 a gallon and yet slightly profitable.  Long miserable hours on a platform in the middle of nowhere, hoping that the next storm isn't the Big One.  The efforts put forth by the oil industry are borderline heroic!  They face these difficulties for very thin profit margins, and allow freedom for an ordinary guy like me to get in his car and go for a trip pretty much anytime, anywhere I want.  Derivatives to oil are used to fertilize crops which feed BILLIONS of people.  Life as we know it and enjoy it would NOT EVEN BE POSSIBLE without the oil industry.  How many little kids' bellies are full today because of the oil industry?  How many lives have been saved?  How many lives have been drastically improved by easy transportation (via fossil-fueled vehicles) of people, foodstuffs, and other goods?  And for all the BILLIONS of gallons that are routinely handled and processed, there are HARDLY ANY ACCIDENTS!  Why are there NO MONUMENTS TO THE OIL INDUSTRY???

I love being able to drive across town.  I love eating bananas that were grown in places like Chile and transported on BIG OIL-BURNING SHIPS to our ports and distributed by BIG DIESEL-BURNING TRUCKS to the local grocery store which I drive to in my little gas-burning car.  I LOVE BIG OIL!!!

Get it?

Light blogging. Get it?  Me so clever!

I've been doing 13 hour days at work lately and it looks like it won't let up until mid-June at the soonest.  So I'm not dead.  I don't hate you.  I'm not shunning you like an ugly plague victim.  Just giving you a heads-up that new posts are gonna be kinda scarce for a while, until I can shake a little more free time out of the free time tree.  Adjust your reading habits accordingly.  Or hit the archive.

Flippy Calderón

You've no doubt heard about the outrageous statements made by Mexican President Felipe Calderón.  This whole "everybody draw mo" thing has been fun, and it seems Andy and I happened upon an idea at the same time.  We're gonna ride this meme for all it's worth.  I'm much less an artist than I am an internet photojacker, so here's my 1000 words on the subject:

Anybody else wanna play "Everybody draw Calderón?"  It's fun!

Happy May 20th!

Quoth the cRaven

The beginning of that last post had a familiar cadence.  Took me a while to place it.  Let's see if I can make it work...

-----------
There I sat all broken hearted, tried to blog but only farted.
While I struggled, nearly snapping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my duplex door.
`'Tis some census goon,' I muttered, `tapping at my duplex door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember - it was in that bleak November,
Chrissy Matthews tugged his member; Hope-n-Change was at his door.
Eagerly I wished the morrow - vainly I had sought to borrow
From the blogs surcease of sorrow - sorrow deep within my core -
For my neighbors had elected morons dumb as fungal spores.
Joblessness for evermore.

And then the nausea I felt, amplified by wide boob belt
Chilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the wrenching in my gut, I stood clenching
`'Tis some census goon entreating entrance at my duplex door -
Not Michelle Obama bleating just outside my duplex door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
'Just a second, stupid hippie, headcount only and no more;
While on my blog I was mocking, and so gently you came knocking,
Quietly like you were stalking, knocking at my duplex door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Obamas there! and nothing more.

Barry O. began to stutter, Michelle O. said "don't eat the butter",
Nanny stater, she's so brazen. "You'll get fatter than Al Gore."
Not the least obeisance made they; not a minute stopped or stayed they;
But, with mien of lord and lady, barged right through my duplex door -
Michelle took the comfy sofa; barry parked upon the floor -
Barged, and sat, demanded more.

Then this ebony turd beguiler, of many lies he was plyer,
With the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore,
`Though I promised lower taxes, we will plunder all the masses!"
Ghastly grim and oh-so brazen, "Tax until the butthole's sore!"
"You'll soon find out what the game is, IRS is keeping score.'
Quoth Obama, `Gimme more.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly nerd, his gait was rather dainty
Many speeches, little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet could be so "wee-wee'd" and achieve the Senate floor -
Somehow Whitehouse he attained to, "D'oh! A window, not a door!"
Swings the club and then yells "Fore!"

Craven tells us he'll be bolder, that he soon will seal the border,
Not quite male, it's Eric Holder, spins a tale like bard of yore.
"I like girls, like Elena Kagan, see my wife there, I'm not fakin'

Sorry... this is harder than it looks.  Said the blogger "rhyme no more"
finis

Breakthrough!

There I sat all brokenhearted...

...tried to blog but only farted. 

