What’s My Age Again Update

With 19 blogger participants (including me) there are a total of 690 years between us. The youngest blogger is Bill Whittle, who is almost eleven, and the oldest is Andrea Harris, who is eleventy-one (a very respectable age for a blogger).
Seriously, though, the average age for a warblogger (or, more accurately, the average age for a warblogger who read my blog in the past day and cared to admit his or her age) is about 36.31. Wow, that’s old! Maybe I should stop making references to hip young things like color TV’s and touch tone phones and instead make jokes you people could better relate to, such as rants about drinking Ensure or how inconvenient it is to break one’s hip.
Just kidding!
Anyway, the important thing is that I found out the majority of bloggers aren’t single women in their early twenties like I hoped. Oh well. If you are a blogger who would still like to contribute to this scientific survey, post to the comments. Don’t bother if your age is 36.31, because that won’t change the average.
NOTE: Don’t just post your age if you don’t fill out the URL space with your blog address. This is supposed to be a survey of bloggers, so I need to confirm you have one. Otherwise, this will have no scientific validty, and all my scientist peers will beat me up and call me names.

Links of the Day

Bill Whittle, who’s almost eleven, has written an essay on both the horrors and necessity of war that’s a must read. Go check it out.
Laurence Simon has a poll on the root causes of the Slammer worm. I blame “kids these days.”
Speaking of Laurence Simon, John Hawkins has tried out the meme (isn’t she Drew Carey’s arch-nemesis?) that he made popular.
Loretta and the Tooth Fairy conspire to cheat her daughter out of a dollar. For shame.
Bare feet make Chaos Overlord angry. Chaos Overlord smash!

In My World: Whitehouse Dismissive of Whiny “Allies”

Push for war has grown ever stronger, with even the more “moderate” members of the Bush administration, such as Colin Powell, raising the idea of unilateralism. Plus, some relations with allies have been harmed by Rumsfeld characterizing France and Germany as “Old Europe” and dismissing them as irrelevant.
Even Republican Senator Chuck Hagel criticized the remarks, saying that the United States must assure the world it is patient and responsible and that “You don’t do that with glancing blow, condescending remarks.” Later that day, Hagel wound up in the hospital with most of his bones broken as he had fallen down a long flight of stairs and then climbed up the stairs and fell again four more times – at least according to the sole witness, Donald Rumsfeld. When he was asked whether that was just a lame story to cover up the fact that he had in reality severely beaten Hagel for his impudence, Rumsfeld responded, “Yes,” and then raced off in his Buick laughing.
Whitehouse Press Secretary Ari Fleischer did not seem eager to answer question about the incident.
“I’m reading,” he told questioning reporters at a press conference as he held up an advanced copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
“But these are important issues that need…”
“I’m almost done with this chapter,” Ari said angrily and then continued reading. “Harry Potter, you scamp, what trouble are you going to get into next?” he said to himself while chuckling. He then closed the book and looked to the reporters. “What the hell do you guys want?”
“Couldn’t you find a different time to read?” asked one reporter.
“Hey, if you paid more attention in my previous press conferences, you could just guess what I’m going to say now and we wouldn’t have to do these damn things.”
“So you are going to condemn Rumsfeld for his actions?”
Fleischer put his hand to his forehead. “Jesus Christ, you guys are dumb. No, I am not going to condemn Rumsfeld, because, other than when I’m giving press conferences with you idiots, I enjoy life. The official position of the Whitehouse on France’s and Germany’s stance against war is ‘F–k them and the horses they rode in on.’ We’d launch cruise missiles at them, but they are so irrelevant we don’t even have their latitudes and longitudes written down anywhere.”
He was then asked about the refusal of Iraqi scientists to have private meetings with U.N. weapons inspectors.
“Oh, I know this one,” Fleischer exclaimed and searched his jacket, finally producing a small card. “President Bush believes that Iraq’s refusal to allow Iraqi scientists to submit to private interviews with U.N. inspectors is unacceptable. Under U.N. Resolution 1441, Iraq has an obligation to comply.”
“What are you going to do if they continue not to comply?” asked another reporter.
“Well, uh… according to U.N. Resolution… uh… 1234, if you keep asking me questions about this, I have to kick you in the nuts.”
“Resolution 1234? Never heard of it.”
“It’s right here,” Fleischer said, holding open his book so the reporter could see. When the reporter leaned close for a look, Fleischer slammed it shut on his face.
The reporter ran off crying.
“Dumbass,” Fleischer laughed. “Any other questions?”
Helen Thomas stood up.
“What did I do to deserve this?” Fleischer muttered to himself, “Did I murder the pope in a previous life?”
“Now Jim, why…”
“Let me stop you right there, Helen,” Fleischer interrupted, “For the last time, my name is Ari Fleischer, President George W. Bush’s press secretary, not James Hagerty, Dwight D. Eisenhower’s press secretary, you senile old bat.”
Helen paused a moment to reflect, “Now Jim, is the Whitehouse aware that most people are against your war for oil?”
“Most Americans are not against fighting Iraq, because we’re not a bunch of irrelevant pansies like that collection of countries they call the EU. While there are some incoherent, nitwit peaceniks out there, their numbers are now dwindling due to our secret assassins’ efforts to poison bong water. One more question.”
“Due to the president’s extreme masculinity, do you, despite your heterosexuality, sometimes find yourself physically attracted to him?” asked President Bush, poorly disguised with a sombrero.
“Is Rumsfeld after you again?”
“He says I’m going to wind up like Hagel if I don’t get France and Germany to shut up. What did he look like the last time you saw him, Ari?”
“He had a murderous glare in his eyes… but just the same one he normally has.”
“Cool. Anyway, I was talking to Fuzzy the janitor, and he says he can get me into the Capitol building tonight. I was thinking you and I could go trash Daschle’s office. I got a big bag of poo!”
“Well don’t tell all these people!” Fleischer shouted, pointing to the reporters.
“Oh yeah.” Bush then turned to the reporters with his “threatening face.” “Don’t any of you cross me, because I know some powerful people! I even know me, the president!”
The next morning, Daschle found his office had been vandalized. He then held an impromptu press conference in which he blamed it on “right-wing talk radio.” During his statement, he was struck in the head with a beer bottle, which he blamed on “aliens.”