Second To Last Found Summer Photo 2014: What?

I still haven’t figured this one out. Must be a fashion thing.


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Columbia? If it was Brazil, I’d Understand.

A friend of mine posted on facebook recently about a particularly bad day that ended with “and I couldn’t even go home because my cleaning lady was there.” She then made a joke about having “first world problems,” at which I had to laugh even though I didn’t really understand–is there some ettiquette thing about being in the house with the help? Being that, socially, I’m more closer to being “the help” than than the Lord of The Manor or whatever, I still think I’d want to be around to, you know, keep an eye on the silver candlesticks and the liquor cabinet (okay, we have a shelf in the pantry, but still….)

That really has little to do with my post (big surprise, eh?) except for the concept of “first world problems.” And speaking of first world problems, thousands of people who must be living really, really dull lives are all worked up about a Columbian women’s bicycle team and their new uniforms. I myself have no comment beyond a snort and a shake of my head.

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Rachel Nichols Scores

Rachel-Nichols2Following her attempts to pry an answer from that elusive weasel, Roger Goodell, to the question of why the Atlantic City police have no record of the NFL ever requesting the full film footage of Ray Rice sucker-punching his then-fiancee into unconsciousness, and his continued evasiveness (he pulls the old politician trick of answering a different question than he was asked, then repeating the answer until the flow of conversation moves on), reporter Rachel Nichols found her Wikipedia page had been changed to reflect a new career.  Kudos to her–and to the TMZ guy who said “We got the tape with one phone call,” what the hell was your problem?




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The Philosophy of Ayn Rand (Special Easy To Understand Edition)


Sorry. Can’t resist–but if it makes you feel any better, I think that the communism is a crock, too. I just don’t have a catchy image for it, and nobody wants to look at pictures of Soviet gulags.

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Found Summer Photo: Equity

A few folks have asked me, “Chuck, why do so many of your summer photos feature scantily clad women?  You’re a progressive guy, an avowed feminist–what’s the deal?”

I get it. I do. It’s probably a cop-out to point out that beach, and beach-related attire, are iconic summer images, but there’s that.  I struggle with the whole objectification issue, I really do–but if someone wanted to objectify me I’d be okay with it.  I’m sure there’s some twisted fetishist out there for whom my whole “fat old man” vibe resonates.  Dream away, friends–just remember that I’m taken.


In the end, it comes down to public safety.  Stray too far from the time-tested memes of summer, and there’s no telling what you’ll get.

We’ve only got four days of Summer remaining, and I’ve not only got Found Summer Photos lined up for each of those days, but I’ve collected a fair portion of next year’s entries as well–something to which we can look forward over the long, cold winter that’s sure to come.

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Regular Themed Posts–Good or Bad?

The busy summer, with it’s extra work demands, obligations, social opportunities and various travels (and a few travails) led to a disruption of the schedules for my recurrently themed posts, such as the “Bad Books” collection of naughty book covers, Rock And Roll Friday, Dumb Ass Hall of Fame, and so forth.  It doesn’t appear that (m)any of you kind readers are particularly distraught about this, but I’m going to work at getting back on track next week, regardless–I post these things because they amuse me, and I like to share, and also because the search and collection is relaxing, and often very interesting.  I hope you do, and I hope that having them doesn’t distract from my original content.

Now, here’ s a meme for your trouble:


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Peterson, His Fans: Pieces of Shit. Every One.

This amidst news that Adrian Peterson has enough anger in him to abuse not just one but two of his children.

There is nothing funny about being beaten by a parent, about fearing that one person in the world you should be able to trust above all others. Who laughs about a bleeding, humiliated child?  Someone fortunate enough to have never shamefully hidden welts and bruises in a locker room. Someone lucky enough to have never been smacked with a stick until “you’re man enough to take it without crying.”  Or kicked so hard his tailbone fractured.  Or whipped across the thighs with a belt “in case your ass is numb.”  The question that occurs to me is this: if Adrian Peterson–or any man–treated a pet the way he treated his children, would there be any debate over his cruelty and barbarism?

Here is what a pile of shit looks like:

And there is plenty more where this came from:

And it’s not just the fans who have Peterson’s back.  His team, the Minnesota Vikings, and it’s General Manager are supportive as well.  I guess Mr. Peterson deserves all this concern during this difficult time.  It’s difficult when the world discovers you’re a twisted psycho child-beating monster.

Four year old children.  Does he do toddlers, too?  Infants that cry too much?

Rick Speilman, the aforementioned General Manager, in what must be one of the most cowardly press conferences of all time, breezily explained that it wasn’t his or the teams place to judge how a parent disciplines his child, and that the Vikings would defer to the legal process before making any hasty decisions.  If Mr. Speilman would like a more tangible demonstration he might then use as criteria for judgement, I would be happy to travel to Minneapolis to shove his mouth full of leaves, beat his legs and butt bloody with a stick, and strike him in the scrotum with that same stick.

Peterson did issue an apology–on Twitter–in which he doesn’t mention his child until the fourth paragraph, long after apologizing to his team.  It’s the usual “sorry I was caught” crocodile-tear bullshit you hear from monsters feigning humility.  I’d be surprised if he actually wrote it–it has the stink of a PR hack about it.

Further Reading From Better Minds Than Mine:

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