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Links With Your Eye Boogers Thursday

Got a real nice round-up this morning. Check ‘em out.

Did Napoleon’s army come undressed in Russia?

Zach Wamp isn’t one to toot his own horn, but Toot! Toot! as they say. Or, if you prefer, Tweet! Tweet! Chances are reasonable I’ll be in the job market within a few more weeks, so I hope this holds up. Maybe the South can get back in touch with its roots, economically speaking, soon.

Beating physical laws that are written in stone.

Rant of the year: Reach Out and Text Someone

I also note how few people have any sense anymore that they actually live in the world of fragrant trees and trilling frogs. I see students and colleagues alike walk across our campus, which is beautifully forested, staring at little screens or yammering on and on about some gross indignity they’ve suffered, utterly unaware that at that very moment, in the sycamores surrounding them, red-tail hawks are eyeing the black squirrels as they frolick in the fescue. In the early morning stillness I’ve observed the quiet stealth of owls ganging up on a fur-bearing varmint, only to watch the owls swoop off noiselessly at the approach of some garrulous scholar, who’s probably never even seen an owl before, chirping loudly to the incorporeal air about what “is like totally obvious to everyone but her!” If it weren’t for half-dressed sorority girls desperate for attention, some of these undergraduate males on permanent screen-saver mode would never have any experience of natural beauty at all.

And there are those professional shoppers I see as I walk in each morning, the too too harried moms, punching little buttons with one hand and steering their Yukons with the other, neither eye on the road as they race to daycare with Pop-Tart-fed children blissfully clueless about how frequently their multi-tasking mommies imperil their lives—or, worse yet, use “text” as a verb. I want to yank the children from the cars to save them–and the mothers from the cars to thrash them.
And then there’s the vanity, the urge and urge and urge, always the miscreant urge of the world. You can see the anxiety on this or that talker’s face: there’s been no message in at least five minutes! It’s slipping away! But then suddenly the phone pulls its reassuring stunt: Yes! Someone has left a message. Relieved, Biff or Muffy is once again rightfully situated at the center of the universe.

Easy credit! No income? No problem!

Stop Lossing Stop Loss (good).

Baby beaten with hammer, strangled, murdered to get rid of demons.

Transtheism sounds like something Frank N Furter, Riff Raff and Magenta might do in church. But it isn’t.

I hate to say anything, buddy, but your lizard can’t swim. (jadarm can fill you in on the joke).

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