Wanted to post something funny today but wasn't getting very far. Then I thought I might as well post some pissy rant. Nada. Just couldn't get the bile flowing today. Figured it would end up another sad, sad day without a post, when, what to my wonder ears should appear? The makings of a RealityPost^tm! Wifey calls me, saying that stepgirl had come over to our house to use the washing machine and found the doors locked. Normally we're pretty lax about locking doors, 'cuz, well, it's a pretty safe part of town and, um, you'll see in a second...



So daughter finds the door locked, and goes around the side of the house and tries to slide the window open, but it is locked.  Chance, the 110lb Bloodweiler, couldn't see who it was through the closed drapes, so he freaked out and lunged at the window.  HE TOTALLY FLAMIN' BLEW OUT MY WINDOW!!! Shards of broken glass spattered our daughter.  Then Chance was so happy to see that it was a friendly visitor, that he insisted on jumping outside.  THROUGH THE JAGGED  REMNANTS OF GLASS STILL DANGLING IN THE FRAME.  Daughter managed to keep him inside, but then she realized she'd screamed when the glass broke  and the sound of scream+barking dog+breaking glass=cops probably rolling up any second now, so SHE TOOK OFF!  Then I get the call and dash home wondering what I'd find.  I was seriously freaking, thinking I'd find a bled-out dog dead on the sofa.  

Whew!  No blood.  No injuries.  Well, daughter has a teensy cut on her hand - not even enough to merit a band-aid.  And the window that broke is the smaller sliding section and the frame appears to be fine.  Just need a new piece of glass cut to fit in it and all will be well.  The shards in the frame are like daggers and it is MIRACULOUS that neither nitwit kid nor nitwit dog are hurt.

Barry needs an intervention

Backstory here and here
---------------------------------

Governor Palin began to feel that subliminal pull once again...  Without hesitation, she loaded up her snowmobile modified for snowless operation: 42" Super Swampers, a 6" 'pension lift and the handwarmers replaced with holsters for her pair of custom Desert Eagle .650 UltraMags - each of those featuring exquisite "Hello Kitty" inlays in the grips.  She arrives at Mount Rushmore just about the same time as Fred Thompson pulls up in his little red pickup.

[Fred T.] "Hiya, Governor!"

[Sarah P.] "Good morning, Senator!"

[Fred T.]  "So it wasn't just me."

[Sarah P.] "Nah.  I think we're going to convene the whole group again.  Now, where the heck is that trapdoor?"

[Fred T.]  "Oops.  Looks like I parked right on top of it.  Gimme a sec." [Hops in his truck and goes to start it up]

[Little red truck] "R-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-click-click-click"

[Fred T.] "Dang.  Looks like my old truck just doesn't have any fire in the belly, so to speak."

[Sarah P.] "No worries." [Retrieves pistols and opens fire on the ground under the truck] "blam! blam! blam! blam! blam! blam! blam! blam! blam!" [blur of hand doing impossibly quick reload] "blam! blam! blam! blam! blam! blam! blam! blam! blam!"

A crater, large enough to crawl in, is formed by the bullet impacts and allows the two to gain entry to the hidden stairway that leads far, far below Mt. Rushmore.  They head down into the darkness and eventually emerge in a hidden chamber, met by William "Bill" Casey, Dick Cheney, Bobby Jindal and Chuck Norris.

[Fred T.] "Sorry we're late.  We had a little snafu up there by the trap door."

[Cheney] "Yeah, yeah.  Whatever."
  
[Sarah P, blowing smoke from the barrel of her Desert Eagle] "But I took care of it." 

[Casey, taking charge of the meeting] "I've summoned you all here once again, for our republic is in dire straits."

[Cheney] "Actually, I rather enjoy watching these morons in charge flounder and flub.  They're freaking and floundering like a flounder on the deck of my boat.  A retarded flounder.  A retarded flounder getting tazed .  That's how they're acting.  I love it.  Let's just leave things be for a while."

[Sarah P., starting to cry] "But, but, I want to be president someday! And I don't want to be presiding over a ruined heap of rubble.  We have to do something!"

[Norris] "Dick, you're making the lady cry!  Knock it off!"

[Casey] "The TEA Party movement is an important part of this.  We need to encourage more grass-roots involvement."

[Cheney] "I'm not to impressed with the TEA Party thing.  Seriously.  If you get two or three thousand genuine patriots all together in one place, there should be wounded hippies stacked like cordwood nearby.  But I have yet to hear of one stupid hippie getting punched in his dirty face.  The TEA Parties are a failure."

[Jindal] "Mr. Vice President, is it just me, or are you even crabbier than normal?"

[Cheney] "You'd be crabby too, if you had a zipper in your chest."

