Planned Parenthood Investigators Discredited.
In a dramatic turn of events, media firms and agents sent forth from Planned Parenthood began to examine the background and past dealings with the founders of The Center for Medical Progress after a series of damning videos were released showing several highly placed executives of PP seemingly negotiating—haggling—over the price of the tissue and organs of aborted fetuses. In one video a shockingly grotesque example of a woman and potential mother jokes about the prices to be gathered as she wants a Lamborghini automobile.
One might think that seeing videos as craven and inhuman as this would galvanize Republican leaders and pave the way for a federal defunding of this barbaric organization of the over half billion dollars they take from taxpayers even though federal funding of abortions is illegal. If one thought that, one would be incorrect.
This week an attack on the motives and background of the founders of the videographers was launched. Of the findings that clearly discredit the videos is one of the elementary school grade in English Literature and Composition received by David Daleiden. He received a C overall in the class with several papers being graded as a D. (Most of the errors were in punctuation and subject verb agreement but we won’t let the facts get in the way of a juicy piece of gossip.)
The media pounced on this piece of historical irrelevance making the leap in judgment that since he could not properly graph a sentence when he was twelve, there is no point in giving him any journalistic bonafides now. One Democrat in the Senate was quoted as saying, “His papers in school were smudged by eraser marks to the point of being illegible. Erasers! Can you believe it? Why didn’t he use a computer?”
Former Speaker of the House and equally ghoulish appearing plastic-faced Nancy Pelosi echoed the remarks calling for an investigation into all of the officers of the CFMP. IRS Commissioner Koskinen leapt at the chance, warming up a newly installed encrypted server installed in the basement of the Clinton household basement to store all of the unethical messaging back and forth during this coordinated attack.
Public Bathroom Etiquette 101
Last week I went to a Rockies game at Coors Field against the Cincinnati Reds. Two equally incapable teams teeming with talent and zero qualitative management or coaching do battle on the four-bagged diamond in front of a yawning drunken crowd of about 20,000.
After a few beers, I needed to visit the used beer room. I went while the home team was up to bat. The bathroom was eerily vacant. Five empty stalls lined one wall. Ten urinals lined two walls, five a piece. I selected number five if counting from left to right, the right most pisser on the front wall. There are four empty urinals to my left, and all five on the wall to my right.
So there, I am, junk in my hand, halfway to a blissfully empty bladder when some jackass comes in and saddles up where? Directly to my left. There are EIGHT other urinals he should select. He picks the one absolutely closest to me. Without hesitation, I look over at him as he starts to unzip.
“Are you fucking lonely? Get away from me!”
He sidestepped to the one in the center of “our” wall. Incredible.
Bathroom etiquette states clearly that guys NEVER EVER take the urinal directly next to another guy already in the process of pissing. NEVER. If there are only two urinals, the second guy is obligated to go to a stall. If there are three urinals and the first guy selects the middle one, the second to arrive still goes to a stall, calling the guy pissing an asshole. He should have taken up residence in front of number one or number three. If he tells you that someone else was at number one or number three when he arrived, he should have taken the opposite end, not the middle. So, he is a violator of the etiquette himself, deserving of being called an asshole again.
Of course, he would never tell you these things. Because guys talking to other guys in the public restroom is also not allowed. Chances are better than 90% that you don’t know the guy. What in the world is there to talk about when you are both there exposed and flowing? Batting averages of the superstar shortstop? That can’t wait? Do you really care what he thinks about the shortstop? Think he cares what you think? The bathroom is not the Icebreaker Café where you are going to find new friends.
Oh, and never look another guy in the eyes in the public bathroom. You aren’t there to meet people.
Go in, do your business, wash your damn hands, and leave. Be considerate of others; don’t hog the entire wall of pissers. Last out buys the next round of beers. Civilization saved.
Shampoo. What a Concept.
At the same game, I sat behind a guy who clearly had an active case of scalp-based psoriasis. I mean, a winter storm of flakes on a hot July evening. Most of the evening I had my legs scrunched together off to one side or the other to keep my legs from accumulating record snowfall. It was all made worse by a couple other factors…
- He wore a black tee shirt which only made the flakes stand out.
- His wife kept reaching back and rubbing his neck and scalp causing a new flurry of dead skin to cascade downward.
I couldn’t use the cup holders on either side of the guy to hold my beer without accepting that I was going to be ingesting his dead skin. I couldn’t stop wondering to myself just what his pillowcase looked like.
