Register for free to join our community of investors and share your ideas. You will also get access to streaming quotes, interactive charts, trades, portfolio, live options flow and more tools.
Register for free to join our community of investors and share your ideas. You will also get access to streaming quotes, interactive charts, trades, portfolio, live options flow and more tools.
The picture of Matt and me? Yeah, I saw it.
Hello, Freddie.
I await your explanation and profuse apology.
That's it. I'm banning that S.O.B. again.
Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please:
WHOEVER REMOVED HIS OR HER BOARDMARK OF THIS BOARD PUT IT BACK OR I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN LIKE A DOG!!!
Thank you, and have a nice day.
Soxie sent me a PM that was so effusive in his praise for me that modesty prevents me from sharing it publicly. Let it suffice to say that he would be thrilled -- indeed, honored! -- to have me take his slot.
My first thought is to celebrate my egomania with a grand cru that costs approximately the same as a used Peugeot. A 1982 Ch. Haut-Brion perhaps?
Unlike some pushy types who shall go nameless (until I am shitfaced, of course), I will insist on only the barest of essentials:
Wine: 1982 Chateau Haut-Brion
Date and Time: Sunday, 5/14 @ 8:53 PM EDT
Serving Temperature: 65.5 F.
Stemware: Standard Bordeaux or a Standard Red Wine Glass (loser)
Dress: Smart Casual (no shoes, no shirt, no service)
Music: Chopin "Concerto in F Minor Op. 21" OR "Concerto in E Minor Op. 11" (Those of you who thought I was inflexible must be feeling pretty stupid right about now.)
Operating System: Windows XP
Please have a webcam installed and operating before the dress rehearsal on Saturday, 5/13. I know that none of you will mind if conduct a compliance inspection prior to the tasting. Oh, ladies...it being prior to Memorial Day, no white please. Thank you.
Hey, Derf. June? Hahahahahaha.
Unfortunately, that dastardly Lewis Carroll stole it from me about 130 years ago.
A Pinkie Player's Poem.....
The Walrus and The Carpenter
Lewis Carroll
The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"
The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead--
There were no birds to fly.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"
"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.
"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."
The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head--
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.
But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat--
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.
Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more--
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."
"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.
"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."
"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?
"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"
"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"
"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.
Bite me!!!!
Hey, Low, did you know that the etymology of the word paparazzi is easily traced to the classic film, "La Dolce Vita"?
No, I didn't.
Paparazzo was the surname of a character in the film, a freelance photographer who sought out candid celebrity photo ops.
You're making that up.
Really, it's true.
It better be.
Can I be an assistant here?
No way. Besides, both slots are filled.
Do you hear the same voices I do?
Let's take this to PM.
Damned paparazzi....they are my curse.
Very well. I will let him out under your supervision, but it's his last chance.
That was not nice. You are banned again.
You're right. Let's be optimistic. If horrible calamities would befall a mere two people, I could have both a happy and prosperous year.
Thanks. Feeling good here now, Hoople.
Given how Christmas turned out, the question mark is a most appropriate addition to your holiday blessings. I can feel my expectations lowering already.
HAPPY NEW YEAR? to you too, Hoople.
Yeah, with a baby penguin.
As individual human beings, each one still sucks, however, they are at present on three different continents, so their collective suckiness is somewhat diminished.
Young missing Toga is a jackass penguin. I find that to be a rather odd and unfortunate species appellation.
To the best of my knowledge, he is not at my house. Pumpsie and Gene may be here, but I have not seen them as of late.
There are so many ways to go with this.
Why does that make me uncomfortable?
Oak is a resinous flavor, similar to cedar and vanilla. It may be the result of carbonic maceration.
I am a Renaissance Man!
No, I don't recall that, nor do I remember that one needed tons of breathing to find its stride. I suspect that my relationship with the Malbecs is not the same as Hoople's apparently is.
I don't like to say it, but she may be an oenophile.
Intervention time?
Yes, those Malbecs are four fine young men. I've known the familiy for ages.
Relax, guys. I wouldn't give my heirs the satisfaction.
Whichever one that will look snazzy pressed up against my left temple.
A glock.
We meaning the state of Arkansas?
I just returned from some Christmas shopping and will now proceed to drink heavily. Oh, the humanity.
I was reminded of the Vonnegut quote: Like so many Americans, she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops.
It isn't going to happen, baby. Put away your purse. And nice stretch pants. Try 2X next time.
And I can report with great confidence that the "great" in The Greatest Generation does not refer to driving skills.
Ho ho ho.
If I do not see, "I love A Christmas Story!" posted here by noon on 12/26, I will claim your firstborn....or his fiancee.
Distressing reports have reached my desk that you did not like A Christmas Story. (My next sentence was going to be, "Enjoy hell" but that now seems a bit strong.)
Instead, I'll invite you to look at just a few of the great lines from that rather odd holiday classic:
My little brother had not eaten voluntarily in over three years.
They looked at me as if I had lobsters crawling out of my ears.
We plunged into the cornucopia quivering with desire and the ecstasy of unbridled avarice.
