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THE BLAIR FRIDGE PROJECT
Enough of global warming - let’s hear it for local cooling! Email your most personal and intimate refrigerator images for a Cooling Gallery to be posted next week. Here’s mine, featuring pre-liberation Iraqi currency, a postcard from Guantanamo Bay, a can of wine, something called “Shito”, Campbell’s tins by Barney Greinke, and Danny Dolphin (“Julian O’Neill’s Latest Victim”):
UPDATE. A fine batch of hot reader fridges has already arrived; keep ‘em coming. Also, enjoy the very latest Detective Paco mystery.
In Uzbekistan you can buy washing-powder called Barf.
Do I win any money?
Posted by ThinAndBritish on 2007 06 07 at 12:37 PM • permalinkCrème of placenta soup, I’m not so sure… but the toad bisque gets me high!
Jaggers! This is a radio-receptive stack of metal and electronic goods tall enough to be Sydney’s other tower. How can ordinary suburban folk with their lousy three-door, plastic-faced stainless steel-handled, kitchen-eating leviathan fridges compete with this kind of thing?
Magnets just don’t stick!
I blame it on Lileks.
#5:
“This is a radio-receptive stack of metal and electronic goods tall enough to be Sydney’s other tower”Yeah you ought to be careful. People (of no appearance whatsoever) will be flying planes into it..
Posted by ThinAndBritish on 2007 06 07 at 12:52 PM • permalinkSSG Pooh…...why pour? That’s an extra step.
Posted by The_Real_JeffS on 2007 06 07 at 02:46 PM • permalinkAh, all the earmarks of an open thread! Time for a Detective Paco story. A long one, I’m afraid – will probably have to be broken up into four or five installments – for which I apologize in advance to Andrea and to all who find these stories to be a blown out truck tire on the comment highway. In mitigation of this offense, I offer the following:
1) It casts Wronwright in the heroic mold for which God always intended him;
2) It features a real-life historical figure, not too well-known today, but famous (or rather notorious) in his era;
3) It’s the last story for awhile, because things are getting too busy at the office; AND
4) It predicts who the next President is going to beFor you Detective Paco fans (if you’re both still out there), I hope you enjoy it.
Part I
Wronwright had asked me to take a trip with him, so here I sat in the lobby of the Hotel Pennsylvania in New York, scanning the sports section of the New York Times. Joe Dimaggio was off to a great start, and there was a piece about the first televised baseball game in history, which had occurred a few weeks earlier. Oh, by the way, perhaps I forgot to mention it: the day was June 10th, 1939.
You see, Wronwright had asked me to take a spin in the Tardis with him in order to stop by the mead stills in ancient Sumer. He wanted me to check out a problem he was having with “inventory shrinkage”, maybe try to tighten up security. Unfortunately, the gizmo on the Tardis that I took for the cigarette lighter turned out to be the chronologizer, and when I plucked it out of the dashboard, the Tardis came to a screeching halt in Central Park on the date noted.
My ears were ringing from a long and detailed lecture delivered by my captain on the importance of following safety rules while engaged in time travel, and an expansive digression on the subject of “Tardis repairs, difficulty of”, when I noticed that it was getting a bit warm in the cabin. “Ok, Wronwright, ok. Next time, advertise for ‘Detective, Non-Smoker, Interested in Long Walks through the Time Warp, Object: More Efficient Bootlegging.’ Oh, you’ll get calls, all right, but probably not from private dicks; it’ll be loony doctors looking for volunteers to participate in their sleep deprivation experiments or for human guinea pigs to try out some new schizophrenia drug.”
“Well, we can’t just sit here. I’m going to need to find some copper wire and new contact points if we ever expect to get back. Can you see where we are?” I looked out the porthole, and it was obvious that we had landed in a particularly lush portion of Central Park, well away from the pedestrian paths.
I was good to go: with a fedora and double-breasted suit, I could walk down the street and no questions asked. Wronwright, however, was going to need some work: no hat, Reebok Pump basketball shoes, and a t-shirt from the 2006 Ohio Beef Expo. “Mister, the first thing we’ve got to do is get you outfitted.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is 1939. You can’t go walking around in that get-up. Let’s go see if we can find a second hand clothes store. By the way, what are we going to use for money? We can’t flash the lettuce we’re carrying.”
Wronwright got up from his seat and retrieved a large strongbox from the recesses of the Tardis. He opened it and I whistled at the extent of his treasure trove. The box apparently contained every form of money coined by man throughout history. There were dollars and Mexican pesos and drachmas and stacks of ancient Roman coins, just for starters. Wronwright fished around, found a bundle of notes from the late-30’s, and peeled off a couple of hundred bucks. Something particularly interesting caught my attention and I plucked it out of the box..
“Wronwright; this stack of fifty-dollar bills.”
“What about ‘em?”
“They’ve got Hillary Clinton’s picture on them.”
Wronwright shuddered, snatched the bundle of currency from me and threw it back in the box. “I’ve taken the Tardis into the future a few times, too, Paco. There are parts of it that ain’t pretty. Let’s go.” We opened the hatch and peered into this strange new world.
Part II
We walked and we walked, amazed by the sights and sounds of Packard taxi cabs, cops swinging billy-clubs, and gals with masses of hair supporting delicate-looking summer hats, their gams wrapped in silk stockings with seams up the back. We finally washed up in front of the Hotel Pennsylvania. Just down the street was a sign: “Smilin’ Sam’s Second-Hand Suits: Better Than New”. I suggested that Wronwright venture into the haberdashery, while I went into the Hotel Pennsylvania, sat on a couch in the lobby, and picked up the day’s edition of the Times which somebody had left lying around.
A half hour later, Wronwright stepped into the hotel lobby, looked around nervously, spotted me, and made a beeline toward where I was parked. “So, Paco, what do you think?”
