Actually, no we don’t.
Actually, I’m not in the grafix biz.
So. First. Here’s a cropped photo from the NY Times. If you look closely at the man’s button, you’ll see the spelling error: worker’s should be workers’ unless, of course, he’s only referring to himself. But that’s the opposite of what unions are all about, so I’m opting for illiteracy for $100, Alex, and wondering if he’s a member of a teachers’ union, which helps explain Why Johnny Can’t Read. (Note the apostrophe in teachers.’ And I’m neither teacher nor member.)
Second. Since I haven’t written a scatological word since the doctor put a Polaris missile up my butt on Tuesday, here we go:
A 78-year-old Louisiana state prisoner was surgically castrated this week at a hospital in Baton Rouge as part of a plea deal in a child molestation case.
The prisoner, Francis Phillip Tullier, was arrested in 1997 and…was facing more than 6,000 counts of aggravated oral sexual battery and molestation of a juvenile. He was accused of repeatedly sexually abusing young girls for more than 20 years, some of whom had been in the care of his wife, a baby sitter.
As part of Mr. Tullier’s plea, his lawyer, Nathan Fisher said, he agreed to be surgically castrated within six months….The operation was delayed by Mr. Tullier’s health problems, including prostate cancer.– NYTimes
Has anybody contacted Guinness? 6,000 counts of aggravated oral sexual battery — what’s that, by the stroke? — has to be a record. And it’s girls, so he’s probably not clergy.
I imagine they’ll go for the Trifecta – scoop out his prostate gland when they slice off his nuts. Three strikes, he’s out. It will wrinkle him for life, but at 78, after years in stir, he has other headaches. At least now he won’t have to spend as much time shaving.
Finally, here’s a St Paddy’s day-style joke I actually never heard before today:
As an Irish bagpiper, I play many gigs. Recently I was asked by a priest to play at a graveside service for a homeless man. An Irishman, he had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper’s cemetery supported by the church in the Kentucky back country.
As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost and, being a typical man, I didn’t stop for directions. I finally arrived an hour late and missed the ceremony. There were only the digging crew left and they were eating lunch.
The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like I’ve never played before for this homeless man. And as I played ‘Amazing Grace,’ the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together.
When I finished, I packed up my bagpipes and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full. As I opened the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say, “I never seen nothin’ like that before and I’ve been putting in septic tanks for twenty years.”
Apparently, I’m still lost.
Yeah, apparently. Dickhead.
Have a good weekend.