Professor Paul Z. Myers clearly has issues

Okay, I don't normally blog about these sort of things here, but this is something which is close to my heart. And, by heart, I don't mean the red, squishy, four-chambered thing in my chest. No, I mean it metaphorically - meaning I care about this.

Just so I can bring you all up to speed, Professor Paul Z. Myers is a teacher at the University of Minnesota, and he is an anti-Christian atheist, witnessed by the fact that he asked for a Eucharistic Host to be delivered to him so that he could descrate it. He said that it was "just a ***-**** wafer" and other such words.

Someone (we don't know who, but God does . . . heh-heh-heh) delivered him one. And he then proceeded to desecrate the Host by driving a rusty nail through the Eucharist and then throwing Jesus into the trash. He also tore out pages of the Qu'ran and Richard Dawkins' "The God Delusion" and nailed them to the Host as well.

Okay, this presents some issues. Obviously, what he did was wrong and disgusting - but we know that. We know that even if we don't believe in the Real Presence; I don't go around and burn copies of flags whose countries I don't like. It's just impolite. And for those of us who do believe in the Real Presence, well, it's someone physically attacking the Lord of the Universe. And that's awful. However . . .

i) Where did you learn descration, oh dumb ass? Seriously - you put a nail through the Host? Was that the best that your doubtless expensive education could come up with? Sheesh, numbnuts - there are children out there planning to defecate on Hosts, burn them, engage them in a whole slew of horrible things. And you drive a nail through Jesus? Wow - like He's never had that happen before.

The quality of persecutors is really dropping - I expect some inventiveness.

ii) Are you flippin' insane, Professor Paul X. Myers of the University of Minnesota (link to their website here, picture of professor Myers here)? You nailed pages torn from the Qu'ran to the Host? You total asshat - are you looking to get killed? Everyone knows that I don't think the Qu'ran is sacred - I am on record as saying that Islam is a false religion. But I don't go around advertising this fact on national media, nor have I ever torn up a copy of the Qu'ran. Many Muslims react very badly to this sort of thing - or have the demonstrations against the Danish cartoons slipped your shrived atheist mind, Professor Paul Z. Myers of the University of Minnesota, myersp@morris.umn.edu, 320-589-6343, Div of Science and Math?

Seriously, what crazy notion taught you that was a good idea? Do you have a death wish? You can probably count the people killed by Catholics in the last hundred years because of desecration of Hosts on one hand; I can't even begin to remember how many people were killed by the riots and so forth torched off by ONE set of cartoons!

Muslims are . . . volatile people. At least some of them are. And those that aren't tend to not exercise a civilizing influence on the violent ones.

(All information about Professor Myers taken from the University of Minnesota website, and all is publically available. Please call him - I'm sure he'd appreciate it. I don't think he speaks Farsi, however.)

iii) Do you have a very small penis, Professor? Seriously. What is the point in doing this? You don't agree with Christianity - is Christianity hurting you? Did some Catholic schoolgirl throw you over for the Quarterback at your prom? Did a priest cut you up in traffic? Or, more likely, do you simply not like Christianity because it encourages the things which you personally don't like (social responsibility, honesty, sexual ethics) and is against the things you are for (homosexuality, atheistic humanism, communism, hating America?)

But if you don't agree, what's the point of this? It doesn't achieve anything - except to make people upset. Does it advance your cause of making Christianity extinct? Not at all - in fact, it might do just the opposite. Your arguments now sound like a bag-lady screaming at the traffic.

So why do you do this? Answer - because while it doesn't advance your cause, it makes you feel good and powerful, doesn't it? It validates you as a MAN. Because you get to show your power and dominion not by actually dominating anyone, but rather by simply upsetting people. You're like the kid who can't push the big kids off the swing, but you can come in at night and spread dog poo on the seat. Yeah! That'll show 'em!

You are a sad, pathetic indivdual. I will pray for you - not merely that you can convert and say you are sorry before the Islamic terrorists get to you, but also so that you can grow a pair.

In conclusion, I want to say this. We all - Christian, Jew, Muslim - should pray for Professor Paul Z. Myers. To any who may read this - Muslim or otherwise - I do not encourage or condone violence. That would totally defeat the aim of what we are trying to show - namely, that Professor Myers is a spiteful, vindictive man and that we are bigger, calmer and more grown up than that.