What did I think? At first, I thought he was nuts, then I had to admit that he had probably been put upon. He was wearing an elaborate chocolate-brown fedora with a four-inch brim and a turkey feather sticking out of a bright gold hat band. His jacket had a brown and beige checkered pattern and hung down nearly to his calves, and the pants ballooned above the knees, and then tapered to a tight fit at the ankles. It was Wronwright, sure, but Wronwright in an explosion of zoot suit glory. He might have been Cab Calloway’s understudy.
“What? What’s wrong?”
I guess I must have been smiling; I know some of the hotel guests were. “Wronwright, you look like a Harlem hep cat bound for the Savoy to participate in a jitterbug contest. The ensemble’s a little flashy for walking around Manhatten in the daylight.”
He looked crestfallen; even his turkey feather drooped. “I kinda stand out, huh?”
“Like a peacock in a chicken coop. Come on. We’ll go see Smilin’ Sam and make an exchange.”
We got Wronwright sorted out – he now looked like a reasonably honest clerk in the city waterworks department – and went back to the Hotel Pennsylvania to make our plans. We were seated on a couch facing the revolving doors. Suddenly, a tall man dressed in a blue suit and a gray homburg lurched through the doors; he glanced in near-panic to left and right, and then walked quickly to the main desk. From where I was sitting, I could hear the brief exchange between the man and the desk clerk perfectly. I looked furtively over my shoulder and could see the two, as well.
The desk clerk greeted the nervous guy with his official hotel smile. “Good morning, Mr. White.”
White muttered, “I’d like the key to my room, please. And I’m not in, ok? I’m not in? Not for nobody!”
“Certainly, Mr. White. Here you are; #315”
White grabbed his key and made for the elevators. A curious little episode, but I didn’t think much of it – until a couple of minutes later.
Have you ever gone almost seven decades back in time and seen somebody you recognized? No, of course you haven’t. But I have, and I can tell you that the feeling is nothing less than electrifying. A short, slightly overweight man in his early forties, nattily attired, and equipped with jug ears and full lips, pushed his way through the revolving doors and walked slowly toward the desk, his snap-brim hat pulled down low. An otherwise unprepossessing character – except for the fact that he had eyes that were colder and more soulless than a shark’s.
Part III
Wronwright was buzzing in my ear like a thirsty mosquito. “I guess a hardware store would have the copper wire. Now, the contact points . . .”
Whispering loudly out of the side of my mouth, I cut him off. “Pssst! Wronwright! You see that mug?”
Wronwright gave a theatrical sigh. “Dammit, Paco, if I’ve heard your George Raft impersonation once, I’ve heard it a thousand times. You haven’t been listening to me at all, have you?”
“Just keep quiet and look at that guy, will you?”
“Who? That man, there? The one who looks like a pint-sized Jack Klugman?”
“Yeah. You know who it is?”
“No, my circle of acquaintances from 1939 is pretty small.”
“Then let me make you hep to the jive, my friend. That’s Louis ‘Lepke’ Buchalter!”
“Who?”
“Louis Buchalter, Chairman of Murder, Inc.; he was one of the most brutal paid killers of the 1930’s. He’s suspected of having been involved in over a hundred murders, many of which he carried out personally.” Wronwright’s eyes rounded and his lips twisted and his adam’s apple bobbed a couple of times; he looked like an owl that had just swallowed a piece of poisoned rabbit.
We both watched as Lepke ambled over to the desk. He asked in a low voice, “Is White in?” The desk clerk – hotel smile forgotten – nodded twice. The clerk seemed to have forgotten White’s instructions pretty fast, too.
“Wronwright! Buchalter’s here to knock off White!”
“W-w-what? Who? Who’s White?”
“The nervous guy who ran in here a minute ago and left specific instructions with the desk clerk that he wasn’t in for anybody. The hotel flunky just gave White away without a by-your-leave.” I furtively felt inside my suit jacket to make sure I had Shiny Sal, my stainless steel .38 cal. Ruger Police Service –Six revolver. “Let’s see. According to the historical record, Buchalter’s not going to be taken into custody by the Feds for another couple of months; that’s plenty of time for him to get in a few more kills. Man, what a great pinch this is going to be!”
Wronwright grabbed my arm. “Paco, are you nuts? You can’t arrest that gangster! You’re not even supposed to be here, remember?”
“But I am here, Wronwright. Have you any idea of the kind of professional satisfaction a private detective would get from nabbing the head of Murder, Inc.?”
Wronwright spoke quietly, but very much to the point. “Paco, listen to me. Carefully. If you grab that guy and march him into a police station, how are we going to explain who we are? The best we could hope for is a long series of unpleasant interviews, first with the cops and then with a psychiatrist. That’s in the first place. In the second place, you’ve got to be very careful about disturbing the space/time continuum. Remember that story of Ray Bradbury’s? I don’t recollect all the details – dinosaurs figured into it, and there was something about a squashed butterfly – but the point is, anything we do now could upset the future in ways we can’t predict.”
I had to admit that he was right. I could see the headlines now: “Mobster Captured by Two Lunatics; Mayor La Guardia Expresses Thanks, Commits Heroes to Asylum.” Still, I couldn’t live with myself if I let Buchalter kill the man.
“Ok, Wronwright. I won’t take him in. But even though I don’t know Mr. White, I know he doesn’t deserve to die at the hands of that assassin. I’ve got to stop the hit, at least. Just sit tight.”
Wronwright heaved another sigh; he was the personification of Misgivings. “I know I’m going to regret this, but I’ll play along. What can I do to help?”
Part IV
I glanced quickly around the lobby. Buchalter had stopped at the news stand to buy a cigar. Good: we had a few minutes. I saw a bellhop disappear around the corner; seemed to be about Wronwright’s size. “Follow me.”
We stepped around the corner, too, and I got the bellhop’s attention. I gave him a knowing smile. “Say, bub, where does a man go to find a good time in this town?”
