Archive of entries posted on 10th May 2003

Frank Answers: Palestinian Peace, De-Frenchitizing, and the Ultimate Match Up

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Elliot Temple ask:
Is Abu Mazen good or bad? What about the roadmap thing?
As we all know, having just google searched the name, Abu Mazen is the new prime minister of Palestine. I was very hopeful he was a good man, but then I found out he was a Palestinian; they like to blow up people and are bad. If the Palestinians want good leadership, they should elect a nice Jewish boy.
As for the roadmap, from the context of your question I assume you’re talking about the roadmap in the pocket behind the driver seat in my car. I never use it because I just chart my courses using Mapquest. Hell, I don’t know how anyone got anywhere before Mapquest. Just glad I didn’t live in those dark ages.
Chaos Overlord asks:
I have French ancestry. What can I do to eliminate this lameness?
First, I am very sorry for you. Many people have some French ancestry in them, and constantly feel cowardice and snootiness bubbling through their veins. Until there is some gene-therapy to take care of it for good, one has to constantly take steps throughout their life to suppress their French instincts. The first and best step is to shower every day. One will probably feel most French in the morning, but a shower should take care of that. Also, try being nice to people. The French in you will make you want to ridicule and be arrogant to everyone, but you must fight it and be nice. Make sure to avoid drinking wine; stick to just domestic beers and the occasional whiskey shot. Also, avoid watching or engaging in soccer; stick to American sports like football, baseball, basketball, and beating the crap out of each other.
Follow this advice, and your Frenchiness should be suppressed to the point you don’t even notice it at all, but there is one last thing: you can never, ever surrender. It doesn’t matter if a swat team has you cornered or the enemy is ambushing you from all sides; if you surrender, the French in you will automatically bubble to the surface. And, if the choice is between being French and death, I think you know which is more desirable.
Finally, Hutch asks:
In a battle to the death which would win and how: A duck-billed platypus or a three-toed sloth?
This would be easy to answer if this were a duck-billed platypus (is there another kind of platypus?) versus a two-toed sloth, but the sloth having a third toe makes this more of an even match up. The easiest way to answer this would be to place the sloth and platypus in an arena and videotape what happens, but, unfortunately, I only have access to a three-toed sloth on Tuesdays and Thursdays and to a platypus on Mondays and Wednesdays. Thus, I am forced to test each of their fighting skills separately and predict the match up from that.
First I tested the platypus. The male platypus actually has a toxic spur – one of the only poisonous mammal I know of. Actually, combining that with how they lay eggs and have the bills of ducks, these are some freakish creatures. It’s like how drunk was God when He made them?
I’m kidding! Don’t smite me!
Anyway, first I had to provoke the platypus, and that’s pretty easy to do because you know this freak of nature must be pretty insecure. So I yelled, “Hey, you walking freak show, I’m going to make sure they no longer classify you as a mammal, because I’ll be damned if I have a weirdo like you share the same Class as me.” This enraged the platypus, and he waddled right for me. First I stepped on his duckbill and started punching him, just like I assumed a sloth would. I was beating the hell out of the stupid thing, but then it got me with its toxin, and goddamn that hurt! I was rolling on the ground in pain, and then the platypus began to nibble me to death with its duckbill. Luckily some zookeepers dragged me out of there.
Next I had to test the skills of a three-toed sloth. They’re usually quite sluggish, but, when threatened, they can be downright torpid. First, I took a stick and started whacking the hell out of the lazy bastard, but he just ignored me. Then I spat at him and yelled, “Hey, you lazy bum, get a job!” Again, no reaction. Finally, I remembered a National Geographic special I watched a long time ago that said that sloths are notoriously homophobic. So I said, “Hey, who’s that other sloth over there? Is he your boyfriend?”
The sloth was on me like a bat out of hell, its three toes in a death grip around my neck. Using all my strength, I was able to pry away two of the toes, but I just couldn’t get that damned third toe! I could feel my life fading, but finally four zookeepers with cattle prods were able to get the beast off me. It still hurts to swallow.
Anyway, back to the question: so who would win in a fight between the platypus and the sloth. I have to say the platypus, because it’s got more to lose, being how freakish and hated it is.
What’s that at the door? Oh my God! It found where I live…

Please keep the questions coming, <a href=”mailto:THISISSPAMTHISISSPAMe and to the point.

The Final Filthy Lie

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It’s Saturday, and thus it’s time for the final filthy lie about Glenn Reynolds.
I think I peaked with my first one when I claimed he put puppies in blenders, but I continued on to say he is a Satan worshipping hobo murderer and that he is a Communist spy who dances the robot. You can see his traffic on a downward slope from all these lies, but I think I’ll finish it off with the worstest lie of all:

I was walking through the park again, and I saw Glenn Reynolds and was going to avoid that evil man, but he sped up to me on his moped.
“Not so fast,” Glenn Reynolds said, “I have business for you.”
“What? What could you want with good ‘ole honest Frank J., you horrible man?”
“I just had a big puppy shake and am bursting with energy,” he said with a demonic grin, “So I’ve decided to punch you, since you represent all that is good in pure in blogging and I represent all that is evil.”
“If you do, I’ll use my aikido skills against you,” I threatened back, holding my ground.
“Bah! If you fight back, I’ll call the police. And whom will they believe? Someone who get only a couple thousand visitors a day, or someone who get tens of thousands of visitors a day? That’s right, you have to just stand there and take it like a bitch!”
So he punched me, the beloved Frank J. He hit like a girl, but it was still humiliating.
“Muh ha ha ha!” he laughed so evilly it curdled one’s blood, “I’m Glenn Reynolds! No one can stop me! No one!” He then eyed a nearby transient. “Except maybe that hobo; I better go murder him.” He then zoomed off on his moped.

Here’s more poorly made photographic evidence of this crime against humanity:

So here is the final filthy lie to spread: Glenn Reynolds is a puppy blending, Satan worshipping, hobo murdering, robot dancing Communist spy who punched your beloved Frank J. Tell the news, tell congress, tell other bloggers even; the lie must spread and his traffic must plunge for reasons I’ve now forgotten. But I think I’m going to laugh evilly anyway.
Bwa ha ha ha ha!
So what do I do next Saturday? I guess I could spread lies about other bloggers such as Misha (not actually an emperor) and Rachel (not actually a woman), but I want it to be a really big target like Glenn Reynolds. Hmm…