Thoughtless for the Day

I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die

Long before Tipper Gore stitched together the bodies of stolen corpses to
create the PRMC, there was the North Alabama White Citizen's Council. In
1956, thirty years before Gore and her zombie army of the undead discovered
the life-force-destroying lyrics to Darling Nicky, the NAWCC's
secretary, Asa Cater (What kind o f name for a White Southerner is "Asa"?),
summed up the organization's chief gripe with the genre: "Rock 'n' Roll is
a means of pulling the white man down to the level of the Negro".

Since America has had a long love affair with irony, it should've surprised
no one that the next person to raise the banner of Rock 'n' Roll censorship
would be a Black man. In the mid-1970's, Rev. Jesse Jackson, shocked by the
blatant sexuality expressed in the song Shake Your Booty , launched
a campaign to ban all "sex rock" songs from the public airwaves. Had
Jackson been successful in his efforts, it's very likely that he would've
never been subjected to Get Down Tonight: The song which,
undoubtedly, forced to good Reverend to father an illegitimate child.

Up next; Tipper Gore. You know the story: Dull husband, Senate hearing,
Frank Zappa, John Denver and Dee Snider, warning labels, Monica Lewinsky,
"lock box", retard in the White House.

OK, so the history of the Rock 'n' Roll Inquisition may be summed up
thusly: White Southerner, Black Reverend, and White Southerner. Which means
it must be time for…

Rev. Al Sharpton, who has called TV and radio to engage in a 90 day ban on
musicians who use violence to promote their music or build their street
credibility (or, as the rest of the world likes to call them - "Rappers").

"Let me be clear. I am in no way saying we should ban music based on
lyrics," Sharpton opined. "Radio stations ought to enforce a
standard for performers and say they're conduct has to be a certain way."


Got that? It's not the lyrics that Reverend Al has a problem with -
it's the behavior. Like 50 Cent's tendency to fire bullets at his
former protégé, The Game.

Had peculiarly named hillbilly Asa Cater and the North Alabama White
Citizen's Council adopted this stance, their crusade to stamp out Rock 'n'
Roll might have been successful. "Lemme be clear. It's not the race-mixing
an' the hip-shacking what's givin' us a case of the vapors; it's the
behavior of singers like Chuck Berry, who has recently been arrested
for violatin' the Mann Act. Now, if ya'll will kindly excuse me; I've gotta
go make Ned Beatty squeal like a pig. And I hope Neil Young will remember:
Southern man don't need him around, anyhow."

If 50 Cent and The Game were not wealthy entertainers, they'd be free to
shoot at each other with only minimal public interest. Shit Luther, you
don't see Al Sharpton proposing that the Quicker Liquor institute a 90 day
ban on Crazy Anthony and New-Glock Jamal.

Before Rap, Punk attempted to frighten and offend the Powers-That-Be and
failed miserably; ending its life as The-Softer-Side-of-Sears friendly
Grunge. Truth be told, middle class White kids, unless they're shooting up
a High School, just aren't that scary.

Before Punk and Rap, the most lyrically violent and misogynist form of
music on the planet was either Country, or Western, or Country Western.
Between the years 1940 and 1980, it was impossible to turn on the radio,
below the Mason-Dixon Line, without hearing the woeful tale of man, driven
by daemon alcohol, who gunned down his cheatin' woman. And when it came to
behavior, Country Western performers not only talked the talk; they walked
the walk: remember when Merle Haggard was arrested for DUI - on a riding
mower?

Country Western music's transformation from its earlier incarnation ("I'm
bound for Folsom Prison…and Hell…and I can't take my dog with me to either
place.") to its present state ("Gawd Bless the USA…and Jesus!") is the
story of how White Trash climbed from the lowest wrung on the social ladder
to the next-to-lowest rung.

Immediately (and we're talking, like, the very next day) after the Civil
War many newly freed Blacks migrated (ran like Hell) North where, free to
pursue previously denied educational opportunities (like opening a book
without being flogged), they would create a vibrant middle-class. As the
economic and social power of Blacks rose, the fortunes of White Trash sank
lower and lower, until they occupied the lowest strata of American society.