The bellhop – a wizened, sardonic-looking man, bent over from years of hauling grips and steamer trunks – gave me a wry grin. “Oh, there’s lots of places, Mister. And lot’s of ways to have a good time”
I maneuvered him over to a row of phone booths; all of them providentially empty at the moment. “Me and my friend, here, are looking for some female companionship, if you know what I mean?” I gave him a lewd wink. Wronwright tried a wink, too, but it came off as a nervous tic.
The bellhop took out a notebook, scribbled a telephone number on a sheet of paper, tore it out and handed it to me. I smiled, thanked him, and then one-punched him into unconsciousness with a sock on the chin. Wronwright caught him. I pulled off his jacket and cap and handed them to Wronwright. “Here, put these on.” Then we stuffed the bellhop into a phone booth. I asked Wronwright for one of his ten-spots and pushed it into the bellhop’s pants pocket. I owed him that much.
We hurried back to the lobby. Buchalter was gone. “Quick!”, I said. “Let’s run up the stairs. Room 315’s our destination.”
We burst out of the stairwell on the third floor and found the room. Wronwright knocked on the door and called out, “Letter for Mr. White!”
A nervous voice muttered, “Slide it under the door.”
Wronwright, thinking quickly, said, “It’s a registered letter, sir. You have to sign for it.” I whispered to Wronwright, “Tell him it’s from the District Attorney’s office; that ought to pique Lepke’s interest.”
Wronwright conveyed the message, and a moment later the door was opened, revealing the terrified face of Mr. White. I grabbed him by the lapels, yanked him into the hall, and pulled the door shut. Flinging him into Wronwright’s arms, I said, “Get him down to the lobby and stash him behind a potted palm or something.” Wronwright complied, and I was left alone with only a flimsy hotel door standing between me and the most ruthless hired gun of the era.
I licked my lips, held my roscoe at the ready, and stood to one side of the door. It was like having a tiger by the tail: how do you let go?
“Lepke!”, I shouted. “If that door opens without my say-so, I’m going to start shooting, and I’m not going to stop ‘til I’m out of lead!”
An angry voice came from beyond the door. “Who are you?”
“I’m not the law, if that’s what you’re worried about; just a friend of Mr. White.”
“What was that business about a letter from the DA?”
“Just a dodge so you’d let White open the door.” I looked at my watch; Wronwright should have had time to get White out of harm’s way by now. “Lepke! I’ll tell you how it’s going to be. You count to a hundred – slowly – then you’re free to walk out anytime you like. But I’ve got some advice for you. A few years from now, you’ll find yourself being escorted by the warden down a long hall, and at the end of the hall, there’s a room. In the room you’re going to see a big chair. My advice is this: when the warden asks you to have a seat, don’t sit down.” Unless I’d messed up the time thing Wronwright had been talking about, Buchalter had a date with the electric chair in 1944 – the only mobster boss, in fact, ever to be executed (legally, anyhow).
Epilogue
I ran back downstairs. I didn’t see Wronwright or his new friend. I sat down and studied my nails, like a guy who was just killing time. A few minutes later, Buchalter stepped briskly out of the elevator, slowing down just long enough to give the baffled but very white-faced desk clerk a threatening look. Then he was through the door and out on the street. Gone from my life, and soon to be gone from this world.
A few minutes later, Wronwright walked into the hotel lobby. “I got White out through a back entrance. He jumped into a cab and hightailed it.”
“Did you find out why Buchalter was after him?”
“That I did. It seems that White is an officer in the garment workers union. He’s been trying to put together a reform group to drive out the mob, and he’s been co-operating with the DA. The famous one, by the way: Thomas Dewey. The mob took offense and, well, you can guess the rest. White must’ve figured we were with Dewey’s office; he didn’t ask any questions, just seemed very relieved. Now can we go and find a hardware store?”
We located a hardware store, and Wronwright not only found his copper wire, but a set of replacement points for a 1938 Studebaker that he discovered, to his astonishment, were identical to the original points used in the Tardis’ chronologizer. We went back to Central Park, sneaked into the trees where the Tardis still lay hidden, and climbed aboard.
Wronwright turned the engine over, and while it was warming up, put the 1930’s money back in the strongbox. Even though we were on our way home, I could see that he was worried. “Paco, I really hope we haven’t created some kind of dangerous ripple effect in history.”
He was getting ready to close the box when something caught my eye and I snatched out that bundle of fifties that I had examined earlier in the day. A smile crossed my face, and I handed the currency to Wronwright. “I think we may have rearranged things just a little, Wron, and for the better.”
He examined the stack of fifties, and began to laugh. Each bill now featured a picture of Fred Thompson.
The money wouldn’t have changed, anymore than Paco and Wron would. Although the time-line which produced the Hildebeest bills was negated/revised/destroyed (take your pick), the bills themselves were not IN that time-line when it went *pop* and vanished like a fever dream.
Just as Paco and Wron were in yet ANOTHER time-line, since the Law of Temporal Conservation does not allow you to modify (or even enter) your own past. You could have popped Buchalter six ways from Sunday and not changed a thing in your own reality, simply created another variation in the Multiverse.
Nice story up till then, though.
How does canned wine stack up against boxed wine? Inquiring minds want to know.
Posted by Blue State Sil on 2007 06 07 at 07:06 PM • permalinkM E M O R A N D U M
From: VRWC Management
To: Mr. Paco
Re: Executive ConcernsDear Mr. Paco,
While your numerous contributions to the VRWC are greatly appreciated, lately a number of members of the Senior Management team have expressed concern regarding some of your operations. Specifically, we feel that some operations in the Powered Aircraft for Clandestine Operations division of Paco Industries present a risk of exposure that could endanger a significant portion of VRWC operations.
While we recognize the need for front companies designed to allow commercial operations while maintaining secrecy, there are some significant risk factors. For the most part, the front company established for this particular division of Paco Industries does a lot of things well (We have to admit that the sale of ridiculously overpriced ice cream makers is a particularly ingenious touch,) there is one major problem here. See if you can spot it.
