Archive for June, 2010

These are dark times at stately IPB Manor. The corrupt ruling priest classes of PandoNation and PaulieMartinNation have been walking on eggshells as the free agency period has drawn closer, and today the first horrible blow was dealt: PandoNation’s emperor-god is no more.

After the initial shock wore off from hearing the news, and after several hours of ululation, shrill keening, and much rending of garments and hair, the corrupt ruling priest class of PandoNation, stuck working their day job, got online with the corrupt ruling priest class of PaulieMartinNation to discuss how to move forward. Pookie greeted the news in her typical implacable fashion — she declared that Pando was, at that moment, ascending to Interchangeable Parts Heaven in his fiery chariot.

Unlike some gracious fans of players who have played their entire careers with one team, Schnookie does not embrace the notion of Pando wearing another team’s sweater. She proclaimed to Pookie, “I am so far beyond not wanting him to go to another team, to the point where he is, until he retires, literally invisible and dead to me. Pando as a non-Devil doesn’t exist.” Pookie, ever the cooler head, had higher hopes: “I don’t want him going to another team. I want him to melt the waiver wire with the glow of his heavenly chariot.”

Whatever happens to Pando the hockey player, the streets of PandoNation are running red with blood tonight. When the chaos and violence subside, the remaining citizenry will pull up stakes and head out to -Nations far and wide; someday all that will be left of a once-proud civilization will be the crumbled foundations of its temples, the pottery sherds in its garbage pits, and the base of its towering sculpture centerpiece, with its inscription “My name is Pando, king of kings. Look upon my works ye mighty and despair”.


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If you have a zoomy enough lens for your camera, and keep your windows relatively spot-free, you know what profession you can take up from the comfort of your own home? Nature photographer!

Bambi Meets Godzilla (Minus the Godzilla Part)

This little guy came by when we were putting dinner together…

June 27 2010

… And this little guy landed in front of our living room window while we were watching “Walker, Texas Ranger”. We didn’t even have to get off the couch.

Now all we need is much more exotic and lucrative wildlife to walk past our windows, and we could make a fortune!

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You know what’s awesome about weekends these days, aside from all the general awesomeness just sort of naturally inherent in a weekend? We get to watch World Cup games live! WOO HOO!

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… Of World Cups held in America. Sheesh, you weren’t thinking we were going to look at the future of the Devils were you? ::shudder:: We watched a few minutes of “Gypsy” last night and when Mama Rose got talking at the end of Act I about how it wasn’t a problem that the whole vaudeville act had fallen apart because they would just get newer, better costumes and everything would turn out great, we all couldn’t help but comment that that’s exactly what was going on with Lou this summer only instead of “newer” and “better”, he was looking for “older” and “worse” to spruce up the “new” act. Anyway, we digress. No, no, the future we’re looking forward to is a future World Cup held in the United States. It’s gonna happen at some point, and we’re gonna have to be ready — ready to attend a game in the most appropriate ass-kickingly patriotic costume we can manage. But what should that costume be? Here’s a look at some ideas we’ve come up with. Good thing we have a few more years to decide and then probably a few more to perfect the design.

Pookie: I’ll dress as a buffalo. The buffalo will, of course, be dressed as Uncle Sam but with a giant Indian headdress.

Schnookie: We need people dressed as red-white-and-blue pilgrims!

Pookie: Uncle Sam Pilgrims! That’s a GREAT idea! We can serve up red-white-and-blue succotash in the parking lot. And then serve up a can of whup-ass* on the field. (*Whup-ass contains ties.)

Schnookie: I might consider wearing a giant hot dog outfit, like the sausage racers in Milwaukee. Only I’d be a hot dog astronaut, wearing an indian headdress. And pince-nez, carrying a big stick. “Yo, bitches of the world, I’m a hot dog who’s been to space, is a fucking indian warrior, and is TEDDY FUCKING ROOSEVELT, and I’m about to colonize your sorry asses!”

Pookie: Everyone else seems to be wearing cowboy hats in their country’s colors, so I think I’ll wear stars-and-stripes versions of fezes, Napoleon hats, berets, giant furry Russian hats, etc.