If anyone does attack Professor Myers, I will condemn those actions. In fact, I condemn anyone who is planning it or hope it will happen. Frankly, I think it WILL happen - I've seen enough of the world to predict that. I hope it doesn't, but I think it will.

However, please do contact him, write him emails, ring him up. Tell him that he is wrong. The Catholic League is currently mounting a legal case against Professor Myers, I believe - arguing that he has violated the terms of the University of Minnesota.

So, those contact details might not be current for much longer.

I'm With The Band

Okay, so, this requires a bit of explanation.

The only occupation protected by the United States Constitution is the press - they get "freedom". Or, rather, it is assumed that they have freedom, as their freedom may not be infringed by Congress. Congress, as we all know, is a bicameral House which seeks re-election.

Anyway, in order to be counted as a member of the press you need . . . . a Press Pass. Now, you might think that this is something which would be carefully controlled by the State or Federal Governments. And you would be totally wrong.

No, all you need to do is just have a press card and say "ME AM REPORTER!" to anyone who asks. Yeah, seriously - say this and suddenly you are press and your freedoms aren't restricted. You can get into any parties where people are foolish enough to think that "My Mum's Press Corps" is a legitimate organization, and where there might be celebrities. You can also possibly try to score free coffee, and maybe even pick up chicks with it.

So, what press organizations do is produce their own press cards. And that's it - nothing more. No forms to fill out, no reports to file, no payments to make. Just print a card, laminate it, hang it around your neck on a lanyard - and you too can be a reporter.

I am totally a reporter. Look, I have a card and everything.



As we can clearly see, I am just awesome.

This card was designed by my colleage Julie, who based it on a press card issued by Fox 2 Detroit back in 2001 to our cameraman / editor Dave. Now, remember, the picture you are about to see was taken in 2001.



Hey, Dave - the '70s called; they want their 'tache back. In fact, the last time I saw a 'tache like that, it belonged to a guy fixing a girl's fridge.

Fnar-fnar.

So good, it has multiple airports to facilitate an easy exodus

Okay, so on the 23rd of June myself and the boss went to Manhattan to talk with Amigot (a web design company) about the website they are designing for us. And I took the camera, which I used to take photographs. And I am posting them here, mainly because it's my blog, and I don't need an excuse. These photos aren't very good, but hey, it's my blog. You want interesting images, do you? Do you? Well, then you should have gone to Lord Lichfield's blog, shouldn't you? What did you come here for? Why are you here? Evidence would suggest that you are gluton for punishment.

A shot of my boss in the New York taxi-cab, checking his text messages on the 'phone. Or perhaps just praying as we weave through crazy traffic.


Some picture taken off a bridge, or something.


Another shot of a bridge - this is a different bridge, I think. It has a Golden Gate quality to it, but clearly isn't. As that is in the 'Frisco Bay. Where they have fruits, nuts and flakes.


A rare sight in New York - a taxi-cab on a bridge. I was clearly very lucky to snap this shot.


Another bridge shot. What do you expect when I go visit a city built on islands?


I have no idea why I took this shot.


Oooo! Look, arty! Or, alternatively, me failing to hold the camera straight as we approach some sort of bridge. I don't know what this bridge was - we were travelling from Flushing to Manhattan. It could have been the Triborough, but I don't think it was.


I was just unfesabily impressed with this - it was a fire-escape on the side of a building. That's just seven kinds of awesome right there.


Hey, it was 42nd Street. What was I supposed to do? Steal the sign? Chorus line not pictured.


This was just a shot of some large skyscraper. I dunno why I took it - it looked cool.


This building had a really cool metallic exterior, like it was made of discared take-out trays or something. Maybe it was, I don't know much about NYC.


The Pershin Square cafe where Russ used to take Anne for donuts and coffee. I snapped that because Mike pointed it out, and I felt it would have been rude not to.


Grand Central Station - does exactly what it says on the tin.


"Oh, say can you see . . . " Yes, I can, although it seems as if I can't see as well. Perhaps I didn't have the flash on or something?


Another shot of GCS. Looks kinda cool, really.


Me in GCS. Ladies, I'm looking at you!


Okay, this was after my meeting. We walked out of the office, and were just standing on the sidewalk talking, and then I looked up and was all like Mayor Ebert from Godzilla (the new, poorer, remake) - only I didn't say "G**-d***". Anyway - "It's the Chrysler Building!"


It's still the Chrysler Building. It's not been knocked down by the USAF trying to hunt a gigantic irradiated lizard that breaths fire and becomes spontaneously pregnant. I actually considered that false advertising.


