There are a lot of disadvantages to living in Africa, not least of which includes the AIDS/HIV epidemic, some of the world’s worst governments and dictators, and the current state of underdevelopment. It bites when a bunch of foreigners say you have to make do with the shitty little clinic that, because it’s powered only by a few solar panels, has to choose between running the fridge that keeps vaccinations viable and running the lights that allow night operations.
While the debate about CO2 and carbon emissions continues, consider the sad fate of allowing a continent to go unmodernized…when your choice is between letting your family be devoured by the wildlife because your only mode of transport is your own two feet, I think you’d settle for the possibility of a little global warming.
It seems I’ve caught a little bug that’s decided to lodge itself primarily in my throat. This morning I’m on the verge of losing my voice completely, but yesterday it was kinda cool. Co-workers and students pointed out that I sound like Barry White, and kept asking me to say particular phrases.
It being Valentine’s Day yesterday, one wanted me to sing “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe” to his girl at lunch. I almost agreed.
If I’m able to find my way to a microphone before my voice goes completely, I’ll post an audio link here.
No joke, a friend was perusing Publication 17 Section 10 of the U.S. tax code and found this little gem:
Stolen property. If you steal property, you must report its fair market value in your income in the year you steal it unless in the same year, you return it to its rightful owner.
I gotta give credit to the IRS for trying to catch the dumb criminals, but somehow I’m thinking the ones with meticulous attention to detail aren’t also going to be leaning towards the stupid side.
Before you read the title and think I’ve been sowing my wild oats, I assure you my virginity remains intact, my practice of chastity unbroken. While the internet was down at my house this past week, I had free time to ponder many things. Today’s title comes from my musings on the glorious names I’d bequeath to my sons, should I one day have a family.
My first son would be named “Leonidas”, in homage of the badass Spartan king who died for his country and kin at Thermopylae. My second son would be named “Brock”, and would necessitate changing the family name to “Samson”–because “Brock Samson” may be the manliest name of all time (“Dick Steel” placing as a close second).
If, by the the birth of my second son, the good Lord thinks the world can withstand a third male of my line, he would also be named “Samson” , his full name therefore being “Samson Samson”. It rolls off the tongue, and I can just hear some terrified gangster (a descendant of the Philistines, no doubt) panting it to the rest of his gang as a warning, after watching my offspring tear through a score of his cronies with his bare hands.
Of course, now that I’ve said this in the open, God may decide all future fruit of my loins will be females, in which case they will doubtless be like the daughters of Job…renowned for their beauty and wisdom, and desired by all young swains of the land. I sense much gun-cleaning in my future.