porn and new orleans
Thursday, April 13, 2006
By Trevor Ryan
So New Orleans homes need to be three feet higher, according to the news people, who say this is according to the scientists. So that raises some questions for me. For instance, if they were fine before, who’s to say that after the next storm they won’t need to be another six inches higher to avoid being drowned by another flood? Like, the flood after next?
The other question is, if there was water in the attics of a lot of those places, will three feet really do the trick, or is the idea to keep the water line three feet below the attic?
I don’t know. To me, these building people don’t seem to have figured out as much as they claim. Or maybe they have. How should I know? I didn’t even read the whole article. That’s why I linked to it in the first place. You’re so damned interested? Find out for yourself. That’s what the Internet was made for: finding out what it’s like to watch other people have sex without the hassle and embarrassment of going into one of those shady video stores.
So where does this leave us? How high should we build our houses? (Answer: ABOVE sea level. That’s the minimum.) How high should our Internet speed be? Well, how long can you wait to watch those people you don’t know have sex? It’s all a matter of perspective. It would be easier if there were a little cartoony cutout guy (may I suggest a leprechaun?) holding his hand out saying, “You must be at least this tall to do anything useful in this world.”
Leave the tough decisions to grownups, kids. That’s all I’m trying to say. If they think they can watch porn in the attic under 2 1/2 feet of venomous-snake-infested water, that’s their business. That’s what the Founding Fathers said anyway. God bless America, with all its housing codes and DSL. If we double-click fast enough, by gum we’ll double-click right into the next century, where there will be enough housing codes for everyone. Even Tiny Tim, the lovable (British) crippled boy.
The Billings Gazette:
The trial of Saddam Hussein reminds me of Christmas. Most of us who are older than eight no longer believe in Santa, and so under normal circumstances, we can all openly discuss the fact that no magical being delivers gifts to all the good kids. Well, ok, so nobody actually discusses that, because that would be pointless. But you know what I mean. If we want to, we can. That is, unless there’s a little kid around.
When I think about having to clean my 
