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Insert Your Favorite Hurricane Joke Here.

and i ran. i ran so far away. i couldn't get away.

could you win $1,000,000,000 in under seconds? maybe some audience help here?

blondeinyourbed - fivepointsafetyharness - godiscancelled - iamnotageek - peggyhillsarahpalin - smarterwithglasses - twodifferentworlds - yourexonyourphone

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Some Terms To Know.

Huh. Looks like I'll be spending my weekend hobbling around and putting up hurricane shutters. Stupid dog.

Cape Verde Storm: A tropical system with origins coming from the coast of Africa. These are the long tracking systems, which move off Africa, form and trek across the Atlantic eventually threatening the Eastern Caribbean Islands and the US East Coast. The Cape Verde Islands themselves are just west off the coast of Africa.

Eye: The low pressure center of a tropical cyclone. Surrounded by the most intense area of the storm and at a huge contrast inside the eye winds are normally calm and sometimes the sky clears.

Eyewall: The ring of thunderstorms that surrounds a storm's eye. The heaviest rain, strongest winds and worst turbulence are normally in the eyewall.

Hurricane: A tropical cyclone in which maximum sustained surface wind is 74 mph (64 knots) or greater.

Hurricane Watch: An announcement that hurricane conditions pose a possible threat to a specified coastal area within 36 hours.

Hurricane Warning: A warning that sustained winds of 74 mph (64 knots) or higher are expected in a specified coastal area within 24 hours or less.

Millibar: A metric measurement of air pressure.

Storm Surge: An abnormal rise of the sea along a shore as the result, primarily, of the winds of a storm.

Tropical Depression: A tropical cyclone in which the maximum sustained surface wind is 38 mph (33 knots) or less.

Tropical Storm: A tropical cyclone in which the maximum sustained surface wind ranges from 39-73 mph (34-63 knots) inclusive.

Tropical Storm Watch: Is issued for a coastal area when there is a threat of tropical storm conditions within 36 hours.

Tropical Storm Warning: A warning for tropical storm conditions including sustained winds within the range of 39 to 73 mph (34 to 63 knots) which are expected in a specified coastal area within 24 hours or less.

Typhoon: A hurricane in the north Pacific west of the International Date Line.

five things you didn't know about 'entourage' -- let's hug it out, bitch.

one of my favorite scenes from 'entourage' acted out with midgets. kind of creepy now.

michelle hunziker sure does know how to fill out a bikini. too bad she's with some douchebag yankees fan.

take a minute and watch a few of these crusty demon videos - talk about some gravity defying shit.

some behind the scenes clips from transformers 2 -- nice shots of audi r8 chase, but no word on shia le'fags injured hand

This Tasteless [Thursday] Brought To You By Jeannie.

Let me put it straight out. I can only shit at home. That's right. Not at the boyfriend's house, not at work, not on vacation. Just can't do it - unless it's related to food poisoning or taking 4 or 5 Ex-laxes. But on a normal day, every time I try, I get all nervous and veto the idea and wait the four more hours until I can go home. It's a dreadful way to live, but I've gotten used to it over the years. BUT, then I realize, only tonight, how foolish that psychosis is. I'm sitting here in my clean, dry pajamas with full-seat, cotton, white, OLD LADY underwear wondering if E-coli has just decided to make my cunt its home. Yeah. You heard me, so lemme tell you my story.

I was at my work holiday party this evening. Feeling fine, not drinking too much and not eating too much (for once). So, after the buffet dinner, I'm sitting, chatting, etc, etc... and feel a little bit of a twinge in my stomach. I figure that I'm getting gas from something I ate, so I ignore it. Half hour later, I'm almost doubled over in pain, so I put a fake smile on my face and try to say quick good-byes. I have to get out of there because something is rumbling in my stomach that is determined to let loose. I head for the door and two co-workers ask for a ride to their car. Oh my GOD, I have to get out of there, but I say "sure." One of the co-workers makes a pit stop. I'd like to too, as I'm sure I could have gone in THIS type of emergency, but realize that it would be a very bad scene so I veto the idea of getting a little "tension release" in the hotel restroom. I drive them to their car, wondering if I should run into the office and let loose, but I convince myself that I can make it home - only about 7 miles.