[Jindal] "Whaaat?"

[Cheney, unzipping his windbreaker to reveal a zipper holding his ribcage together] "Yeah!  The doctors have to go under the hood so often, they installed this zipper so they could get to my heart more easily." [Unzips chest] "See?"

[Jindal] "But, I don't see a heart.  Just a cold void where your heart should be."

[Cheney] "Look closer.  It is small and black.  Like a miniature BBQ briquette."

[Jindal] "Ahh.  There it is.  Sorry.  I could see how that might be irritating.  But back on-topic, I am really worried about the oil spill."


[Fred T, standing up, but disoriented] "Whenever I'm underground, I lose all sense of direction.  Which way is south-by-southeast?"


[Jindal] "I got an app for that" [pauses to read iPhone display] "that way" [points]


[Fred T, facing the direction Jindal pointed.  Pauses like an actor getting into character then erupts] "GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWR!!!!'


[Jindal's phone beeps] "I just got a text from back home.  It says the oil appears frightened and is backing away from our coastline.  It is now heading towards Cuba."


[Fred T. kicks back with his cowboy boots on the table and smiles contentedly]

[Casey] "What about Kim Jong Il in North Korea?"

[Chuck N's face goes from serenity to rage in a split second] "I...HATE...COMMIES!" [pause] "Umm. Actually, as a Christian, Jesus commanded me to hate the sin but love the sinner.   I still struggle with that...OK...  I...HATE...COMMUNISM!" [leaps from his chair, and collapses awkwardly on the floor] "Gah!  Calf cramp!  Owww!" [Crawls back to his seat in pain.  Reaches into his jacket and draws his Texas Ranger Special Edition 1911, aims it at his calf, and pulls the trigger]


[Sarah P, shielding eyes] "I can't look!"


A blorp of Icy Hot fires from Chuck's .45 and immediately soothes the cramp.


[Chuck] "Now, where was I?  Oh yeah.  I...HATE...COMMUNISM!" [leaps up and attacks the stone wall of the cavern.  Chips of rock fly hither and yon.]


In short order,  Chuck carves a detailed and realistic bas-relief image of Kim Jong Il in the stone.  With his fingernails.  "Die, commie scum!!!" [Chuck performs vicious heel-kick into the groinal region of the carving, which cracks and falls to pieces]


[Jindal's phone beeps] "The Associated Press is reporting that Kim Jong has fallen seriously Il and is being rushed to a hospital."


[Chuck smiles and crosses his arms triumphantly]


[Casey] "One last issue to address.  The porosity of our southern border."

[Cheney] "Bobby, get on your phone thing and issue me a press release.  Tell the media I will be in the Arizona desert, hunting desert grouse. Tell them I will be giving bilingual bird hunting lessons in both English and Spanish.  I want to share my wealth of knowledge in this area, and especially want to teach illegal aliens all the ins and ouch of the gentlemanly sport of bird hunting."


[All assembled erupt in laughter] 


[Casey] "That's all for now."









 

Do a good turn daily

"Do a good turn daily" they used to teach me in the Boy Scouts.  Well, as I got home this morning from job #1 it was evident that the dogs REALLY wanted out.  I just just starting to slide the glass door when my wife hollered at me to stop.  There was a bird in the backyard struggling.  It could sorta fly - like a chicken.  You know, get about 1' off the ground and travel a short distance before crashing gracelessly.  My dogs were all like "flappy toy!  flappy toy!" but I (and my wife) wanted to help it.  I think it was a Steller's Jay.  There was another one lingering nearby, seemingly concerned.  I know I'm guilty of anthropomorphizing these screwy little birds, but it sure looked like the one was trying to encourage the other.

My plan was to just gather up the struggling bird and set it down on the other side of the fence, beyond the reach of my dogs.  But the little birdie could fly just enough to make me look REALLY stupid.  Remember that scene when Rocky tried to catch the chicken?  Yeah, like that, except this time of year that part of my backyard is a mudbog with an occasional doglog.  Pretty tricky to catch a little birdie in those conditions.  But I did manage to usher him to a gap in the fence, which he escaped through.  He'll probably end up as kitteh chow, but hey, I tried.

Then I arrived at job #2 and my cow-irker co-worker was fussing about a good sized beetle (about an inch) wandering the floor.  She wanted to stomp on it but couldn't 'cuz she "can't handle that crunching sound."  So instead of stomping it myself I coaxed it onto a piece of paper and shook him off outside.  The dumbazz landed on the doormat and just sat there, nearly invisible on the black doormat.  He was soon to be goo if he stayed there long.  So I flicked him towards an open area, but he landed on his back and just looked really pathetic with his little six-pack of legs flailing furiously at the air.  So I flicked him again and he landed on his feet.  He's probably squished in the treads of a car tire by now, but hey, I tried.