Sincerely,
VRWC ManagementI have had about 6 weeks of being so far out of my comfort zone that it was like being on another planet. Short term memory is shot, nerves are shot, sleeping well is wishful thinking. I haven’t been able to read here every day for so long…it’s like being sick! But, the wedding went off without a hitch, the kids are safe in my spare room, my mum is on her way back to Colorado…& just as I think I have nothing left to do, Detective Paco comes along, makes me smile, entertains me…& reassures me that things are working ok in my world after all.
Thank you, Sir. You have saved what little sanity I had left.
O/T:
Keating turns on Rudd team:
... won’t get out of bed in the morning unless they’ve had a focus group report to tell them which side of bed to get out.The KRudder in a nutshell and exactly why he can’t respond to unfolding issues in real time ...
Also:
Rudd gaffes over Afghanistan troups (c/- FranKelly, who doesn’t give a damned link)Therese might get to keep the biz? :)
#37
Depends on the type of wine and the micro-climate of its origins, but generally, once you get the taste for aluminium, it’s difficult to go back.
Posted by Margos Maid on 2007 06 07 at 08:38 PM • permalink#40
Ahhhhh Keating. He is the gift that just keeps on giving where the government is concerned. Now Gillard has come out and hit back saying he is confused about the new proposals. Old Paul cannot possibly resist the urge to return fire on that one. Talk about own goal hahahaha! Keep it up Paul - every time you open that yappa the government gains a point in the polls. Fun fun fun!
I just looked at my fridge to see if it’s interesting enough for a picture. It’s fascinating, if you’re into dentist appointments, expired coupons for chain restaurants, and a shopping list that contains such exotica as “ham” and “mayo.”
Tim has convinced me that the fridge door is a palette, and a window to the soul. I will forthwith treat it as such.
OT Bolta on The Catch Up!
Awaiting exploding heads.
Posted by Nilknarf Arbed on 2007 06 07 at 10:10 PM • permalinkI know. Train wreck telly.
Bolta: Isn’t it good that we have the lowest unemployment for yonks. (paraphrasing)
Gore: But are these employed people happy?
Where’s my titanium cluebat?
Posted by Nilknarf Arbed on 2007 06 07 at 10:20 PM • permalinkOT - Looks like Newcastle is about to get a new tourist attraction.
I’d send mine in but I only just recently moved in here and haven’t had a chance to “decorate” the fridge yet. So it’s totally boring right now.
Posted by Andrea Harris, Administrator on 2007 06 07 at 10:43 PM • permalinkMy fridge is terribly boring as well. My Mrs. has a tendency to make sure everything is off the fridge.
She especially took down the one, where I had cut and pasted letters from magazines, to glue together a threatening note.
At the same time, while not a train wreck on the inside, she’s one of these persons that will have several of the same items opened at the same god damn time, for instance, coffee creamers, or packets of butter or margarine, or milk…Shit better get to work on another cut and paste note, ONLY this time, I shall put it on the inside of the fridge.
If someone, and you know who you are, is or will read this soon, all is fine and heading in the proper direction. Damn I almost said erection. Which of course has zero to do with a fridge.
Actually nothing I’ve said in my posts today, save a brief in my last one, has a god damn thing to do with fridges.
#43 MM
Ah, I see. “It’s a delightfully chipper young wine, with notes of cherry and plum, and a piquant metallic tang.”
A friend of mine has an aunt who collects fridge magnets. The woman must have thousands. Every inch of her fridge is covered in the fool things, and she switches them out on a regular basis to keep things “interesting.” She also cleans them all every couple of weeks. Yep, that’s exactly what I want to spend my spare time doing - dusting fridge magnets.
In OT news, some idiot law professor at Loyola University had this to say about poor little jailbird Paris Hilton:
“The time and resources needed to take care of a Paris Hilton are huge,” she said. “They have to make sure she is safe and her medical needs are attended to…”
That explains her early release - Large Marge and Big Bertha must have been battling it out over her, and they were afraid she’d get torn apart in the process.
Posted by Blue State Sil on 2007 06 08 at 12:10 AM • permalinkrbresca—talk about gifts that keep on giving, Hillary just hired an ex-Federal Judge who was impeached and expelled from the bench for corruption as he campaign manager.
Posted by richard mcenroe on 2007 06 08 at 12:35 AM • permalinkFor my money, there’s no greater documentary than Fridges of Madison County. Who could forget the stunning footage of the large appliance department of Sears? Or the heartbreaking scenes filmed in the back room of that run-down Salvation Army? Art. Sheer art.
Posted by Blue State Sil on 2007 06 08 at 12:37 AM • permalinkTimeline problems! The Ruger firearms company wasn’t established until 1949, so Detective Paco would be carrying a weapon from the future. And if you can carry modern weapons, why not a phased plasma rifle in the 40 watt range?
Paco probably misread the label on the gun, and it’s really a Colt Police Positive Special.
Your resident gun nut.
Posted by Ernst Blofeld on 2007 06 08 at 12:48 AM • permalinkor that breakthrough stoner comedy “Fast Times at Fridgemont High”.
I know. Lame.
Posted by anonymous guest on 2007 06 08 at 01:02 AM • permalinkAs one might expect, the noble refrigerator is also represented in literature. Who could ever forget An Occurrence at Owl Creek Fridge, Ambrose Bierce’s haunting tale of a man whose life flashes before his eyes as he opens the fridge and discovers that he’s out of beer?
Posted by Blue State Sil on 2007 06 08 at 01:10 AM • permalinkIn the Year of Darkness, 2029, the rulers of this planet devised the ultimate plan. They would reshape the Future by changing the Past. The plan required something that felt no pity. No pain. No fear. Something unstoppable. They created ‘THE KELVINATOR’
A human-looking, apparently unstoppable cyborg known as the Goreacle is sent from the future to kill Sarah Connor; Tim Blair is sent to stop it.
