Of Norse Gods and Giants and Amercian Goats and Shit

My Norwegian compadres on the Nobel committee did nether the US or Obama any favors by awarding the Peace Prize to our neophyte President, however noble their intentions (bad pun unfortunately intended).

True, he's made the world more amenable toward peace simply by not being George W. Bush and he's pretty good at it. I personally think he's mostly making the right moves, though at a much more leisurely pace than I would have liked.  Oh sure, there are a bunch of little things that bother me about what Obama's done or not done on one issue or another. There always will be until someone elects me president.  Even then, I'd find a way to find fault with some of my decisions immediately upon making them (perhaps especially then).   All in all, though, Obama's doing okay.

But the Nobel Peace Prize?

At the end of the day, Obama's the commander in chief responsible for two wars of our own making and it doesn't really matter that he inherited them. He's clearly accelerating the Afghan campaign and to my eyes not made nearly enough progress in getting us out of the muck that is Iraq.   And nothing else he's accomplished besides not being Bush has had time to bear fruit yet.  Perhaps they need a Nobel Not-Bush Prize.  Barack totally deserves that one.

And of course there are the downsides to winning a Nobel Prize for nebulous reasons: The right wing fear mongers now have more fodder for monging ("it's a vast worldwide leftist conspiracy!").  These are the people that cheered the news that we didn't get the 2016 Olympics because Obama lobbied to get it.  I imagine they'd cheer firebombing of orphanages if Obama came out against the idea.

But enough of this political claptrap - let's talk about important things, like Marge Simpson at long last making the cover of Playboy Magazine.  Alas, no Jessica Rabbit style centerfold to go along with it, but it shows that cartoon cougars can be bad too (well, not bad; just drawn that way).

I'm sitting here watching Discovery Health (naturally; what's an old fogy going to do on a Friday night?) and on comes yet another commercial by a company whose advertisements seem isolated to this channel: Home Delivery Incontinent Supplies (HDIS).   I've never seen so much as a reference to them anywhere else.  Know thy demographic.  And so they do, but I hope I won't need their services for a good long time.

I've mentioned HDIS in a prior posting, but it bears repeating for those who missed it: this company caters solely to those whose bladders and bowels are so out of control that they can't make it through the checkout line at the supermarket without leaving a trail of piss and shit in their wake.  Or maybe to those who are simply embarrassed to roll up to the "15 items or less" aisle and get yelled at by the gum popping teenager working the register for having 15 packs of Depends and a large block of cheese ("that's 16 items shit-for-brains!").   Who wants that?  Let HDIS ship your bowel and bladder control needs right to the front door!  Another bushel of butt plugs for the Petersons!

On that bright note I catch a glance at the clock: 11:20pm, time for bed.  Gotta get caught up on my reading: The Men who Stare at Goats has been teed up on my nightstand for a while and I've only gotten a few pages into it.

Goats, Shit, Piss and the Nobel Peace Prize.  Who could ask for anything more?