Where Am I Now?

As I usually do Saturday mornings at work before yokeldom starts streaming in with their electro-gadgetry and questions about how to operate a copier -- yes, you push the green button embossed with the word Start -- causing me to go into apoplectic fits, and if I don't already have anything special planned --

"As if anything at this dump could ever be qualified as special."















Well, isn't that special.

-- see, even the holy rollers are on my side -- I scour the intertubes looking for something to post about because what else am I going to do? Try reading and get interrupted every 38 seconds right in the middle of a long paragraph when you know damn well that my bibliographic biorhythm isn't like others because I try to shut off, even more so than normal, the ambient dumbassery of my immediate surroundings (this is the world's loudest library; it's in Guinness, look it up. Anyone have a Guinness?) which only gives the appearance of being rude to the customers and as everyone knows, I live only to serve you, the public thirsting for knowledge, I, your master of ceremonies at the traveling freak show just passing by on your mystical journey towards enlightenment.

"You could do some work."

In this top hat and tails?

"You could study for your Monday midterm."

Pourquoi ? Je suis le maître du Français, idiot. So after scrubbing for a bit with some Spic N Span (do they still make that?) I ran across this shot from this story --














-- and contemplated making a not-even-remotely comical Where Are They Now about how one day you're playing sold-out arena shows laying down a ponderously dull bottom end for Ratt, and the next you're providing material support to Al-Qaeda, having been driven there via the rib cook off circuit, apparently one harsh mistress.

"...."

Yeah, I know. Anyway, there was also this picture:














-- and I suppose I could have gone for a Joaquin Phoenix angle, but that's dead and I don't care because I honestly couldn't tell you what he's done outside of Gladiator and I would have to draw sunglasses using Paint and that would take a far steadier hand than I possess, but then I thought, hey, Rasputin, everyone loves the Mad Monk! but then I couldn't think of even a bad joke so I decided to say hell with it and here you go, today's post, but then.

Wait, what's this? Why, it's the legend himself! Rasputin! We're all so glad you could find time out of your busy schedule to visit us!








Мое удовольствие. Я никогда нет к блогу.

And might I add, that's a wonderfully full and manly beard, much more impressive than the pubescent stubble of those ineffectual mullahs.








Вы делаете потеху меня?

Making fun? Perish the thought, I have nothing but the utmost respect for someone able to help bring down the entrenched power structure that does nothing but enrich their coffers upon the broken backs of the people.








Вы оскорбляли неправильное монах, ленивую сволочь.

Lazy? Bum? That hurts, Grigori.