According to Wikipedia, the Divinyl's lovely, lovely song I Touch Myself is about masturbation.
No effing way!
Additionally, a recent discovery has been made by Democrats across the nation:
SARAH PALIN IS A GIRL!
This has just been an unbelievable day, folks. Unbelievable.
Friday 31 October 2008
Friday 24 October 2008
Shit I would do if I ran the place: Part one of a series
Screw you, Stephen.
I'm in charge now.
Imagine a beautiful world...one where I raised a standing army of over ten thousand people and stormed the capital. We ran amok on the Hill. We smashed busts of old dead guys. We defaced portraits. We littered. We were not very gentle with spines of the books in Library.
And then we knocked very politely on Stephen's door, very politely tied him up, and very politely dropped him out of the window.
Everybody else ran and screamed. My generals and lieutenants are now installed in the House, the Senate, and the Supreme Court. And myself? I am in charge of this great nation. Please follow along with me over the next few weeks as I solve all of the world's problems, rise to ultimate conquest, and settle down in the French countryside with a flock of chickens and a high-speed Internet connection.
PROBLEM ONE: WE NEED MORE DOCTORS
This may sound crazy, but I'm going to HIRE MORE DOCTORS. How? By making sure that more doctors come out of medical school. Currently, only about one in twenty applicants to Canadian medical schools are accepted. Just lowering that number to one in eighteen or one in seventeen will give no drop in quality but give us an extra few hundred prospective doctors per year. You can't increase output without increasing input.
And, this may also sound crazy, but I'm going to LET PEOPLE WHO ARE DOCTORS BE DOCTORS. As Number 2 put it during House's mad selection process in Season Four, "Schools in my country suffer from not being from this country".
Doctors train all over the world. No one who wants to practice medicine here was trained in Igor's basement lab. They have REAL DEGREES from REAL SCHOOLS. Sure, maybe they need some training to get them acclimated to Canadian health care priorities and exactly how our system works, but they shouldn't need to be driving taxis for four years while they are retaught about the common cold. Training of immigrant doctors will be done on a rotation basis by the chiefs of medicine at major hospitals across the country, and it will take three months. Not three years.
LOOK! C'EST MAGIC! FAMILY DOCTORS FOR EVERYONE! AND WE DIDN'T EVEN HAVE TO SUBSIDIZE THEIR EDUCATION BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T GO TO SCHOOL HERE!
PROBLEM TWO: THE BRITISH IN NORTHERN IRELAND
I know I'm just the prime minister. But seriously. Everyone will listen to me.
Listen up, British individuals. The reason you are in Ireland is because one of your people stirred up shit during the Jacobean era. Seventeen eras later, you're still hanging around. I know there's been peace talks and truces and ceasefires and whatever, but let's not forget that just two decades ago, people were bombing the shit out of each other on account of this centuries-old war. This is a tenuous peace at best, and you know what? Continually occupying Ireland isn't making anyone any happier. So scram. Pack up, move on back to the Motherland, where you can be hailed as a hero who kept those drunken Irish from progressing towards freedom or unity.
Your family has been there for decades, you say? Generations, even? That's fine. Stay there. Write the Irish citizenship test, become a functional member of society, and for heaven's sake, PUT THAT DAMN GUN AWAY.
I'm in charge now.
Imagine a beautiful world...one where I raised a standing army of over ten thousand people and stormed the capital. We ran amok on the Hill. We smashed busts of old dead guys. We defaced portraits. We littered. We were not very gentle with spines of the books in Library.
And then we knocked very politely on Stephen's door, very politely tied him up, and very politely dropped him out of the window.
Everybody else ran and screamed. My generals and lieutenants are now installed in the House, the Senate, and the Supreme Court. And myself? I am in charge of this great nation. Please follow along with me over the next few weeks as I solve all of the world's problems, rise to ultimate conquest, and settle down in the French countryside with a flock of chickens and a high-speed Internet connection.
PROBLEM ONE: WE NEED MORE DOCTORS
This may sound crazy, but I'm going to HIRE MORE DOCTORS. How? By making sure that more doctors come out of medical school. Currently, only about one in twenty applicants to Canadian medical schools are accepted. Just lowering that number to one in eighteen or one in seventeen will give no drop in quality but give us an extra few hundred prospective doctors per year. You can't increase output without increasing input.