Aunt Clara had for years not only perpetually labored under the delusion that I was 4 years old, but also a girl.
In the heat of battle my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan.
Getting ready to go to school was like getting ready for extended deep-sea diving.
The line waiting to see Santa Claus stretched all the way back to Terre Haute. And I was at the end of it.
My kid brother looked like a tick about to pop!
My father worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium, a master.
Repent now!! Say it! Say "I love A Christmas Story!"
Hoople, although I dread it, I might not be able to get out of my social obligation tonight. (Don't get me wrong. I love the Spielbergs. Steven and Kate are great, but Madonna will be there, and she is SUCH a freakin' name dropper. In fact, if I hadn't promised Angelina and Brad, I definitely wouldn't go.)
Accordingly, I took it upon myself to taste the Georges Duboeuf Beaujolais-Villages Nouveau during the Patriots' mauling of the Schmuckaneers yesterday.
After deliberating for dozens of nanoseconds, I selected:
the 1.5L bottle because I really wanted to get hammered and
a 10 oz. tumbler because it was clean (relatively).
Here are my notes (the legible ones).
First Glass
Well, well, a cork. Hello? You'd think someone could have mentioned that. What's the purpose of cork anyway, to give Portugal something to do? Now what?
Swiss Army knife, come to papa. (That baby has everything but an eyelash curler on it.) Ah, got it.
Okay, holding glass up to the light. (Geez, it's not so clean after all.)
Initial impression: I'm new at this, but I'd say it's a red.
No bubbles. Remember to ask if it was supposed to have bubbles.
Now, to taste.
blech. Blech.
Sixty degrees, my ass. Ice cubes, kerplunk.
Georges Duboeuf....What's up with that? Were his parents expecting twins?
I wonder if Georges is pronounced "Jorges" or "Horgay." It looks like a "Horgay" label.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Second Glass
Hints of Ocean Spray. I'd serve this with a urinary tract infection.
What does beaujolais mean in English? Beautiful something? Good lay? I'm really curious. Who can I call that speaks Italian?
My tongue feels thick.
Third Glass
Suddenly, I am tasting a distinct nuttiness. Son of a gun. Hoople told me that if I concentrated, I'd begin to identify the flavors, and I can. Hot damn.
These pistachios are delicious.
"Hey now, hey now, don't dream it's over, hey now, hey now"....Where's my Crowded House CD?
That sure brings back memories. Lucy "Boom-Boom" McGovern....geez, haven't thought of her in ages. I wonder if she's in the phone book. I think I'll give her a call.
Did that freckle just move?
Fourth Glass
Ow! Damn, that's going to leave a nasty bruise. The sucker is starting to swell already.
This crap is actually pretty good.
Where the hell is the phone number for Domino's?
Fifth Glass
"CONTAINS SULFITES" Okay....SOOOOO? Is that an advisory for moderation or an inducement to drink more? Should I scribble out a will or skip my multi-vitamin?
I guess a case could be made that I should have asked that four glasses ago.
This tile floor feels nice and cool on my cheek.
I wonder what's on the Playboy Channel.
**************************************************************
Did he ask you to watch the game with his friends so he could do something else? Smart fellow. Must be adopted.
For tomorrow's game, I am torn between Beaujolais-Villages Nouveau and Stroh's Light.
They'll have Thunderbird for gump. Tell him that it's a teeth optional event.
No wonder you left. Got your bowzhalay for the wine tasting? Without a doubt, it will be the "be there or be square" iHub social event of the year. All the people with palates will be in attendance. I can probably get you an invite. You can even bring gump if you'd like.
I thought you left when they caught you matriculating in college. Hmmm....maybe that was Dennis Kucinich. My memory fails me.
I hear that those Cleveland oenophiles are the worst. Hear they have a lot of thespians there too.
Why, Hoople, you peeved, petulant, oenophile, you. (Oenophile sounds like something for which one would be defrocked. "Next on Geraldo...Lownumba: I'm No Oenophile!!") If you would like to drink beaujolais at the WRONG TEMPERATURE, by all means, do so.
I'm going to swig a bottle of it tomorrow during the Patriots game. I'll post my thoughts (I use the word very loosely) on Sunday morning.
Lownumba keeps banning me!
Hi ya, Hoople. Tough day here. I found out that the working title for my autobiographical screenplay has already been taken:
http://imdb.com/title/tt0422287/
(Note to Churak, Derf et al: I am explicitly NOT asking for alternative titles.)
Good luck with that wine tasting on Sunday. Chug that beaujolais at 54 degrees or slightly cooler. Any warmer and you run the risk of actually tasting it.
Hi, Missy. I am about the same, and no one is more disappointed about it than I am. However, many others appear to be at least a bit worse, so relatively speaking, I'm doing better....in a mean-spirited, schadenfreude sort of way....kind of....I think. Maybe not. I'd have to think about it. What was the question again?
Still playing those tunes? Check out this trailer from "Rent" sometime. The female soloist can wail.
http://www.apple.com/trailers/sony_pictures/rent-seasons_of_love.html
That particular fantasy of yours is well documented. Hmmm....how should I put this?
Does it prompt a physiological reaction?