If the Boy Scouts are right, I'm supposed to have done more than 14,000 good deeds by now.  I have some catching up to do.  But at least this one day, I ran a budget surplus.

Stinko de Mayo

A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How Napoleon used to make me smile.

See, once upon a time the French actually weren't quiche-flinging surrender monkeys.  Hard to believe, I know.  But it is true.  They used to do cool things like dominate Europe and sell us great big pieces of land and give us neat statues.  They even helped us fight those awful Brits.  They were real manly men, despite bearing names like René and François.  Imagine for a sec how scary they'd have been if they marched through your countryside with names like Guido or Thor.  That's a fight you just wouldn't want to have.

But then a sad thing happened.  Beef Wellington and some other guys defeated the French and some stupid Scandis wrote a pop song about it.  The once proud nation of France began a descent towards Vichytude.  It didn't happen overnight.  They retained a measure of coolness for some time afterwards. Back in the 1860s, as we were fighting the good fight to abolish slavery, the Mexicans decided to do what Mexicans do best - screw people out of goods and services.  They reneged on some loan payments they owed France.  Modern Frenchmen would call a session of the European Parliament and arrange to give Greece I mean Mexico more money.  But the Frenchies of the day said no-uh-uh to that and invaded. 

Yes.  As recently as 150 years ago the French could muster a force, sail around the world, and invade.  Much to their later chagrin, though, the French landed in the Mexican region of Puebla.  Students of Spanish language already know that the '-a' suffix at the end of a noun means "gay" but now non-students know it as well.  The Spanish word "Pueblo" means "village" but the trailing 'a' suffix causes it to mean "gay village" which is actually where the YMCA song came from.  One might think that a word that sounds like poo-eh-blow would be gay by itself, but a linguist would call that a "false cognate."  English speakers are frequently frustrated by this.  Remember to change the last vowel to 'a' whenever gayness is suspected.

Anyway, it didn't take long for the gayness of Puebla to spread like cooties through the French ranks.  Soon they were unable to fight and were defeated by Mexican forces.  Mexicans in the Puebla regions as well as Mexicans in America celebrate this day like it is somehow a big deal to beat some gay Frenchmen.  Most of Mexico does not embrace this holiday.  Probably has something to do with the gayness of the whole scene.  I don't blame them.

In summary, most of the world's evils come down to lazy Mexicans not paying their bills.  If they'd have kept up to their obligations, the French would still be kicking butt.  They would have stopped Hitler in his tracks.  "Troubled" French immigrant youngsters would never be able to get away with setting cars on fire in the Paris suburbs. And kids in America would not be getting in trouble for wearing American flags on their shirts.

Vhat oil slick?

Greetings, class!

Today vee shall explore the principle of osmosis.  Vell, not exactly osmosis.  Vee shall discuss things more generally.  In osmosis, vater in high concentration can travel through a semipermeable membrane to an area of lower concentration.  With no input of energy or work.  Similary, thermodynamics teaches dat heat can spontaneously travel from hot matter to nearby cooler matter.  But ze opposites are not true.

Here vee haff ze solution to the Gulf Oil Slick!  Don't you see, class?  Nature doesn't like tinks to be in high concentrations.  Vhether that be vater, heat or oil, it is ze tendency of nature to diffuse deez tinks.  Nature will not allow deez tinks to become concentrated viffout vork or other energy input. 

So vhat ve need is sometink extremely slimy and gross.  I suggest Secretary Napolitano.  On the logarithmic slimy scale, Frau Napolitano comes ass-ymptotically close to infinity.  There is notink known to man more slimy.  Denn ve arrange an array of Chinook Helicopters to lift Frau Napolitano's ponderous bulk into the air and lower her into the sea near the oil spill.  Frau Nappy is more greasy and oily than crude oil, so the laws of thermdynamics will prevent the crude from moving past her.  Ze slime cannot move from a region of relatively low concentration (the sea) to a region of higher concentration (Frau Nappy) unless ve vork and add energy to ze system.  So, ve shall surround zis entire project viff lazy moonbats.  Moonbats are opposed to energy and are incapable of vork.  Hence dey make an excellent insulator for this project.  Ve shall maneuver Frau Nappy and the moonbats around the Caribbean viff ze helicopters and steer ze oil avay from American coastlines.  Problem solved, ja?"