Schnookie: I might dress as Babe Ruth, as an astronaut. THAT’S about as American as it gets, right? Him, or Douglas MacArthur. (And I mean Douglas MacArthur as an astronaut, of course. That’s a simple costume. You just go as a standard astronaut, and have a pearl-handled pistol.) Or better yet, Colonel Sanders! As an astronaut!

Pookie: I think I’ll go with being an Uncle Sam/Pilgrim mustang driving a Mustang in space.

Schnookie: Maybe I’d just dress as Manifest Destiny. Or better yet, I’d bring a giant mock-up of the World Cup trophy and use it as a stripper pole. I’d be Manifest Destinee.

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When we arrived home from work tonight we discovered on our front step an unexpected, nondescript brown box. What on earth could be inside it? After some moderate attempts at guessing, we opened it to behold the amazing, awesome contents:


Boomer and Her Vuvuzela

That’s right — a fabulous, fabulous friend had taken it upon herself to surprise us with a shipment of our very own World Cup vuvuzelas, with which we can now express our unbridled excitement in all manner of situations. Boomer immediately took hers out on the back deck to delight and thrill our neighbors.


They are shockingly difficult to play, if your name rhymes with “Schnookie”. Or if your name actually is “Schnookie”. But if you’re not an idiot, a vuvuzela is an essential addition to your life. How else can you express your unbridled excitement?

Augustus of Vuvuzela Porta

Look at that! Augustus of Prima Porta is unbridledly excited, and demonstrating the vuvuzela’s telescoping properties!


Even little Shrieky is brimming with unbridled excitement! Vuvuzelas are bringers of joy. They are the most amazing thing ever. Anyone who says otherwise is just a cranky jerk who has never received an unexpected gift of them, and then gigglingly raced around the house blowing them at their cats.

Rollie Doesn't Like Soccer

Of course, if you look closely at the cat in the picture above, you might be able to tell that there is another possibility for someone who says that vuvuzelas suck — that person might be a housecat who has been chased by one.

Anyway, the long and the short of this momentous gift is that we A) can now toot our vuvuzelas when big goals are scored on the TV in the World Cup, and B) can bring them to the next Devils game we go to, and blow them in the Fire Lounge right behind Doc and Chico. You won’t even have to listen too diligently, because seriously, you won’t be able to miss us.


Per pam’s request, we took a few more pictures of the denizens of stately IPB Manor expressing their unbridled joy:

Chuck Vuvuzelaing

June 17 2010

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One Thing We Love About the World Cup: It’s like the sports-fan girl’s weekend in Vegas. It’s a month (which is the grand-scheme of sports seasons is super short) of hooking up with with sexy guys about whom you know their name, what their tattoos look like, and maybe one tidbit of interesting information (“so-and-so is a talented cook”, “that player is working to build a hospital in his hometown”, “Number 12 there has 25 or 26 siblings, depending on who in the family you ask”). What’s not to love?

One Thing We Hate About the World Cup: We’re hearing reports from all kinds of countries of schools and workplaces closing to let their pupils and employees stay home to watch the game. Come on, America! If we just cared more about soccer, we wouldn’t have to go to work on Friday! But nooOOoo. Because America is too snotty/stupid/willful to love soccer, we have to work all day and in the face of almost certain spoilage. Thanks a lot, America!

One More Thing We Love About the World Cup: Fabio Cannavaro is still smoking hot. Turns out you can go home again! And home? Is smoking hot.

UPDATE: We’re watching the Switzerland/Spain game on tivo delay, and people, the Swiss team has a guy named Hakan Yakin. Hakan Yakin. The World Cup is awesome.

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1. Soccer* could be vastly improved by stealing from hockey the radical concept of a third period. These 90-minute affairs are 45 minutes too short.

2. Hockey could be vastly improved by stealing from soccer the radical concept of a World Cup.

*We are no long shamed by calling “football” “soccer” after reading this explanation on Slate. This is such a relief because otherwise the next month would be a confusing mess of saying “football” while feeling like an affected loser or saying “soccer” while feeling like some kind of world-class moron.

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