Posted by Infidel Tiger on 2007 06 08 at 01:13 AM • permalink#93 - Be very alarmed if it is holding power point presentations and consuming all foodstuffs in its vicinity.
Posted by Infidel Tiger on 2007 06 08 at 01:25 AM • permalink#87: 40 watts? My car’s interior light is more lethal than that.
Posted by Crusader-Rabbit on 2007 06 08 at 01:32 AM • permalinkO?T but the Kevinator has launched a stinging attack on Keating over his criticisms of him.
Reads like the verbal version of being flogged by a bunch of tulips.
The best bit is the red barrens defence of her policies.
““On what he was saying last night, it’s a bit confused. It’s not clear to me what he was saying.“The truth about Labor’s industrial relations system is it’s all about going forward.”
And that bit of waffle is supposed to inspire confidence in her abilities as a communicator?
Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 06 08 at 01:34 AM • permalink#100
An icey response by the Kevinator.(Ref #40) a very delayed KRudder response, as usual: Gizzard beats him to the punch every time - Mr Spontaneity, pfffft!
Proves Keating correct, yet again, f*cktard.
JWH lapping up every minute of it.
Keating! & Kevni - the musical comedy.
When’s it coming out on DVD?#100 I would love to see Gillard and Keating go head to head - one of the heads wouldn’t be doing much talking haha! Keating is just so arrogant, he has no idea the damage he does when he makes an appearance and takes a shot at his old nemesis litte johnny. Of course people like Phillip Addams and the like get woodies but the rest of the population get out the crucifixes.
I have just learned that Burlington, VT, which is a leading center of Vermont moonbattery, is hosting a Naked Bike Ride (hell, no, it’s NSFW) this Saturday. Pity I have to work - otherwise, I’d drive up there and take photos for our amusement.
Naked bike riding - eeeew.
Posted by Blue State Sil on 2007 06 08 at 02:09 AM • permalinkWhen you’re down and out…..when you’re on the street
Open up my crisper, girl…eat my silverbeet
I’m on your side….when times get rough
and all your milk turns sour…
Like a fridge over troubled water, I will lay me down
Like a friiiiiiiidge over trouuuuubled waterrrrrrr…...I will layyyyy meeee doooooooowwwwwwnnnnnnnnn.art garfunkel/off
#4 - A very young Yojimbo called that puppy an “icebox”. Now it is simply a “REfrigerator”. That term is probably waaay too ancient for most of you here but it is true.
Not me. I remember the iceman in his leather apron, hauling a block of ice off the back of his horse-drawn dray using giant tongs. Mind you, this was in rural Australia. Really sophisticated families not on mains supply (usually on the 32 volt system) often had an Electrolux kerosene fridge. They were either too warm or froze everything, and a couple of times a year there’d be a newspaper report of one exploding and burning the farmhouse down, because the wife let the kero level drop too low.
Of course, an icebox was really modern compared to a Coolgardie Safe.
Posted by walterplinge on 2007 06 08 at 03:06 AM • permalinkWho the fuck defrosted Keating…...
I told you all before that when you go to the FRIDGE make sure the door is closed and SEALED…0#%::@#!* idiots…#@***....RING RING ...Hello. yeah ..YES i know he is wandering around down at the ABC..what..Look just keep him busy,..What do you mean he waddled of to SBS…fuck a duck
Who the fuck defrosted Keating
He wasn’t defrosted, he got washed of the Sydney Harbour Fridge in todays downpour.
Posted by surfmaster on 2007 06 08 at 04:18 AM • permalinkPaco, you are one talented writer and should seriously consider doing so professionally. I’d stand in line to buy your first novel.
I think I will wait until they print the afridged version.
Posted by surfmaster on 2007 06 08 at 04:20 AM • permalinkUgly Naked Green bike riders
Pogria, thats one hell of a lot of bicycle racks in that pic.
Posted by surfmaster on 2007 06 08 at 04:30 AM • permalinkO/T but the Volker enquiry seems to be making a few people uncomfortable.
30 years jail for $100m of dodgy contracts.
Galloway in trouble? Note he calls the elected Iraqi government illegitimate.Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 06 08 at 04:32 AM • permalinkAiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyy.
paco! That is NOT how it went. Or at least not how my memory has it. Where are all my many acts of heroism? Did I not repair the contact points and brought us back?
(wronwright wrings hands, hoping no one of importance is reading Tim Blair today)
Posted by wronwright on 2007 06 08 at 06:44 AM • permalink#119. Pogria, nope. I just took a couple of pics of the fridge as is. And I took them before kaboom’s comment at #34.
Posted by Nilknarf Arbed on 2007 06 08 at 06:54 AM • permalinkSeriously, wronwright, what hold does this paco character have on you? Don’t tell me it’s those black and whites of you and Paris Hilton? Look, nobody knew what they were doing that night on 13th Century Hoichu peyote.
BTW, whose cruel idea was it to kidnap Paris in the Tardis and dump her in a Venezualan solitary cell for 6 months, then return her “75 hours” later? Poor girl was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. If I hadn’t written that report for her, God knows what might have happened to her mind.
Well, I thought fridgeridoo, so I went to youtube and typed in musical refrigerator, and found this. So it’s ontopic. This is much more fun than that dreary stemcell thread.
Posted by dean martin on 2007 06 08 at 09:04 AM • permalink126 Pogria
El Cid, how about we do “Freaky Fridgy” and you and I can swap bodies.
You can look like like Anna Nicole.
What will I look like?
Ummmm, since you have indicated that by swapping bodies that, I will “look like Anna Nicole”, the inference is that YOU at this moment, DO have a body “like Anna Nicole”.
Point one. Lets’ not swap bodies.
Point two. I will still look like ME.
Point Three. A tired, sweaty and with a very pleasant smile, Anna Nicole.
