Tuesday, January 12, 2010

No Such Thing as a Free Lunch

Simple rule of Capitalism.

"You don't get nothin' for free!"

That being said, ever wonder why the Federal Government is so willingly giving out vouchers for digital TV converters? I mean, health care, no vouchers. Education, no vouchers. Bail out, no vouchers, but they decide to switch the TV broadcast spectrum to digital for no real reason.. and it's all alcoholic-parent-coming-home-from-rehab-to-make-amends.

Well, here's just one of the nifty reasons they have... to hide from you.

Patent # 5,159,703

You have got to love anything that gets your learn on without bothering to make you notice...


オテモヤン said...


Anonymous said...

You're still a douche. No wonder Suzanne left you.

Becky said...

I agree. Not only that, but you're fuck ugly, too. I only hope that Lois is taking care of the kids and they somehow manage to forget who their biological parents are. Otherwise they'll end up just as screwed up as the two of you.

Reverend X said...

There's an old expression, "Hurt me today and it bothers me. If I am still bothered long after, then I am paying your rent in my head."

Thanks for 13 years of rent. That must have cost you far more than I ever intended. lol.

Oh, and since you are apparently fixated on my past... Suz and I have a great working relationship raising our kids. We did what we had to do to get over resentments because it was best for the kids. I'd call it miraculous, but we worked our asses off to get over the kinda bullshit that you are choked with. lol. So...

Hate me... I don't even remember what you look like. lol.

Reverend X said...

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.