Sorrow is such sweet revenge

Now, tell me the final order of drivers in the Daytona 500, without cheating and referring to the NASCAR, Fox, ESPN, or Yahoo! websites.

How about you learn better memorisation techniques?

Or, for that matter, can you tell me the name of the last five leaders of the UN?

Does your gender have anything to do with the bell curve of IQ?

What about the AARP cards I got in the mail a couple of weeks ago?  How old do they think I am?

Al Jazeera.  Gesundheit.  To some, freedom is a four-letter word.  Does your religion or your daily religious practice recognise the love for all seven billion of us?

Really?

Just because I think much of Seth Meyers' humour is lame doesn't make me think he's a bad person, just that his stool, sorry, I mean his bile, is full of bad humorism.

Yeehaw, raise hell and eat cornbread!

Knoxville's got two things goin' for it in one week - the premiere of the Condredge Holloway movie and the winner of the Daytona 500!

Keep the streak goin', folks [that goes for Pat, Bruce and you ballplayers, too, if you don't mind] -  don't matter to me none if'n it's in law, business, medicine or any of them other fancy edumacashun jobs, neither.

'Bout time I find myself sumptin to do in the mountains.

My moonshine supply's run dry.

Been lookin' for a secret place to keep muh stash but them revenooers done got them rotocopter flappin' blade things with them magic eyes that keeps me from bein' able to run muh moonshine still out of the way of mischiefmaking, rabblerousin' teenagers in these here parts.

Just hafta keep lookin', is what I gotta do.

Until next time, DW (btw, my wife loves watchin' and hearin' you talk - makes her feel like she's back home, listenin' to her Pop do his ol' radio show on WRGS, back befo' the days of Charlie Chase, that is).

A nod to our Armenian friends - may you never run out of lamb meat for a meal.

Dang if I didn't find out that Trevor Bayne went to Knox Central like muh daddy and my bury-the-body friend, Elizabeth.  This ol' small world's gettin' tiny enough to fit in muh wallet on the gold chain I pulled off the dead guy who called muh dog a cur.

Bring It On

I love watching overt government crackdowns around the world - it tells me one and one thing only:

the people always win.

'Nuff said.

Is That A Pizza In Your Oven Or Are You Just Happy To Be Hungry?

First of all, thanks to Murriel, Jessica and Yolanda at Publix for the prerace food stuff - fried chicken fingers, egg salad, romaine hearts, artichoke hearts, tarragon chicken salad, Southern/red-potato salad, Publix yogurt, bananas, and Florida orange/grapefruit juice.

So, while I guzzle my leftover supply of Samuel Adams winter lager, burping up the essence of fresh fried chicken, cat on the lap, I wonder what can possibly make lefthand turn racing any less more exciting.

Nothing.

snooze.....

Wake me up when there's 10 laps to go and attrition has separated the living from the dead the contenders from the pretenders.

Maybe NASCAR ought to make a big deal about the adverts like the NFL does with the American-rules football championship.

As if Google's Gestapo-style SEO rulemakers weren't controlling enough...

Now it's Apple that's trying to control who gets a piece of the pie!

To Dream, Perhaps to Wake...

States of energy in constant flux

Ubiquity? Frayed Knot!

Informationicus Graphicus, carpe diem.

"I Talk To The Wind" by King Crimson takes us into the next hour.