The above contrast becomes even more stark when one looks at the
predominate music of each group at the time this shift in power took place.
Ragtime, the music of Northern Blacks, was a upbeat, eclectic mix that drew
as much for the classical tradition as it did from earlier forms of jazz;
while Country, the music of poor, Southern Whites, transmogrified into a
collection of three-chord, downbeat ballots chronicling the sad lives of
the agricultural underclass… and their dogs.

An argument may be made that American does, indeed, have a State Religion:
Capitalism. Our Saints are those who, either by virtue of birth, ingenuity,
or graft, have obtained wealth. Are sinners are the poor. As the poorest of
the poor, White Trash were continuously demonized: Either with a greater
purpose in mind, as in To Kill a Mockingbird, or simply because they
were an easy target, as in the art-house classic Deliverance.

This might still be the state of thing today had not two events taken
place. The first was that, following WWII, a second wave of Blacks came
north who, upon arrival; found themselves not only unwelcome by Northern
Whites, but also by the Black Middle-Class who, ironically, referred to the
new arrivals as "Country".

The second factor in the social redemption of White Trash came when
politicians recognized them as a large, potential voting block. Oddly, the
first politicians to exploit this opportunity did so not by emphasizing the
enmity between poor Whites held for affluent Black, but by supplying rural
whites with a new enemy: The Eastern Liberal Intellectual. George Wallace
claimed to the champion the "taxi driver, little businessman, beautician or
barber or farmer" against the "pointy-headed pseudo-intellectual."

Slowly, the American public began to replace, as the national ideal, the
college-educated Easterner with the rugged, partially illiterate, cowboy.
The Western made a brief reassurance and suits and ties gave way to boots
and Stetsons. The final chapter of the reign of the Easterner came when
JFK caught a bullet in the most-cowboy-of-all state - Texas.

With the troublesome specter of the clever Yankee finally dealt with, the
denomination of poor Blacks shifted into high gear. By the mid-seventies,
Blacks, no longer represented by Langston Hughes, but by the baby-making
Welfare Mother, were back on the bottom rung of the ladder and Dolly
Parton graced the cover of Rolling Stone.

The above contrast becomes even more stark when one looks at the
predominate music of each group at the present time. Country, the music of
poor and not-so-poor Whites, has become a glitzy, happy parade of American
values. "Sure, I might have problems," sings a mildly retarded man in a
ten-gallon hat, "but I know that things'll be jus' fine. "Cuz I'm livin' in
the Land of the Free… and so is my dog." Meanwhile, Rap music is primarily
the "Police Beat" section of your local paper read over a slow, minimal
beat.

If Rev. Al were smart, he'd steal a page from George Wallace's playbook and
start demonizing intellectuals. With eggheads on the bottom rung, Blacks
would have nowhere to go but up. Besides, haven't you always wanted to turn
on the radio and hear MC Escher singing "Give me back my volume of
Voltaire, or I'ma cut you, bitch."
_ . _
I haven't seen The Contender yet (even though one of the boxers, who
happened to be from Philly, committed suicide) but I have a suggestion to
make the show better. Have an actor made-up to look like the late Rod
Steiger present the losers with one-way tickets to Palooka-ville. Sure,
they wouldn't get the joke; but we would.


_ . _

Real questions and answers
from the Ayatollah's official website

Today's Question

Is playing a chess allowed?

Answer:It is absolutely unlawful.

_ . _

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She overcame negative stereotypes in both Asian Cheerleader Cavity Search
and Zen and the Art of Fellatio 2

And she overcame negative stereotypes in both The Unbearable Lightness
of Being and Chocolat

Happy birthday to ...

Kylie Rey who turns 20 today.

And Juliette Binoche who turns 41.




The ancient Greek word of the day is:
Rwmh - Rome

If the above word looks like ippojshit to you,
then you need to go here
and download the SPIONIC font for either MAC or PC. Dude.


The Latin word of the day is:
cantare - to sing








Rodney on 03.09.05 @ 02:54 PM EST [link] [No Comments]

Did you see Mr. Morrison's organ?

Twenty percent of Americans think the sun orbits the earth. Seventeen
percent believe the earth revolves around the sun once a day
(The Week, Jan. 7, 2005).

_ . _


Hey there, moody loners. I'm taking advantage of the inclement weather to
get started on a new project. I'm transforming a melodica into a portative
organ: then I'm going to form a new band. Since I've got a lot on my plate,
today's Thoughtless will be somewhat shorter than the norm.