Memo from: Richard McEnroe’
To: wronwright
cc: PacoSubject: OEM parts and why they’re good
Unfortunately, since wronwriIIIIIIIIGHT (I’m fine, I’m fine)saw fit to use 1930’s American car parts to repair then Tardis, it has since been spotted moonlighting as a Havana taxi cab. Support Services are complaining that it’s a real pain getting the smell of cheap rum and German sex tourists out of the upholstery. Our Dark Master Karl has penciled you in for another interview in the Black Room; please bring your own iodine this time.
Posted by richard mcenroe on 2007 06 08 at 09:46 AM • permalinkYes indeed…time for another cut and paste terrifying note plastered on the FRIDGE.
I WAS going to take a pic of my FRIDGE with my shotguns arranged on top and my pistols, slung in the door handles…BUT.
I can’t find the friggin camera, wifey. GEEZUZ H. KEYRIST. Wait, maybe the damn thing is IN, the FRIDGE. SHIT!
Goodnight Pogria. Pleasant dreams.
Speaking of things that Shouldn’t Ever Be Put In Cans (we were, weren’t we?), check this out.
My fridge pic is coming, but it wont’ show the copy of the Rules of Singing the Blues I keep posted there.
They include: You can’t sing the blues if you drive a Volvo or ski.Posted by JorgXMcKie on 2007 06 08 at 12:23 PM • permalink#87.
Timeline problems! The Ruger firearms company wasn’t established until 1949, so Detective Paco would be carrying a weapon from the future.
Not to mention a serious violation of the Sullivan Act!
Posted by Harry Bergeron on 2007 06 08 at 12:38 PM • permalink#26 Mojo: I was engaging in what Rebecca would call “poetic truthiness”.
#120 Wronwright: Whaddaya mean? Didn’t you stand before the very hotel room door concealing a dangerous killer and trick him into letting his hostage open it, when you could have stayed behind in the lobby eyeing this dame? Did you not manfully say to Smilin’ Sam, when we took your zoot suit back, “Listen, buster, you tryin’ to pull a fast one on me? Gimme some regular street clothes!” And didn’t Smilin’ Sam - who, in reality, was the late Smilin’ Sam’s 70-year old widow, Norma, who had inherited the business - lose two of the three arm wrestling matches with you and have to make the exchange? Sheesh! These characters; always trying to pump their roles!
For a change of pace, ‘a whale’s natural release’. Nice photo though (SFW).
Cheers
Posted by J.M. Heinrichs on 2007 06 08 at 01:27 PM • permalinkSpeaking of Clint movies…
Heartbreak Fridge
Every Fridge Way But Loose
The Fridges of Madison CountyPosted by charles austin on 2007 06 08 at 02:17 PM • permalinkMy apologies, I see from actually reading the thread that The Fridges of Madison County was already included.
And Heartbreak Fridge.
And Every Fridge Way But Loose is really reaching.
Oh, never mind.
Posted by charles austin on 2007 06 08 at 02:24 PM • permalinkSorry I’m so late to the thread.Fine job detective paco.Next time you need a period firearm you can borrow my great grandfathers Colt.Can’t lay my hand on it at the moment but I think it’s a nickel plated Police Special .38.He was a small town southern policeman who actually arrested one of Al Capones men while the gangster was visiting one of our part time working girls.He then had to escort him via train back to Chicago single handed.True story.Of course,I’m sure the aforementioned gangster was promptly released upon his return.
#158: Now, that’s an interesting story, greene. Hope their were no repercussions for your great-grandfather. Incidentally, I saw a movie a few years back about one of Capone’s relatives (a cousin I think), who was an honest lawman in a small town (somewhere in Kansas, I think), and actually had a couple of run-ins with the employees of his more famous relation.
I’m sticking by my story that Detective Paco’s Ruger .38 would have gone back with him to 1939 - same as his hat, his suit and his cigarettes. The physics of fantasy is at least as negotiable as the physics of global warming.
CHINESE WEDDING NIGHT
A young Chinese couple gets married. She’s a virgin. Truth be told, he is a
virgin too, but she doesn’t know that. On their wedding night, she cowers
naked under the sheets as her husband undresses in the
darkness.He climbs into bed next to her and tries to be reassuring. “My darring,“he
whispers, “I know dis you firss time and you berry frighten. I pomise you, I
give you anyting you want, I do anyting - juss anyting you want. You juss
ask. Whatchu want?” he says, trying to sound experienced and worldly, which
he hopes will impress her.A thoughtful silence follows and he waits patiently (and eagerly) for her
request. She eventually shyly whispers back, “I want to try something I have
heard about from other girls… Numbaa 69.”More thoughtful silence, this time from him. Eventually, in a puzzled tone
he asks her…“You want… Garlic Chicken with corrifrowa?”
159 paco… Sir,please don’t take my suggestion as literary critisism.I love detective paco.And no, my great grandfather lived to the ripe old age of 86.He never suffered any ill effects from the arrest of the gangster.I suspect if law enforcement in Chicago conducted themselves like GreatGrandpa there wouldn’t have been much of a mob problem.To illustrate his code of honor.My Grandfather,(his son) once threw a young man of his acquaintance through a plate glass window for cussing him about his dad.Greatgrandad promptly arrested both of them .Then bailed his son out of jail the same evening.
#160 Okay yojimbo…. I had to locate the aforementioned pistola. It’s a Colt Army special .38.It’s an antique so I usually keep it put in a safe place.For family security there are a wide variety of firearms that I can lay my hands on.My favorite being my turkey shotgun loaded with 3 1/2 magnum loads.
OT but one for Melbournistan Blairite cranks: the latest “mind, body, spirit” festival is on at Jeff’s Shed in town.
I would normally suggest that we stay away in droves, but I just had a call from a friend of mine who went last night.
There tend to be some freebies at these things, and at this latest edition of the festival thee are people giving out bags with information about islam. My friend got a bag, a book and a disc. (Not sure if it’s a cd or a dvd - I’ll find out next week when she’s over).
