By Fleeceman, on October 15th, 2009%
In the foothills northeast of Santa Barbara sits a posh, gated community, where if you happen to be working within, you must first sign a contract, the small print of which states you must not even look at the pool once you’re on the property you’ve been assigned to. Dogs aren’t even allowed in your vehicle, . . . → Read More: The BBQ Puker
By Fleeceman, on July 11th, 2009%
There’s usually a time to turn off the cable TV, and that’s when you turn it on.
TALKING HEADS. No, not the band. With basic cable especially, nothing is ever on. Sure, you’ve got the golf channel, constantly cycling reruns of great shots at The Masters, where putt after putt wanders across the green and woh!, into . . . → Read More: What’s On TV?
By Fleeceman, on April 22nd, 2009%
Separated at birth?
Tony Blair had entered the building.
For a week prior to the event, I kept thinking I’d be doing security for Tony Bennett, but no: the two are entirely different entities. The former was a diplomat with international connections, those connections continuing into his private life despite his having buddied up . . . → Read More: The French fry Thief