In Sunday's Thoughtless, the following sentence appeared:

Twenty years ago the CIA had been instrumental in organizing the
overthrow of their legitimately elected government (who were in the process
of nationalizing the country's oil industry) and replacing it with the
brutal, Totalitarian regime of the Shah.

Nigel wrote in to suggest that I should not have capitalized the word
"Totalitarian."

Now, I'm of two minds on the subject of people who write in to correct my
grammar. On the one hand, having recently read Lynne Truss' Eats,
Shoots & Leaves , I can certainly appreciate the "zero tolerance"
approach to grammar. I cringe every time I walk past a sign, less than four
blocks from my home, which reads "No dogs please".

On the other hand, I am a brutal megalomaniac who flies into a mindless rage
whenever even the smallest piece of his writing is questioned. The gauntlet
had been thrown down and it was now my turn place it in the recycling bin
marked "Foil, Cans, and Gauntlets."

That "T" in Totalitarian looked Totally kosher To me. But who am I? I don't
have a degree in English. In fact, I dropped of a college whose most famous
graduate worked as a male escort before landing a gig pitching (no pun
intended) softball (some pun intended) question to the President (pun
intended). I need the opinion of an expert. And that's why I spent $36.50
calling Professor D. Harrison Callahan. Professor Callahan teaches English
at Oxford University and is the author of The Conscientious English
Grammarian. After a brief introduction, the following conversation
ensued:

Rodney Anonymous: Professor Callahan, in the following sentence, would the
word "Totalitarian" be capitalized? "Twenty years ago the CIA had been
instrumental in organizing the overthrow of their legitimately elected
government (who were in the process of nationalizing the country's oil
industry) and replacing it with the brutal, Totalitarian regime of the
Shah."

Professor Callahan: Well, I would say that the same rule which we
grammarians apply to "splice commas" would also be applied in this case.

RA: Please, excuse my ignorance, I attended a State university, but I'm not
familiar with that rule.

PC: *sigh* The rule states that such grammatical idiosyncrasies are
acceptable when the author is famous. Well?

RA: Excuse me?

PC: Do you?

RA: Do I what?

PC: Do you feel famous? Well, do you, punk?

RA: No really. I write a blog and…

PC: A blogger? My good man, you good have spelled "Totalitarian" with only
one "t" and a series of ampersands and no one would have the right to
question it.

RA: And why is that?

PC: It's been an accepted rule, for some time now, that when a person reads
a blog they are, in fact, signing an unwritten contract which reads: "By
agreeing to read something that was written at two o'clock in the afternoon
by someone wearing a bathrobe and a tinfoil hat, I hereby relinquish all
rights to critique said material for grammatical - or logical -
inconsistencies."

RA: Oh, I see. Just for the sake of my own curiosity, what would the rule
be for a non-famous, non-blogging author?

CP: Let me put it to you this way; would you have capitalized "Catholic"?

RA: Of course.

CP: Well, it's the same thing; isn't it?

RA: Oh, now I see. Since Totalitarianism, like Catholicism, is an ideology,
the word "Totalitarian" should be capitalized just as the word "Catholic"
should be.

PC: No. I'm saying that Totalitarianism and Catholicism are the same thing.
Think about it.

_ . _

"No, your honor, but I play the organ."
- Ray Manzarek (at Jim Morrison's indecent exposure trial)

_ . _

Movies, language, and mobsters: that's what you missed if you didn't
catch the latest Paul Kircher show (I was there too).
_ . _

She used her head to land lead roles in Fluffy Cumsalot, Porn Star
and Ass Clowns 3

He was one of the stars of the movie Head.

Happy birthday to ...

Jennifer Steele who turns 33 today.

And Micky Dolenz hits the big six-oh.




The ancient Greek word of the day is:
sitia - food

If the above word looks like ippojshit to you,
then you need to go here
and download the SPIONIC font for either MAC or PC. Dude.


The Latin word of the day is:
puto - I think





Rodney on 03.08.05 @ 11:27 AM EST [link] [6 Comments]

Igitur pagani, hoistoria

The following story is guaranteed to be at least 83% true.