I start to drive, just as I entered the Ted Williams tunnel or as I call it "the point of no return", I almost crash my fucking car because of the painful twisting of my intestines. So then I convince myself that maybe if I let myself let out a little bit of that gas that's building up, that will take care of the pressure inside so that I can make it home. Nope. It was not a fart that wanted to escape. It was a hot, liquid blast of shit that escaped my ass and I couldn't even stop it. The pain subsides for a moment, and I kind of like the warm feeling as it was about 12 degrees outside, but soon realize what actually made that warm feeling. I JUST SHIT MY PANTS!!!!

So I try to scootch myself up off the seat so that I don't squish it. The problem here is that I'm wearing a short velvet dress with a thong and sheer nylons. I was wishing that I were one of those girls who wore that old-lady underwear because it would have a place to collect. NOPE! And worse off, I drive a stick and every fucking time I had to change gears, my left leg would squeeze the shit between the threads in my nylons, my thong, my legs. I was in a panic. Half way home, I shit again and again. Painful, putrid smelling explosions from my ass. I couldn't stop the shitting!. And the smell! OOOOHHHHHGH! I began to get nauseous so I opened the windows. Dry heaves escaped me as I tried to balance myself above the seat and trying to stay on the road. I finally get home - by the way, my co-workers live in the same direction and actually pass me on the road as I shat my ass off.

I got home and was happy that I drive with a pillow on my seat. I hobble out of the car, crouched over, exhausted and in pain. I climb the three, NEVERENDING flights of stairs as shit drains down my legs. No one home - thank GOD! I hobbled to the kitchen, while drops of shit marked my trail. I grab some trash bags and spread them out on the bathroom floor. I take off my jacket - NO, my SISTER's suede coat that she let me borrow because it was so much nicer than mine. The entire bottom had fallen victim to my shitting frenzy. My driving pillow? That's a goner. I pull off my shoes. At least there was no shit there. I pull off my nylons and thong in one shot and am amazed at the amount of shit that came along with them. Liquid, mustard yellow and smelling so grotesque. Then I panic. I'm still wearing my dress, because I'm afraid to take it off. I wonder if I should just hop in the shower with it on, but realize the mess that is all over and between my legs. I think..."maybe I can just cut it off and throw it away", but it was, again, my SISTER's. I was dripping shit all over the trash bags at this point and would never have made it to the kitchen to get scissors.

So I do it. Yes, I pulled the dress up, over my head - the ONLY WAY IT COMES OFF!!!! As my dress slid up my body (I tried my best to do it without contact), I smeared shit up my back and into my hair. I plop the dress on the floor and hit the shower. It smells so fucking nasty in my bathroom, but I MUST wash this shit off me. I have a dreadful shower, trying to clean myself and clear the shit away from my urethra and vagina....all the while wondering if E-coli or fecal coliform are somehow being splashed into my most private of parts. I get out of the shower and throw my dress and bra in the tub. I trash my nylons and thong. I consider my sister's beautiful suede coat. I know she doesn't wear it in the snow or rain. What the fuck do I do? I'm not taking it to a dry cleaners so that I can explain that I SHIT on it. I think, "maybe it'll dry and no one will notice," but then I smell it. EWHHHHH!! So...what else can I do? I tossed it in the tub. Well, she can wear it in the rain NOW, I tell you.

So my little velvet dress, bra, and sister's coat are taking a bath right now. And the first thing I did after that was put on the biggest pair of white, cotton, full-seat, old fucking lady underpants because you never know when your ass is going to explode....you might need a place to hold it until you get home. And if ever again I need to shit in public, well, just get the fuck out of the bathroom if you don't like it, because I'm not wearing this shit home. Merry Christmas! Jeannie.