The other side of the Chrysler Building. It appears to have four way rotational symmetry.


Right, this is the UN. Mike went "Look! The UN!" and so I snapped a shot.


Another shot of the UN. Mike was getting nervous by this point, as he was actually in a car with two foreign nationals, one of whom was taking pictures of the United Nations Building.


A suspension bridge, on the way back to Flushing and Laguardia. I don't know which bridge it was - except it's not the largest single span suspension bridge in the world, as that is the Humber. Which clearly rocks.


This is a shot on a bridge - it might be the same bridge. I dunno. They all looked very similar, to be perfectly frank.


Yeah, the standard of photography has really gone downhill since we invented digital cameras. When you were burning through silver-nitrate, you tended to be a little more circumspect.


I was just so impressed by the fact a Catholic store had Chinese characters on it. That was pretty awesome as far as I was concerned.

What I Do For A Living

Hi-de-ho!

Many people say "just what is it that you do all day?" And I generally say "Chillin'" - which might be a bit of a fib. No, what I do is make necessarially complex.

Anyway, so far today I have done the following;

a) Been to the dentist
b) Discussed a webpage design with a Catholic priest who dresses up as the real Santa Claus
c) Helped produce the following list of topics for a talk-show interview;

1.Sex,
2.Death
3.Money
4.Religion
5.Politics
6.Children
7.Education
8.Cooking
9.Health
10.Environment
11.Vacations
12.Prayer
13.Family
14.Technology
15.Evolution
16.Highway systems
17.1st boyfriend
18.Parents
19.Healthcare
20.Employment
21.Houses
22.Fashion
23.Shoes
24.Movies
25.Music
26.Internet
27.Theater
28.Celebrities
29.Christmas
30.Thanksgiving
31.Independence Day
32.History
33.Geography
34.Math
35.Languages
36.Canada
37.Mexico
38.Ohio
39.Auto industry
40.Sports
41.Dancing
42.Romantic Dinner
43.Romance
44.Alcoholism
45.Balancing Checkbooks
46.Accessorizing
47.Violence
48.The Flag
49.Barrack Obama
50.John McCain
51.Hilary Clinton
52.Wrapping presents
53.Laundry
54.Chores
55.The color red
56.Sacred scriptures
57.Swimsuits
58.Exercise
59.Football
60.Furniture
61.Decorating
62.Bishops
63.The Pope
64.Saints
65.Candles
66.garbage day
67.sleeping bags
68.barbecue
69.art
70.text messaging
71.rap music
72.lesbians
73.hair
74.paying your bills
75.light bulbs
76.falling leaves
77.the seasons
78.back hair
79.immigration
80.pop tarts
81.make up
82.7-11
83.Iraq
84.Tattoos
85.Iowa
86.Tennis
87.Brooklyn Bridge
88.Notre Dame
89.ink
90.sororities
91.spelling bees
92.beauty pageants
93.road trip
94.beer
95.drugs
96.diapers
97.in-laws
98.bed wetting
99.drapery
100.flagpoles
101.pantyhose

This is my job, people. God bless America.

Yorkshire Meets the United States

As all men of learning (and Barack Obama, who is a baby-killing monster) know, the primary method of cooking for thousands of years has been to make a fire and put something near it. It was this method which was made popular by such early celebrity chefs as Ug, a Cro-Magnon caveman who specialized in "Wooly Mammoth On Stick" and "Saber-Tooth Tiger On Stick".

Gradually, as liberalism took hold and less and less testosterone was produced by the average man (culminating in the creation of such travesties against nature as My Chemical Romance and Panic at the Disco), people invented technologies which increased the distance between the food and the fire, and - in some cases - contained one of the Four Sacred Elements in vile technology such as a box.

This culminates, ultimately, in raw food diets and tofu. In a more minor way, it leads to the idea that not EVERYTHING can be cooked on a grill.

Say this with me; to Hell with that noise.

To wit - Yorkshire Pudding. For those who you who are not from Yorkshire (i.e. godless heathen barbarians barely worth spitting on) let me explain this. Yorkshire puddings are a batter-based delight made by putting what it basically a savory pancake batter in red-hot fat and baking them in the oven until they rise and are delightful. A REAL Yorkshire pudding in made with animal fat (not namby-pamby liberal fat from vegetables or whatever - DEAD ANIMAL FTW!) and is cooked in a truely huge pan. The little small things you get? Those are just batter puddings - not the same thing AT ALL. Lancashire puddings, perhaps - but that would be insulting to the puddings, I guess.