About a month into my junior year of High School my homeroom teacher quit.
The administration, in a desperate scramble to fill the other vacancies
left by her abrupt departure, neglected to assign another teacher to cover
my homeroom. Although I never discovered exactly what could cause a woman
with almost a decades' worth of teaching experience to suddenly resign; I
did learn what definitely did not cause her to get up from her desk and
quietly walk out of the building: the pressures of commanding a homeroom.
I know this because, on the day after her disappearance, I started running
the homeroom.

OK, technically it wasn't me who started running the homeroom; it
was my friend, Jim "The Maniac" Labiac. Upon entering homeroom, taking his
seat, composing several dirty limericks, and discovering that, despite it
being 8:15 in the morning, no authority figure was present, Jim (who
settled on "The Maniac" as a nickname only after exhausting every possible
nickname which consisted of five of the six letters in his last name)
strolled to the front of the class and announced (with the sort of calm
authority normally presented by the Captain of a ship who's just said
"There's a slight problem but there are plenty of lifeboats." ), "Good
morning, everyone. My name is Mr. Labiac - but you can call me "The Maniac"
- and I'll be running things from now on."

Looking back, I'm proud to say that not only was James "The Maniac" Labiac,
Esq. one of the best friends that I ever had, but he was also the best of
homeroom teachers. Each morning, "The Maniac" would take attendance and
then he would turn on TV. Our school had its own television production
facilities and each morning we were supposed to watch the student-run
school news. Now, as homeroom Tsar, "The Maniac" could've chosen to leave
the TV off, but he knew that I had a crush on the girl who anchored the
news (Yes; there was a small amount of stalking involved, but those charges
were later dropped) and that I used to compliment her on each day's
broadcast, so he indulged me. Had he not, this story might've ended up
being typed by a forty-one-year-old virgin. What homeroom teacher ever did
that for you? When the bell rang, "The Maniac" would ask for a volunteer
to drop the attendance sheet off at the front office. "The Maniac" avoided
the front office as if it were a leper colony. "If they ever put my face
together with my name," he once told me, "I'm toast." I wasn't sure of the
logic behind this statement, but I'd long ago learned not to doubt "The
Maniac."

Naturally, a student who shuns the front office for fear of being
recognized isn't going to go long between suspensions. Less than two
weeks into the glorious homeroom experiment, "The Maniac" was caught
smoking in a restroom - a girls' restroom. He drew a ten day
suspension and I took over the homeroom; placing a small, red "s" next
to "The Maniac"'s name on the attendance sheet.

The only difference between the administration of "The Maniac" and mine was
the way we dealt with "the moment of silence". Despite have been declared
unconstitutional a decade before, our school observed a "moment of silence"
each morning. Those of you who have met me and found me to be annoyingly
verbose might be hard-pressed to believe this, but "the moment of silence"
was the best part of day. Each morning, the woman whose mere proximity to
me would cause my palms to sweat, would look out from the television and
say, "And now a moment of silence." Then, for thirty glorious seconds, the
camera would linger on her. Bliss. Although, years later I would come to
realize that this was the only time in her life that she stopped talking.

"The Maniac"'s approach to "the moment of silence" had been to use the time
to see how many pencils he could stick, dart-like, in the drop ceiling in
under half a minute. While I appreciated this (who wouldn't?), I had just
learned to read only two years before and I was anxious for an audience to
practice my oratory skills on. So, each morning as "the moment of silence"
was announce I would read aloud a sentence or two from Justine by
the Marquis De Sade.

When "The Maniac" returned from his school-mandated vacation, he was so
pleased with how I'd kept a room of twenty-five students from devolving
into a den of sodomy and cannibalism that he suggested we switch off
running the homeroom. "The Maniac" would handle the duties on Monday,
Wednesday, and Friday; and I would be in charge on Tuesday and Thursday
until "The Maniac"'s next suspension: which we estimated would take place
shortly before Christmas.

It being Tuesday, I was at the helm when "The Rot-see guy" was assigned to
our homeroom. "Rot-see" is High School speak for ROTC (which at that time,
I believe, stood for "the socially-Retarded Organized against Them
Commies". These young lads and lasses were America's last defense against
the millions of Soviet troops who were, at that time, amassing on the
Canadian border - or, at least, that's how they explained it. Today ROTC
stands for "Religious zealots Opposed to Turbaned Camel-jockeys.").

