Far be it for me to sympathize with a terrorist, but I’m forced to admit that I’m pretty amazed by the dedication of anybody who would sew explosives into the crotch of their undies and try to detonate them. By dedication, of course, I mean freakin’ insanity (and by them, I mean, well, you know what I mean). Oh, sure, on paper, if you’re gonna blow yourself up, it doesn’t matter what part blows up first. But as Umar Fuckedup Abdulmentalcase has clearly demonstrated, you really need to plan for all contingencies, and if there’s only a partial ignition and fire, it damn sure does matter what part of your anatomy the explosives are under. I see that “Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula” has taken credit for (and seems to be rather proud of) the “underwear bomber.” What is that, a franchise? Is that how far things have fallen, that we don’t even get attacked by the home office anymore, but it gets farmed out to the Al Qaeda equivalent of the Scranton branch? God only knows what kind of twisted screening processes they’ll come up with at the airport after this one. I hope there isn’t anyplace I ever have to fly again, but for those who do, I foresee many crotch-sniffing dogs in your future (and not in a good way).

No failure to launch at the Baikonur Cosmodrome last night, though, as the Russkies successfully delivered the newest DirecTV satellite to orbit. Now it’s a month or two of testing and repositioning, and then hopefully we’ll get more HD programming to go along with the February price increase.

Speaking of successful deliveries, our new refrigerator was successfully delivered yesterday afternoon. It took me about an hour to peel off all the tape and protective wrap, but I not only got it in place and loaded, but also managed to get the old one down to the basement and loaded with beer (and water, and the five bottles of Champagne – actually sparkling whatever it is, ‘cuz it comes from NY, not France – that were left over from the past couple of holiday seasons), and of course I unmounted the bottle opener from the kitchen wall, and mounted it downstairs. Turns out I put it in the wrong place, but that was to be expected (what with my inability to do anything right). I’m not sure why it gives me such a feeling of comfort to know that my beer is just a few steps away from the teevee, but it does. It should come in darn handy for New Year’s Eve.

Max Baucus yelled at some asshole Republican, and now Mark Foley is absolutely outraged at Max’s indecent behavior. Yes, Mark Foley, who until recently could be found hanging around outside the Congressional Page Dormitory wearing black rubber boots and a trench coat, carrying a six-pack of Budweiser and a box of chocolate chip cookies, disapproves of Max Baucus. And good ol’ Mark knows indecent behavior when he sees it.

I saw the headline this morning, Ambulance Dispatched To Obama’s Home In Hawaii, and I thought “oh, great, he drove into a fire hydrant and Michelle ‘rescued’ him by smashing out the rear window of his SUV.” Turns out it was just a neighbor kid or something who got slightly hurt. Not much drama there.

Speaking of headlines, here’s one that has “duh” written all over it: “Metallica drummer struggles with ringing in ears.” He probably listens to too much AC/DC or something.

Oh well, it’s in the single-digits, very windy, and snowing this morning, so I reckon I’d better get moving early. I just hope I don’t have to shovel to get out.

See ya.