Anyway, some people of the meanest intellect (a category which I feel genuinely agrieved I cannot include many individuals) maintain that Yorkshire puddings cannot be cooked on a grill.

This, it appears, is not the case.

Amerika; Ist Wunderbar!

Today is the Fourth of July. In the United States of America, this means it's the day when even B. Hussein Obama pretends to like this country – and he perhaps even remembers to wear a flag pin the right way up.

I've been in the USA for about a year and a half now, and feel that I have correctly assimilated your culture. To wit, I drive a Hummer to my mail box.

But, there is one aspect of American Kulture which I feel that I have not yet truly assimilated – and this is the barbecue. While it is indeed the case that Liza and I own a grill, I felt that my masculinity was being impugned by the fact that it was only just big enough to cook a single chicken. It's a bit like going in the communal shower and seeing that your wedding tackle is embarrassingly small – it doesn't matter how effective it might be, you want something a little more impressive.

(Just so everyone knows, my wedding tackle is freakishly awesome. I was merely using that as an example.)

So, on this 4th of July weekend, Liza and I bit the bullet and went to Kroger and purchased their special offer (actually, we purchased several special offers – one of which was every single burger in the place because they were half off) – a grill large enough to cook a fully-grown bear.

No, seriously.

Look, I have taken a long, hard look at your culture. I have eaten Key Lime pie, I have read Hemmingway, I am not a Communist. And I think that the only centrally-unifying theme which you have is the fact that you tend to cook outside. Which, from a practical point of view, I understand. When your homes began life as a buffalo hide stretched over three poles, graduated to a log cabin, even today are built of untreated pine and plaster, and even the large, stone structures tend to get burned down in wars of 1812 (in your face!) this isn't the worst idea you have had.

No, the worst idea was that universal franchise thing – we tried to warn you. There are some people who cannot be trusted with the vote. I refer to them as Democrats, or – as Ann Coulter calls them – traitors.

Hey, I didn't say it myself.

So, the grill which is large enough to cook a fully-grown bear. It is a dual fuel model – with one side for charcoal, and another for gas. It has a side burner, and a condiment tray. Yeah, bitches – a condiment tray. You don't see that anywhere but on the finest grills. Because, as all men of learning know, serious pit masters don't wanna reach for the 'chup and 'stard any further than they have to.

(The term “pit master” is not, as some of my chums from Yorkshire will think, a title given to “t'bloke in charge of t'pit”. It, in fact, refers to the barbecuer, the dude with the oven mitt and the tongs. Some people might think that the feminine is “pit mistress”. To people such as this I say; the Hell with that noise. Women don't go near a grill such as this – it is a magnet of such masculine potency that any woman coming within five feet of it would immediately turn into a Russian shotputter.)

(As a matter of interest, I picked up the term “pit master” from a TV show on PBS which – the weekend before the 4th – ran for about ten straight hours! Yeah, one episode after another of this dude with shades and a Tony Stark beard incinerating every single kind of animal that walks, crawls, swims or flies in this country from sea to shining sea. Actually, I think he may have gone a fair way into the sea itself – Blue Whale Steaks with Cilantro sound really pimp.)

We went and got this grill, as I mentioned above, from the Kroger store and not from the store which actually specializes in such things. Do you know why? I'll tell you why – the grill store appears to charge about twice as much for the same product. I'm a serious pit master, not Rockefeller!

Anyway, we buy this thing – which masses somewhere in the region of a metric ton. We get the thing home and I open it up and lay all the pieces-parts out on the ground.

That is, if you will forgive me, a lot of pieces to simply construct what is, basically, just an upgraded firepit. Still, I set to work.



That's me fitting the wheels on – you will notice I am hammering in some little end caps. Liza and I had the devil of a job finding them. They were stuffed inside a little bag which was stuffed inside some kind of grill – a grill which was liberally coated with some kind of extra-galactic slime. I jest ye not – slime. Sticky slime that got all over my hands and stuck the screwdriver to my palms. What's that all about? Is this some kind of Islamic Terrorist plot to mess up my grilling on the 4th? “Ah, yes, Achmed” (note, Achmed must be pronounced with extra-phlegm) “Let us defeat the infidel west by covering their grills in sticky-slime!”

Damn you, terrorist! I'm going to grill anyway – and I'm going to grill pork!