Now I knew "The Rot-see guy" from an Economics class that I had taken the
year before; during which I was forced, at least a dozen times, to ask him
to please shut the Hell up while I sang the virtues of Socialism (and here,
gentle reader, you must agree that History has been on my side. Look at the
Socialist countries of Europe and then look at America, which has drifted
further-and-further into laissez-faire capitalism. Who has the higher
standard of living? Europe. Whose population has the longer life
expectancy? Europe. Look at Denmark: Women there walk around topless during
their two weeks of Summer.), so, when he walked into my homeroom and found
me, a student, sitting behind the teacher's desk, I expected him to ask me
exactly what it was that I thought I was doing. But years of ROTC training
had taught him to accept authority and never to question it. I was behind
the desk; therefore I was in charge, and that was good enough for him. He
handed me a note and waited patiently while I read it.

The note was from the front office (had "The Maniac" been on duty that day,
such was his dread of the front office that I seriously doubt he would've
gotten much past the letterhead before he fled the room only to been seen
again, years later, living under an assumed name in Mexico) and it
explained that "The Rot-see guy" had been repeatedly threatened by several
people in his homeroom and had requested to be transferred to some another
place where he might be able to watch the school news uninterrupted by
"Indian burns" and "Dutch rubs" (a routine which we referred to as a
"World Cultures seminar"). This seemed like an entirely plausible scenario
to me; after all, I personally knew an entire after-school activities club
which had threatened to kick "The Rot-see guy"'s ass, so unpopular was he.

As to why the administration chose to place "The Rot-see guy" in our
particular homeroom, I can only speculate. Most likely they had, at first,
considered moving "The Rot-see guy", whose last name began with the letter
"D", into the next homeroom in the order of alphabetical progression: Fe
through Gi. However, the teacher who was in charge of this homeroom was the
sort of crotchety, old veteran of the Education Wars who, when presented
with a new homeroom student whose name didn't fall between Fellerman and
Giovanni, would've stomped down to the main office and launched into a
tirade about how he wasn't getting paid enough to be a "goddamn
babysitter." I should also point out that this was the same teacher who
had taught the Economics course which I had taken the previous year;
during which he had told "The Rot-see guy" to shut the Hell up on a daily
basis. Looking down the list of homerooms and finding no one assigned to
oversee ours; the administration must've assumed that a substitute teacher
had been placed in charge. Such a person would be unlikely to question the
decision to relocate a student for his own safety.

I read the letter and told "The Rot-see guy" to take a seat. What could I
do? Sure I, like the entire population of Southeastern PA didn't like the
guy - he was pushy, inconsiderate of others, and, on numerous occasions,
had invited himself to parties), but who, in authority, could I complain
to? "The Maniac" and I talked it over and we agreed to pass the word around
the homeroom that "The Rot-see guy" was not (in any way, shape, or form) to
be fucked with. Our motives for protecting "The Rot-see guy" were, of
course, far from altruistic. One "apple-knogger" (a rapid punch
distinguished by the presence of a foreign object placed between the middle
and ring fingers) to the back of "The Rot-see guy"'s head could spell the
end of our precious experiment in homeroom autonomy. And so a quite bargain
was struck; no one would threaten to "carve up that 'That Rot-see guy' like
the pig he is" and, in return, "The Rot-see guy" wouldn't mention the fact
that his new homeroom was being ran by a pair of pinko stoners. This was
late October and I'm certain that our glorious homeroom revolution would've
succeeded had it not been for another revolution on the opposite side of
the globe.

On the 4th of November, a group of Iranian students (which in Iran means
anyone possessing more than a fourth grade education and a erector set)
attacked the American Embassy; taking fifty-two hostages.

On the 5th of November our principal appeared on the student news and asked
the entire school to join him in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.
Normally, when the Pledge was read over the television (while the camera
panned to small flag), we used that time to observe "the moment of
silence". Now, I had not seen anyone (teachers included) actually stand and
recite the Pledge since seventh grade (I, myself, had never - for patriotic
reasons - recited the Pledge aloud) until the "The Rot-see guy" was exiled
to our homeroom. Each morning he, alone, would stand and recite the Pledge.
On this morning, he leapt to his feat, placed his right hand over his
heart, turned to face the rest of the room, and - in one of the best Andy
Hardy impersonations that I've ever witnessed, said, "C'mon gang, let's do
it: Let's say the Pledge!"