The black eye makes it funny. But anyway, all this sitting around with back pain gave me some extra time to contemplate this 2008 Presidential race. Deciding that I like neither candidate, I went into a few chat rooms and tossed my name out as a nominee, and what do you know -- things kind of took on a life of its own. So that's it. That's my offer. I'll run for President myself. Well, after the meeting anyway. It's an offer pending a meeting.

ten women who would have made better veep picks for mccain.

a pictorial walk through on the good days and bad days of katie holmes

iconic los angeles film locations. from boogie nights all the way to less than zero

the most super awesome coolest gun fight scene of all time. cocking the gun, cocking the gun.

Irony, Definition of.

[dramatic] irony – noun - irony that is inherent in speeches or a situation of a drama and is understood by the audience but not grasped by the characters in the play.

This past weekend, Jack Daniels goaded Andy into jumping into my pool ass first. Normally, this would be very entertaining, except Andy chose the shallow end of the pool for his little splashdown. In the war of human tailbone versus concrete pool, concrete always wins. This was most evident the next morning after he'd had a chance to sleep on it and the booze had time to wear off. And as I watched him get up from a chair, his wife lending an arm for support, I watched these firecrackers of pain dance across his face. Anyone that has ever injured their back knows exactly what I'm talking about. Slow, gentle movements punctuated by someone stabbing a dagger into your back for just a split second. face is normal, face is normal, face is normal, face is normal, FACE IS WINCING, face is normal, face is normal... Simply put, tweaking your back sucks.

I now find this ironic because I recall looking up at him and seeing the pain on his face, remember thinking to myself, "You poor son of a bitch, I remember what that's like and I sure don't miss it." Little did I know that about 48 hours later, it would be me with the grimaces of pain on my face.

You see, despite being eight years old, Ike is a playful little fucker. So in the morning when I'm working on the website update, he's constantly trying to jam his tennis ball in my lap, and I'm constantly telling him no. This continues until I post the initial update, and begin to go through it looking for errors, bad links, etc. When I do that, I call Ike up and sit him on my lap, thus signaling that playtime is almost here. When I'm done, he jumps down and its game on. But when he jumps down, I always try to hold onto him a little bit and slow his hump a little bit, a controlled fall if you will. Why? Hard tile floors, little doggie joints, I'm just trying to take it easy on the little guy.

Yesterday, Ike began his decent and like a hundred times in the past, I had a loose grip on his midsection following him down. But today held something a little different in store for me. Why, I dunno. I twisted a tiny bit to the right and the pain was both instantaneous and excruciating. It felt as if the devil himself had stuck his cock where my right kidney and right asscheek meet. It was the very same place the devil had stuck his cock two years prior when I reached for my bowling ball, and where he had stuck his cock three years prior to that, right after I rode my fucking ATV off the Grand Canyon. I yelped like a puppy who just bit his own tail. The sharp stabs of pain settled in as quickly as the realization that my next two weeks are completely fucked.

As I sit here typing to you I am sweating from the heating pad, nauseated from the vicodin, miserable from the pain, and dreading the next time I have to move anything below my shoulders. Somebody kill me.

sometimes red, sometiumes blue.

photos that changed the world. the world, man.

a very large collection of very not safe for work links.

Use Your Fucking Head, People.

If there's one thing I can't stand in this world, it's when celebrities get political. It's as if they they're saying because they make more money than I do, their opinion counts more than mine and that I should stop thinking for myself and adopt their ideals as my own. Tim Robbins, Sean Penn, Susan Sarandon, Martin Sheen, Janeane Garofalo, Bruce Springsteen, Chuck Norris, Bruce Willis, Curt Schilling, and of course Bono just to name a few. It drives me insane. Want to let your political views shape the world? Then run for office. Until then, shut the fuck up. I don't enjoy your movies or listen to your music or watch you throw a baseball to learn who you're voting for. I don't care who you're voting for. You vote for your guy, and I'll vote for mine. That's the way it's supposed to work. And it's the reason that I rarely if ever discuss politics here on EHOWA.

But if there's one thing I can't stand more than celebrities showboating their political views, it's the common man like you or me propogating out political misinformation. Chain letters. We all get em. And not to get sidetracked on why you shouldn't forward them out for spam control reasons, but there's a more important reason why you shouldn't send on that email about whether or not Obama puts his hand over his heart during the national anthem, or if McCain has a hundred houses. Because a they're filled with complete and utter bullshit. Flat out fabrications or intentional misrepresentations of the truth. Falsehoods. Snowjobs. Lies. Bullshit. And the ones that aren't complete bullshit, are so twisted and warped that they might as well be complete bullshit.