Well, not today, as it's Friday.

After a few minutes of not too hard work (this is America, after all) I had produced the following;

There is a thing attached to the grill with a chain – I have no idea what the Hell it is. Look at it;

Anyone know? I certainly don't – it confuses me. It is a long bit of wire with a squirly end. I have no concept of what to do with this. Do pit masters heat it up and brand themselves with it? I think that must be the explanation – burn-scar tissue is like a Saville Row suit when you're naked!

At this point, the element I was somewhat worried about. So far, this whole assembly has just been a big Meccano kit (note to Americans, you don't have Meccano – you call it an “erector set”. Note to non-Americans, no lie. They call their version of Meccano an “erector set”. Only in the USA with its complete failure to understand innuendo could they call a child's toy a term which means “a set which causes to be erect” with a completely straight face. Viz; “That's quite an erector set you have there.” “Yes, indeed – it's Bianca Beauchamp and Kim Kardashian wrestling nude in baby-oil.”)

What is that, now? The third penis reference? I lose count.

Where was I? Oh yes, Meccano.

So far this has just been a case of shoving bolts in holes and screwing them tight (fnar-fnar). But now we get to slap the gas elements in – the “control panel” (basically, three turny-valve-things) and the side burner. Yeah, this thing comes with a condiment tray AND a side burner. I warn you, it is so pimp that even the uncool crowd will find themselves spontaneously mutating into Henry Winkler as they approach this thing.

However, this device has been designed to be so simple even a child could put it together (a child in this country is, of course, not allowed to purchase a grill – because then they might be able to celebrate the abortion they can get without their parents' knowledge with a cook out, and we can't have that. Remember, kids – wholesale murder of children is a-okay provided you don't cut down any trees or say any prayers while doing it!)

The end result of the worrying about gas is that I have now installed my side burner with no real difficulty, allowing me (ironically enough) to heat my beans without moving. And, as well all know, the purpose of grilling outside is to eat as much as possible and burn off as few calories as possible. It is this that won the Cold War – that and the fact Communism really sucks, obviously.

Now came the part which was, on paper, really easy but was, in fact, quite tricky. Why, you ask? I shall tell you – by means of a tale from my youth.

A friend of mine, Alison Munro, back in the UK, bought a great big house – huge thing, looked like a Republican wedding cake (rich, white, square). Massive garden. Also bought a big old greenhouse to go in the garden. Greenhouse is another one of these Meccanno kits on steroids / erector sets on Viagra – the instructions say “You and your friend can assemble this in about two hours”.

You and your friend? Two hours? Let me tell you, myself, Alison, her boyfriend John and our friends Jenny (a medical doctor, no less) & Sara took eight hours to assemble that damn thing. Eight freaking hours.

You and a friend? Two hours? Let me tell you, the only way you are going to be able to assemble that thing in two hours with just a friend is if your friend is some kind of octopus with a degree in civil engineering. Two hours my ass.

The issue was insufficient hands – human beings only have two of them. And the grill now required at least three. Helpfully, the instructions tell you to get your helper at this point.

(Actually, ONE set of instructions tell you to do this – the others tell you to get your helper in Spanish. Am I the only one who is ticked off by having to press one for English? I live in the USA – I shouldn't have to press one for English. You know what? I personally think it should go like this. “For English – the language of the Founding Fathers, the people who wrote the Constitution and built this country from nothing – don't do a damn thing. For Spanish – the language of people who can't be bothered to accept our culture yet want our dollars – dial Pi.”)

So, I get my helper – who proceeds to attempt to take a photograph of the grill in its unfinished state when all the stuff is wonky because I haven't put the hinge bolts in, and can't – because (like most humans) I am not some kind of octopus with a degree in civil engineering. I prevent the image being taken in my best “Paparazzi baiter” manner.

The bolts go in without too much trouble, and the end result is thus. Shown is me, holding the English instructions. Not shown are the Spanish ones (I am lighting the first fire on the grill with those).

And that was basically it – a few more things applied to it, the grill plates put on, the little warming trays hung in place and so forth and we are ready for the final photo opportunity.

Behold the total awesomeness of the interior of this bear-roasting monster!

We Christen the grill tonight – we are having grilled oysters with barbecue sauce and lemon-herb butter, and shrimp, and pineapple, and corn on the cob and that.

God bless America. Where else can you get a grill so large its carbon footprint can be seen from space?