Looking back through the prism of adulthood, I now realize that the proper
thing to do would've been to explain to "The Rot-see guy" that, despite
being a bunch of fanatical goat-fuckers, the Iranian students did, in fact,
have a legitimate gripe with America: Twenty years ago the CIA had been
instrumental in organizing the overthrow of their legitimately elected
government (who were in the process of nationalizing the country's oil
industry) and replacing it with the brutal, Totalitarian regime of the
Shah.

Instead, a more directed plan of action was rapidly adopted - the entire
homeroom (including your friend and humble narrator) hurled their books at
"The Rot-see guy". The fallout being that the following morning we arrived
to discover an actual adult sitting behind "The Maniac"'s desk, while "The
Rot-see guy" had been transferred to the homeroom for people whose last
names ran the tiny gambit from Wa through Zz (Until, in February, when he
was moved again after being beaten to a pulp by Chucky Zzynick).

Fast-forward twenty-five years.

The other day I was surfing the blogsphere to see if anyone had picked up
on a story that I covered a little while ago about a New Jersey teacher
[insert oxymoron comment here] who went apeshit when one of his students
refused to stand for the National Anthem (at first I was shocked that the
school had not taken any disciplinarian actions against the teacher; until
I realized that such a move might leave the district with no one to head
their Neanderthal Studies program). Here's one of the comments that my
search uncovered:

A high school teacher in New Jersey came unhinged when some of his
students would not stand during the national anthem (video and pictures
here). I know I'm not the only person who is shocked this happened, but
I'm only shocked because other students sat by while their classmates
disrespected our flag.

From the time I started Kindergarten until I graduated high school I
remember standing for and reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. No one ever
thought of sitting down or not putting your hand over your heart during
this time. In fact, if someone were to show disrespect towards the flag or
the Pledge of Allegiance, no teacher would have been able to protect them
from getting their ass kicked.

Have times changed that much since I was in high school or is there an
even greater difference between Texas and New Jersey? We are all still
Americans thus we all should show respect to the flag many have died
fighting for.

Fuckingretardcockshitredneckdogfuckingtoiletdrinkingasspilot!

OK Anonymous, take a deep breath. Breathe slowly…

Goddamnmothershitballlickingfistsniffer!

Looking back through the prism of having released my anger at such a stupid
comment by causing a fist-sized hole to suddenly materialize in my office
wall, I now realize that the proper thing to do would've been to use the
"comments" link to first explain to this banjo-plucking halfwit that the kid
refused to stand for the National Anthem: What the Hell does that
have to do with the flag?

Then I should've made the point that many people (myself included) object
to the Star Spangled Banner because it glorifies war. We love America; we
just hate that fuckin' song.

Next I should've pointed out that even if the kid had remained seated
during the Pledge (which I think the post's author had confused with the
National Anthem), this was no reason to kick his ass, and that any soldier
who gave his life for the cause of mandatory patriotism died for the wrong
reason - kinda like those old farts who, during the era of racial
integration used to turn up on the TV saying stupid things like, "I didn't
fight in the war jus' so my younguns could be bussed to school with a bunch
of spooks." I guess that's a valid argument if you were in the SS.

Finally, I should've written that I read the author's profile and
discovered that we had something in common: We're both hockey fans. If we
could both agree on hockey then, maybe, we could find some common ground
on other issues.

Anyway, once again I found myself taking a more directed plan of action.
I posted this comment:

You tell 'em. Once me an the boys come across thissy here fella what
didn't believe in Jesus, so we whupped him real good. Ya'll should've heard
him screaming in that funny "goonie" language of his.

I can't believe that today's kids think that soldiers give their lives to
protect free speech; when we all know that the only speech worth fighting
for is the speech that we all agree is right.

That's right; I threw a textbook at his head.

I get older; why don't I get any wiser?

_ . _

She broke our hearts in movies like Tits Ahoy and Stop! My
Ass Is On Fire! 6

While she sang Don't Go Breakin' My Heart.

Happy birthday to ...

Zana who turns 28 today.

And Kiki Dee who turns 58.




The ancient Greek word of the day is:
frontisthj - deep thinker

If the above word looks like ippojshit to you,
then you need to go here
and download the SPIONIC font for either MAC or PC. Dude.


The Latin word of the day is:
recitabis - ou will recite





Rodney on 03.06.05 @ 05:28 PM EST [link] [8 Comments]