R.I.P. George Carlin

A clip from one of the last shows of the late and greatest curmudgeon this country's ever seen.

Just watch this if you feel like laughing. If you don't laugh we can all pretty much assume that you are still in utero and haven't finished forming yet. You only imagined that you were born and that you know something about life. So, stop messing around on the Internet and finish up in there already. 

Netfuxed

What is more innocuous than a couple of DVDs wearing small red jackets appearing every few days in the mail?

They seem a bit like leprechauns with magical powers and the ability to transport one far, far away from the madding crowd. (Or, at least one's own existential angst.) But like leprechauns promising undeserved riches, they can be tricky, too.

Because, they are also like potato chips, Chihuahuas and cabana boys and you can't have just one.

A while back genius friend, Mizz Lizz, introduced me to the expression "I'm a 1-out."

Meaning: To be on the 1-at-a-time Netflix plan.

To those of you who don't know what Netflix is: it is an internet DVD rental company which mails DVDs directly to your home. There are eight Netflicks plans meaning that you can rent up to eight DVDs at a time. What they don't tell you is the higher the number the bigger a loser you are. Your Netflix number is not information one casually tosses into conversation like nasturtiums into a diner salad. Much like a sexually-transmitted disease, it is a sensitive subject to be shared only with those who will not judge you. Being a 1-out is akin to being the Virgin Mary; pure and unsullied by the influence of too much popular culture. Whereas being an 8-out means that you are probably a chronic masturbator going cold turkey.

So, whatever your number, take heart. We're all friends here at The Gamut Absurd and I am in no position to cast aspersions.

Much in common.

Phew! (For now)

According to the New York Times,  the Associated Press is instituting guidelines on how bloggers can use their content. Jim Kennedy, vice president and strategy director of The A.P. says: "We are not trying to sue bloggers...That would be the rough equivalent of suing grandma and the kids for stealing music. That is not what we are trying to do." 

Since we at the Gamut like to make up and write our own news stories, we're not too concerned about being told to cease and desist from quoting AP stories. However, we do like to use photographs we find on the web which we credit whenever we know who took them. Sometimes they are AP photos  which we are fairly certain we could never afford to pay for. Since we're too shallow to actually read the new guidelines, we don't know how they may affect us and the fair use of their artwork. So, for now, we're keeping our sticky little fingers crossed.

Ol' Man Grumpus

Some grumps are cute and some play guitar, some are just mean and really old.

They Feel Pretty!

Preening and primping themselves as if they were going to the senior prom, democratic pols everywhere are scootching in their waistlines and examining their profiles in their bathroom mirrors to see if they have what it takes to be Obama's Right Hand Man (or Woman as the case may be.) We here at the Gamut (per usual, that's the royal we) would like to share some contenders we think are worth considering. Just about anyone who is not part of the old Washington rat's nest is eligible. (It doesn't matter if they are deceased, animated, scantily-clad or very hirsute.) As long as they have a winning smile and a youthful appearance they pretty much can't lose.

End of the Road

Looking as if he's ready to end it all on the campaign trail, Bill Clinton appears to finally understand what a total drag it is to be the spouse of a political candidate.

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As the Clinton campaign draws to a close there is much ponderous blathering about the possibility of an Obama/Clinton collaboration.

Though such a pair would surely be unstoppable, so too would the caricaturists.

If we thought we had it bad in the bad old days of Richard Nixon and Watergate, nothing will save us from the doodles of self-taught artists around the globe should these two decide to join forces.

Pee-yew!

You know you're really scraping the bottom of the Gamut pan when you come across a post like this.

But I just had to report on a not-so-new phenomenon in my nabe: the presence of urine-filled bottles left by the curb. They are nasty little Molotov wanna-be's created by (my guess) men sitting in their cars or trucks for so long in the terrible day-time traffic that they have no other choice but to pee in a bottle and leave it behind. I wish they'd pour it into the curb instead of sealing it up and chucking it. However, for some sparky young entrepreneur there's ample opportunity to develop a new product for a crowded world: the Traffic Diaper. (Fully biodegradable, of course.)

That ain't water, honey.

This is What Will Happen

This is what will happen if you marry me. I will take a standard Dia de Los Muertos figurine and I will make it our own. I will add a tennis racket and a cute little Scottie dog and I will glue a pink flower sticking out of your culo. I will do this because I want to, because it amuses me. Whoops! Too late. If you are reading this, then it is already like we are married. We are that close, now.

Brooklyn Hospitality

Just make yourself at home. Don't be shy...go ahead, slam the door. We don't mind. We want you to. We are not faint-hearted people, us Brooklynites.

Ooh oOH eEEee EEee!

Don't worry my darlings, I know you miss me. I just want you to know I am hard at work coming up with the next Gamoo.... Stay tuned, sweetcheeks.