Gotta get in with the moonbats and luvvies, I guess.
I went to one of those things years ago to check it out, and all those kirlian photography stands, the fairy-hunters and scientologists did my head in.
Posted by Nilknarf Arbed on 2007 06 08 at 08:15 PM • permalink#173 paco, I always thought they were the ones where you didn’t have sex and just got all spiritual with your partner.
After reading this, I’m now thoroughly confused myself.
Tantric teachings embrace the concept that everyone has an intrinsic potential, realizable through the experience of tantric practices. In the Eastern religious thought, Tantra is a pathway to spiritual attainment. In the Western mind, we can consider it a doorway to achieving our ultimate potential – a joyful life, sharing love, celebrating everything. The Divine Union is a powerful tool to help us get there.
Anyone who can make sense of that paragraph will earn themselves a skippy badge.
Posted by Nilknarf Arbed on 2007 06 08 at 10:54 PM • permalinkHeld annually since 1989, the MindBodySpirit Festival is Australia’s longest running and most respected wellbeing event. It attracts predominantly women from middle to upper household incomes between the ages of 20 and 45, who are genuinely interested in wellbeing products and services.
I take it these things are crawling with silly bints like that doctor’s wife who quit her job to become a self-proclaimed Ambassador of the Environment. I’d love to go to something like this for laughs.
Must-attend seminars and the catalog descriptions they forgot to add:
Vibrational Essences - A Guide to Gaia-Friendly “Personal Massage Devices” (wink wink nudge nudge)
Uncovering your Past Lives through Dreams - Once An Asshat, Always An Asshat
Conceiving Naturally - Insert Tab A…
Medical Qigong Kinesiology - No, We Don’t Know What The Hell It Means Either, But It Sounds Really Cool And New-Agey, Doesn’t It?
Posted by Blue State Sil on 2007 06 08 at 11:01 PM • permalink#20: Just don’t do a runner on us like last time, detective.
No, dminor, nothing like that. It’s just that there are a number of time-sensitive projects I’m working on, which means fewer pointless meetings, which means fewer opportunities for me to compose my bits. You see, quite a bit of my stuff represents an attempt on my part to keep amused while sitting through meetings, roundtable discussions, the occasional bun toss, etc. Take the weekly senior staff meeting, for example: half a dozen bores (including myself) sitting around a table, gassing on about this and that, recycling stale cliches. Are we faced with a nettlesome problem requiring additional research? Then we must “peel the onion.” Are there easy tasks that can be accomplished quickly? Permit me to “pick the low-hanging fruit”. Productivity low? Time to “squeeze the orange.” After an hour or so of this, I’m in danger of pitching head-first onto the table to the accompaniment of a fanfare of my own snores (a fortissimo). Picture that scene from The Wizard of Oz - the one with Dorothy and her pals in the poppy field - and you will have a very accurate picture. So, I jot down notes for plots and dialogue to keep my mind occupied. However, as I mentioned, there might not be so many opportunities for a while.
Nilknarf Arbed
As far as I know Tantric sex is sex where the bloke doesnt spoof and stays hard for ages.(I recall that from my teenage years as “trying to get to third base”) Leading to what I also recall from my teenage years as a condition known as blue balls. (ladies dont believe it when the bloke says its fatal)
Nearly every “serious” tantric site says the same thing, “its not about sex” before it carries on about sex.
Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 06 08 at 11:21 PM • permalinkPicked a good day to sit up. Thanks for the laugh, Detective Paco.
Heap good medicine.
Posted by MentalFloss on 2007 06 08 at 11:27 PM • permalink#178 Thanks, frollicking.
Whatever happened to just getting your rocks off? Or am I missing something and gussying it up with spiritual gobbledygook makes it somehow more worthwhile?
Posted by Nilknarf Arbed on 2007 06 08 at 11:38 PM • permalinkNilknarf Arbed
I believe its popularity has to do with “would you like to reveal your inner goddess though the powerfull and ancient traditional non-sexual art of Tantra” working much better than “You look like a good sort, want a root?” in certain inner city areas. (and most uni’s)
Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 06 08 at 11:57 PM • permalink#186/187
I will never, ever get tired of those photos. Not so hot now, eh, Paris?
Her brief stint of house arrest sounded pretty good to me, actually. Fruit baskets, catered lunches, cupcakes delivered courtesy of some fawning idiot of a bakery owner, no responsibilities, no pressure, nothing to do other than hang around a palatial mansion - what do I have to do to get that gig?
Posted by Blue State Sil on 2007 06 09 at 01:03 AM • permalink#188 Pogria, I’m sure that there will be some representatives from one of PACO Industry’s subsidiaries selling snacks and drinks along the line. They’ll make a fortune off the five hour waits to get into the confessional.
#190 Blue, you simply need to be an ugly, untalented slut with parents who run a mostly over-rated hotel chain.
I too confess, my glee at seeing “stupid spoiled whore” sent back to jail was a little unseemly.
Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 06 09 at 01:48 AM • permalinkAsh_
Thats 5% AFTER you pay for stock, insurance, fees, charges, stamp duty, medical coverage, unemployment insurance, superannuation, and protection money.
Dont think of it as “low wages” so much as “incentive to work harder”.Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 06 09 at 01:58 AM • permalink199. Um, the not sure how to break this but the protection money is your health insurance, medical cover AND superannuation all rolled into one. The piranah brothers offered a most compelling package.
Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 06 09 at 02:37 AM • permalinkAhhh, in that case, TFM, I better pay the protection money. It seems like a wise investment.
Egg_, the best chance Paris Hilton’s possible future kids has is for their dad to be some really intelligent guy who then files for sole custody. But that won’t happen, because very few intelligent guys would sleep with Paris, I think.
O/T (if it still has one) But Mr Fisk appears to be re-writing a bit of history to suit his arabic masters.
Heres his take on the 6 day war.
No#1
A few of my favourites from the article.