I had one chucklehead send me this link about how Obama repainted his plane, and the subject of the email was, "Patriot?" Are you kidding me? Do you actually extect me to believe that some people would challenge a person's patriotism because they painted over the tail of a leased jet? That's just asinine. Of course he had to paint over the American flag on the tail, it was a registered fucking trademark. Use your fucking head.

Then I had someone send me in this, detailing how Obama blew off a bunch of soldiers in a visit to Afghanistan. Stop for a second and think. Does it sound reasonable that a politician who is running for president, already accused of being light on military experience, would knowingly ignore a bunch of soldier (and potential voters) right in front of the press? Does that sound reasonable? of course it doesn't. I immediately wrote back to the sender and called bullshit. Sure enough, I was right. Not because I'm a genius -- which I am -- and not because I was there in Bagram and saw what really happened. But because much like the saying, "If it's too good to be true it probably is; If it sounds too sensational to be true, it probably is." Getting email like this makes me want to scream. I don't give a fuck who you're voting for -- just don't be a fucking sheep. So how do we protect ourselves from this? Easy. Use your fucking head.

But the Obama campaign isn't the only one to fall victim to the misinformation war, although to a much lesser degree. The latest gem to hit my inbox was something about proposed taxes. I'm sure many emails about Vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin are right around the corner, and I'm sure the small percentage of them that aren't flat out bullshit will be warped skews on the truth. Now, am I suggesting that snopes is the end-all-be-all of political information? Of course not. But those emails you people forward out surely are the end-all-be-all of political misinformation. Contrary to what some believe, just because you read it on the internet, doesn't make it true. Use your fucking head.

Turn on the television. Read some newspapers. Listen to your candidates. Make an informed decision on your own, based upon the facts and not on some fictional email hyped up by some asshole with a vivid imagination and an empty coffee cup. If you're an Obama supporter, do your candidate this favor: don't forward out any anti-McCain bullshit. If you're for McCain, just delete those "Here's why Obama is a terrorist," emails. Because when the statements therein are are proved to be untrue, you only make your own team look stupid. So don't contribute to the stupidity. Don't perpetuate the bullshit and the lies. Try something new and use your fucking head.

Love dogs as I may, I'll admit I snickered of the photo of Chai with his enormous tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth and the dumbfounded look on his face. So while yes, the design of the toy could be better, it's nothing that can't be fixed by some responsible pet ownership and a cordless drill. Speaking of dogs, first my house gets thumped on by a tropical storm named after my mom. Okay, no real harm done, that's cool. But now there's another storm brewing in the Atlantic, soon to be turning into a hurricane, and it's named after my dog, Ike. I can't sait to see the newspaper headlines on this one, "IKE TEARS INTO SOUTHWEST FLORIDA," or, "NOTHING BUT DESTRUCTION LEFT IN IKE'S WAKE." And hot on Ike's tail, is my sister-in-law, Josephine. Great. I knew I should have named my dog Elvis. There could never be a Hurricane Elvis.

And the winner in Box Dodge Fury is Tufrabza with a whopping 745.

east bound and down, snowman is 10-10 on the side -- so long jerry reed, we hardly knew ye.

anna gosline's recent article in new scientist, entitled "how does it feel to die?" got our hearts pumping...

did you know that molotov cocktail baseball was actually one of charles darwin's favorite sports to watch?

four reasons why the yankees are done. or four reasons why i am estatic. a-rod sucks.

Highlights Of Hollywood's Fall And Holiday Schedule.

Unfortunately, I saw Tropic Thunder yesterday. It's pretty sad when the highlights of the movie are the two minute snippets of Tom Cruise. I kid you not, he was the very smart high in an otherwise very stupid movie. I did like RDJr's line, "I'm a lead farmer, motherfucker!" Happy Labor Day, bitches!

