My New Glasses

(I had this old blog lying around, and thought I might use it to address Greensboro subjects, but Wordpress is about a billion times easier to use. Talk about mission creep.)

I'd purchased a pair of glasses over three years ago from a local firm at an exorbitant price, and while I'm willing to go further into debt when necessary, I decided to try one of the online firms instead.  I chose a frame, entered my prescription, paid a hundred bucks, and one week later they arrived. I could not be happier.  Perusing my RSS feed reader this morning, I came across this.

From Zero Hedge:

In the latest effort to signal as much virtue as possible, the Miss America beauty contest is scrapping its swimsuit and evening-gown section and will no longer be judged on physical appearance. Contestants will instead be asked to demonstrate their "passion, intelligence and overall understanding of the job of Miss America."

Beauty pageants are no longer necessary, so long as FOX News has a segment with anchors wearing swimsuits.

Tucker Carlson on Bill Clinton

Diddler Candy took it to the logical conclusion of the Nude News Network.

Her success was only surpassed by the Vagina Channel.

World peace was finally achieved with the topless UN.

She went long on Kleenex and Vaseline, amassing the world's greatest fortune.

She endowed the Diddler Candy School of Business at UNC-CH.

These new glasses enable me to see far into the future with perfect clarity.

Rand Paul will be the 46th POTUS.

NC will become the only state not to legalize pot and sink into financial oblivion.

Fort Bragg will be renamed Fort Pence and become a prison for Christian terrorists.

Jesus will return as a black woman and be completely ignored.

Aliens will finally land and no longer call Earth planet Stupid.

The world will finally be consumed by global warming, but by then I will have made a fortune shorting F-150s and creating a website selling rugby shorts and Tevas.

The IGMFUPAC will finally be built, but the global Zionist boycott will reduce the benefactors to producing their own performances.

In a final act of desperation, Matt Brown will chop a hole in the roof of the IGMFUPAC and petition the whores and losers on city council to demolish it and build something bigger.

Paitu Bashmagash

The last time we heard from Milton Kern, he was snitching to the city about Eric Robert‘s renovations on Elm Street, beside the Mellow Mushroom.  Last night, there were 2 explosions starting at 8:30 at the Biltmore Hotel on Washington St. which blew out a bunch of windows and the front bumper of a Honda CRV unfortunate to be parked out front.  Uncle Miltie owns part of the Biltmore.

Milton Kern hails from Star, NC.  Let that sink in for a bit.

A rumor exists that Kern and his business partners, in their attempt to build a Wyndham Hotel at Elm Street Center, have entertained the idea of issuing EB-5 visas at $500K a pop.

Paitu Bashmagash acquired quite a fortune during the many years she spent on her back, professionally in Fuckistan.  One of the vagaries of her line of work required that she leave upon retirement, in order to extinguish demand, as it were.

The Biltmore Hotel has a 4,000 sq ft unfinished basement, which was given over to Paitu as a residence, thereby securing the terms of her visa and receipt of her $500K.  She’s been there some time, making arrangements to bring her family for visits.  The basement also houses the heating and laundry systems, with her living adjacent to Washington Street.

Paitu, suddenly with lots of time on her hands, and caught up in the  American entrepreneurial spirit downtown, despite having met Zack Matheny, decided to try her hand at something other than the business at which she had previously excelled, but was no longer suited.  She loved to cook, but had no way to install a stove in the basement.  However, with the can-do attitude that made this county great, Paitu hired a Latino to cut a hole into the wall to vent the stove.  To their surprise,  an empty space lay just on the other side, so they installed a tandoori oven.

An electrical fire burns, but does not explode without the presence of a gaseous  accelerant such as emitted by an oven baking puri.  This kind of thing happens all the time in Fuckistan.