“..it was Israel which attacked Egypt after Nasser closed the straits of Tiran and ordered UN troops out of Sinai and Gaza following his vituperative threats to destroy Israel.”Closing off a countries only sea lane whilst threatening to desroy a country IS a declaration of war in most peoples books.
No#2
“..Le Figaro carried an article announcing that “the victory of the army of David is one of the greatest of all time”. Believe It or Not, the Second World War - which might be counted one of the greatest of all time, had ended only 22 years earlier.”I think a victory over a number of fronts simutaniuosly IS one of the major victories Mr Fisk?
No#3
“Only the president of France, General de Gaulle, moved into political isolation by telling a press conference several months later that Israel “is organising, on the territories which it has taken, an occupation which cannot work without oppression, repression and expulsions -”See the Evvvilll Joooos got to deGaule as well.
No#4
“..with the exception of one small Christian paper, there was in the entire French press one missing word: Palestinians.”Thats because the “Palestinians” as a construct werent even accorded a seperate status till AFTER Arab armies got their collective asses kicked.
The fact that a newspaper prints his anti Israel garbage is all I need to know about which paper to avoid ever buying.
Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 06 09 at 03:37 AM • permalink#208 Rod C, according to the news tonight (ch nein), Bono and Geldof are unhappy with the G8 summit.
Apparently $71bn in aid isn’t enough for Africa, with half of it to come from America.
The poor cat got a fright when I shouted at the tv.
Oh, and as for Paris bleating on about how it’s not fair?
Dude, you did the crime, now do the time. As for the sheriff who took pity on her and sent her home to comfort, is it possible he can be sacked? No wonder the judge is pissed at him.
Talk about a publicity whore.
Posted by Nilknarf Arbed on 2007 06 09 at 04:21 AM • permalink#209 Nilk Never watch nein, only the abc -at least I know they’re not even pretending to be unbiased.
$71 bil…. lot of dosh. Lets see
anc $20 bil, kenya pres $5 bil…... etc etc. Wonder how much goes in organisational and administrative expenses???And as for our other topic -publicity as an adjective…?? Perhaps, but you could do totally without it in this case.
Cheers
RodCOff Topic, but relevant.
Kae is not posting because her server is on the fritz and no-one will fix the problem because of the long weekend.
She may be off line for a couple of days.
I thought maybe you could all send her a cheerio. She’ll be stoked when she can read through all the posts and know that you haven’t forgotten her!
Hiya, Kae! Hope you don’t suffer too much from withdrawals.
Nah, Geldof was never the squillionaire that Bono is, but I’m pretty sure he’s done quite nicely out of being anti-poverty. Better than he ever did with the Boomtown Rats at least.
Not that that was difficult.
A quick google of bono taxes brings up this, this and this one.
I find the last link quite interesting indeed.Hypocrisy, thy name is Bono.
Posted by Nilknarf Arbed on 2007 06 09 at 05:40 AM • permalinkI just learnt a New word!!!
Gorenography.
This is the disgusting garbage that young leftards hide under their beds to retrieve when mates come over for a bit of “oh yeah, mmmm baby, show me your melting peaks, oh god, make those polar bears starve!!!
As opposed to,
Gorerotica,
the tasteful depiction of pitiful Penguins looking across the vast expanse of ice and wondering “will we make it back to our beloved ocean or die trying?”
MentalFloss is here?
(wronwright subtely stuffs Sumerian and Akkadian tablets under sofa)
Posted by wronwright on 2007 06 09 at 07:35 AM • permalinkMy fridge has little magnets from countries my wife has visited. She makes a point of buying them and has about 40 so far - nice effort.
Re Paris - that photo of her crying is PRICELESS. The stupid bitch drove drunk 3 times and could have killed many innocent people. She needs her arrogant selfish bitch face to be taught a major lesson in humility and respect. I don’t care about her fame - just her “F U” attitude to the law. The judge has nicely sorted her out.
Well done!
re movie title - I scanned through but didn’t see:
“Debbie does The Fridge”
remember him?
hehe
Apparently Bonzo tried to turn this historic Martello tower (a la Fort Denison in Sydney) into a restaurant ... class act, not.
Instrumental pluckers.
#223
OUCH!! There eight minions living under that sofa Wronwright! I was just doing their annual squalor inspection.However, I’m pleased with the vast numbers of empty Sumerian mead amphorae you keep bombarding them with. Makes for a lovely bit of squalor, that does.
MarkL
Minionmeister to the VRWC#195
frollickingmole, a local radio station (Canberra 104.7 FM) has a pair of loons on in the morning - quite funny.
They have been running with the Hilton gaol thing, starting off with what they called ‘The Shawskank Redemption’ when they found out she was toting a Bible around. Their take was that it was having a huge impact, because millions of people were saying “Look! Why is that skank carrying a Bible?” Jokes aplenty have been made, ranging from:
slap!
waaaah!
‘Congratulations Mrs Hilton, it’s a slut!’to one about video cameras.
Once she was in the hole, their commentary was renamed ‘The Shawskank Chronicles’, and piss-funny it was. I am looking forward to what they saw come Tuesday morning.
MarkL
Canberra#229 - skiing - is that like sport in an outdoor fridge?
Posted by surfmaster on 2007 06 09 at 08:20 AM • permalink228. MakL
I like it. At work all I get is bits of radio national. Not a lot of entertainment there.
Shawskank redemption bwahahahaha, I like it.Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 06 09 at 08:37 AM • permalinkKae needs a bloke to do bloke things!
Chocolate never did it for me. I needed bread, cheese, olives, gherkins and salami.
The only sweet thing I craved were peanut butter and honey sandwiches on multigrain bread.
I still can’t keep peanut butter in the house ‘cause I’ll eat the jar within two days. mmmmmmm, peanut butter, oaoaoaooarrrrggghhh.
My son can’t stand it!!
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Is Shito the Japanese equivalent of Shinola?