Take it from Snee: Win a date with James O’Keefe!

Hey, there hot, young and single lady! Why so single? Is it because you haven’t met the right man, yet?

What’s that? You already met the right man, and it didn’t work out?

Well, have I—and by “I,” I  mean the Cream Dream Team dating service made up of Andrew Breitbart and I—have great news for you: James O’Keefe has already planned your dream date. Continue reading Take it from Snee: Win a date with James O’Keefe!

We’re thinking … sea couch potato?

And now, an open letter to artists.

Dear artists and other crazy individuals:

Stop. Please stop it. Just because you can, doesn’t mean that you should. No one needs to use feces as paint for a canvas. Encasing a shark in a block of plastic is slightly weird. And just because you made a boat that looks like a couch, it doesn’t mean that you should ride on it. Given its shape and weight needed for floating, along with the material made in its production, what, do you really think that you’ll be able sit comfortably in it?

Yeah, that’s what we thought.

Sincerely, The Guys

Virginia is for gun lovers

It’s a big day for RAM members in Virginia, as the House of Delegates has passed a slew of laws to ease gun enforcement in the Commonwealth. Among the best ones which passed the Senate and await signing:

  • Repealing the one-gun-a-month sales limit. Now you can buy all of your relatives guns for Christmas at the last minute.
  • Allowing “gun owners without a concealed carry permit to lock handguns in a vehicle or boat.” Because hiding a gun in your car or boat until it’s time to spring it on someone isn’t the same thing as concealing it.
  • Allowing “those with a concealed carry permit to take hidden guns into restaurants that sell alcohol as long as they don’t drink.” Thank God. There is nobody scarier than the drunk Happy Hourers in TGIFridays. It’s well-documented that bikers drinking Mojo-jitos at the Olive Garden are twice as likely to wedgie you than bikers at home.

But the greatest one of all, which must still pass through the Senate:

  • Banning “localities from being able to prohibit hunting within a half-mile of a subdivision, but allow them to prohibit hunting within a subdivision.” The deer have been allowed to use human shields for too long. Sorry, subdivision-dwellers, but you’re gonna have to put up with some friendly fire. We’re at war, and those who would sacrifice a little safety for liberty deserve neither.

Your move, James Bond

If you read SG, you probably have a lot of money to burn, just like us. That is why you will likely find yourself in a bidding war with us over Saddam Hussein’s yacht.

It’s got pools (because, you know, swimming in the water is something peasants do) a secret passage and, of course, a rocket launching system for the the remote chance or Iranian or U.S. warplanes attacking your 269-foot superyacht.

The French seized the boat a while back and tried to auction it off. However, in a court battle, the Frenchies drew up the white flag and said it is property of Iraq. Now it’s back up for sale, and we’re going to buy it. And don’t think we’re afraid to use chemical weapons on the competition.

Take it from Snee: Toys suck anyway

Alright, so I’m getting married this weekend. This means two things:

  1. There will be no writing from me next week because I’ll be in Bermuda.
  2. I’m going to write some crap about growing up, becoming a man, etc.

Interestingly enough, point number two seems to be a popular theme this week, as my old friend Charles Smith (an alias to be sure) has his own opinions about it in Whim this week.

Yep, it was about when I worried about having hemorrhoids on my honeymoon that I realized I’m acting more and more like a grown-up. So it’s time to put away childish things, or toys, and embrace the things of men.

Video games stay, though, because they’re not toys. They’re training files should the government ever require my services as a fighter pilot/secret agent/Italian stereotype that squashes pizza ingredients.

The Star Wars figures are just that: figures, as in they will one day be worth several figures and finance my retirement or crippling gambling addiction. They stay.

Everything else, though, is gone. Continue reading Take it from Snee: Toys suck anyway