APPALOOSA: Hired lawman (Viggo Mortensen and Ed Harris) take on a tough rancher (Jeremy Irons) in a Western directed by Harris. Renee Zellweger co-stars. -- I'm all over it like ants on ice cream.

BATTLE IN SEATTLE: Stuart Townsend directs girlfriend Charlize Theron in a drama about the 1999 World Trade Organization protests. -- Wow, this one sounds like it's going to be exciting. What a fucking sleeper.

THE LUCKY ONES: Iraq War vets adjust to changes on the homefront during an impromptu road trip. With Tim Robbins, Rachel McAdams and Michael Pena. -- I'm tempted, but I hate it when Tim Robbins gets all political.

PING PONG PLAYA: An Asian-American youth who has shunned his family's pingpong livelihood must step up and compete in a national tournament. -- This got the go ahead, and ynd yet we don't have Evil Dead IV yet. Are you fucking kidding me?

RIGHTEOUS KILL: Robert De Niro and Al Pacino are police detectives pursuing a vigilante serial killer. Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson co-stars. -- I dunno, the last time these two heavy hitters shared the same screen we had Heat.

SUKIYAKI WESTERN DJANGO: A gunman is caught up in a deadly battle between two clans in this Japanese take on spaghetti Westerns. With Quentin Tarantino. -- You had me at Quentin Tarantino.

SURFER, DUDE: A surfer (Matthew McConaughey) rides a wave of chaos in his life. With Woody Harrelson and Willie Nelson. -- Uh, huh.

TOWELHEAD: An Arab-American girl (Summer Bishil) copes with love, sex and acceptance amid the Gulf War. With Toni Collette, Aaron Eckhart and Maria Bello. -- I await CAIR's protests with tingling anticipation.

BODY OF LIES: A CIA man (Leonardo DiCaprio) goes after a terrorist kingpin while a crafty colleague (Russell Crowe) runs interference. Ridley Scott directs. -- I like it.

FLASH OF GENIUS: The engineer (Greg Kinnear) who invented intermittent windshield wipers obsesses on lawsuits after automakers swipe his idea. -- Seriously, they're going to make a movie about windshield wipers. Yay.

QUARANTINE: A news crew's video holds the key to the truth about a mysterious infection that strikes an apartment building in this horror tale. -- It's the closest thing we have to a zombie flick this year.

SAW V: If it's Halloween season, it must be time for another torture tale about diabolical killer Jigsaw. With Tobin Bell and Costas Mandylor. -- Anyone paying to see this should be drug out into the streets and shot. Let the fucking franchise die already.

SAW V: If it's Halloween season, it must be time for another torture tale about diabolical killer Jigsaw. With Tobin Bell and Costas Mandylor. -- Normally I shy away from politicasl flicks, but I like it.

AUSTRALIA: Nicole Kidman reunites with "Moulin Rouge" director Baz Luhrmann for the story of a noblewoman on a cattle drive in Australia during World War II. With Hugh Jackman. -- Hopefully this cattlewoman will have a 30-06 to blow my brains out before the opening credits.

REPO! THE GENETIC OPERA: Organ-donor recipients who can't make their payments face repossession in this horror-musical that features Paris Hilton. -- ????????????

TRANSPORTER 3: Jason Statham is back on the job as the ex-Special Ops guy who's now the world's most-dangerous delivery man. -- The original kicked ass, the sequel sucked ass. So let's see.

HURRICANE SEASON: In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, a coach (Forest Whitaker) leads a ragtag basketball team to the Louisiana state championships. -- Hey look, a built in sequel is in the works!

PUNISHER: WAR ZONE: The Marvel Comics vigilante (Ray Stevenson) is himself a target for vengeance by a crime boss. -- I loved Ray Stevenson in Rome, so I'm all over it like ants on a popsicle stick.

YES MAN: A guy (Jim Carrey) whose life has stagnated turns it around with a just-say-yes policy about everything. -- Hmmm, Liar-Liar II. [see the entire list]

bored on your day off? sit around and watch new orleans get beat to hell, live on webcam.

could you win $1,000,000,000 in under seconds? maybe some audience help here?

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