Home sweet home
England, 1074 A.D. The Norman invasion, led by Duke William II of Normandy, was a success, dispatching King Harold II at the Battle of Stamford Bridge on 25 September, and occupying the country. Many combatants and dissidents were thrown into the dungeons in the months and years to follow. Dead center on the island, the castle at Shrewsbury housed numerous Britons, still loyal to the rightful lineage of kings, from Edward the Confessor onward, even if they didn’t know who lawfully came next.
“Christ this dungeon is leaky!” Chained to the wall by hands and feet, alone, stood George. A rat continuously darted for his toes, and he kept kicking it away, more glad for the company than angry at possibly catching the plague. Thankfully, the Black Death was still some centuries away. Continue reading
(This is another entry in the series of things we always thought were okay and inoffensive, but have turned out to be horrible, following my complete smackdown of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, found here. Herein I extensively and exclusively reference the song “Please Come to Boston” by Dave Loggins. If you are unfamiliar with it, you will find nothing wondrous in what’s to follow. Please seek out, and then return here for the vivisection. That is all. In fact, here, watch this, then read, if you like. Sorry about the crap, homemade YouTube quality.)
Also known popularly as the “I’m the number one fan of the man from Tennessee” song, “Please Come to Boston” is the sort of sappy love song that is pretty much forgettable as soon as it ends, but people generally hold in good opinion. I’m no music critic, it might be the greatest slice of music genius since “Minnie the Moocher” and I wouldn’t know it. I can say “It’s catchy” or “It’s got that cool funky beat” or “I can relate to 99 Problems, cause my bitch ain’t one!” but I can’t really break it down further than that.
However, musicality aside, I’ve got a pretty serious problem with “Please Come to Boston.” There are a lot of facts presented in this piece of work that show without a doubt that a) this guy was absolutely right to get the hell out of Tennessee in the first place but b) presents no reason why he even still communicates with this harping shrew of a woman. Let us begin at the beginning. Continue reading
Ladies and gentlemen, the plan is in place. Cetta/Rusakiewicz, long thought to be an elaborate ruse meant to drum up interest in a potential presidential campaign, has transitioned into a bona fide lovetastic relationshipathon. And after seven and a half years of contemplation and debate, we’re locking this thing down for good and all. Cetta/Rusakiewicz 2011! The wedding that will put all others to ignominious shame!
Excitement is at an all time high here in the relationship!
Okay, that might be taking it a bit far. I mean, what sort of plan could we come up with that will trump all other nuptials in the long history of nuptials? Are we getting married on the moon? Will the attire be entirely made of cake? Is Richard Dawson performing the ceremony? Continue reading