And, this may also sound crazy, but I'm going to LET PEOPLE WHO ARE DOCTORS BE DOCTORS. As Number 2 put it during House's mad selection process in Season Four, "Schools in my country suffer from not being from this country".
Doctors train all over the world. No one who wants to practice medicine here was trained in Igor's basement lab. They have REAL DEGREES from REAL SCHOOLS. Sure, maybe they need some training to get them acclimated to Canadian health care priorities and exactly how our system works, but they shouldn't need to be driving taxis for four years while they are retaught about the common cold. Training of immigrant doctors will be done on a rotation basis by the chiefs of medicine at major hospitals across the country, and it will take three months. Not three years.
LOOK! C'EST MAGIC! FAMILY DOCTORS FOR EVERYONE! AND WE DIDN'T EVEN HAVE TO SUBSIDIZE THEIR EDUCATION BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T GO TO SCHOOL HERE!
PROBLEM TWO: THE BRITISH IN NORTHERN IRELAND
I know I'm just the prime minister. But seriously. Everyone will listen to me.
Listen up, British individuals. The reason you are in Ireland is because one of your people stirred up shit during the Jacobean era. Seventeen eras later, you're still hanging around. I know there's been peace talks and truces and ceasefires and whatever, but let's not forget that just two decades ago, people were bombing the shit out of each other on account of this centuries-old war. This is a tenuous peace at best, and you know what? Continually occupying Ireland isn't making anyone any happier. So scram. Pack up, move on back to the Motherland, where you can be hailed as a hero who kept those drunken Irish from progressing towards freedom or unity.
Your family has been there for decades, you say? Generations, even? That's fine. Stay there. Write the Irish citizenship test, become a functional member of society, and for heaven's sake, PUT THAT DAMN GUN AWAY.
Thursday 9 October 2008
(A/N: Here, I'm going to use the word "snowflake" [or.: RYS --> see right link list if you have yet to experience the hilarity].)
Listen up, you little snowflakes.
I don't care if you don't feel like studying the twelve chapters left after midterms for your final exam.
I don't care if you don't feel like reading a chapter on your own.
I don't care if you think the professor should change the syllabus to suit your personal tastes or desires.
I don't care if you want to pass a class or get your degree without doing any work, because that's what you're asking for. You're trying to minimize the amount of work you have to do in this class by asking for all of these chapter reductions and lecture downsizings. And I'm done with you.
Listen up. You're here to learn. If you don't want to be here, just skip the class. Hell, drop the class. Doesn't matter to me. Get lost.
And you'd better not be the same little punks who, just last week, were whining to me because the teachers were "keeping you out of class" with their big, mean strike. You wanted to learn last week; why are you wasting my time now? Why are you disrupting the lecture you were so hot be in just seven days ago?
Put up or shut up, snowflakes, or somebody's gonna get smacked.
Listen up, you little snowflakes.
I don't care if you don't feel like studying the twelve chapters left after midterms for your final exam.
I don't care if you don't feel like reading a chapter on your own.
I don't care if you think the professor should change the syllabus to suit your personal tastes or desires.
I don't care if you want to pass a class or get your degree without doing any work, because that's what you're asking for. You're trying to minimize the amount of work you have to do in this class by asking for all of these chapter reductions and lecture downsizings. And I'm done with you.
Listen up. You're here to learn. If you don't want to be here, just skip the class. Hell, drop the class. Doesn't matter to me. Get lost.
And you'd better not be the same little punks who, just last week, were whining to me because the teachers were "keeping you out of class" with their big, mean strike. You wanted to learn last week; why are you wasting my time now? Why are you disrupting the lecture you were so hot be in just seven days ago?
Put up or shut up, snowflakes, or somebody's gonna get smacked.
Monday 6 October 2008
Yeah, yeah. Strike's over. Whatever. I'd like to say I'm thrilled to be back in class, but I'm only sort of thrilled. One the one hand, it's nice to learn again. On the other hand, I still have to put up with the lovely fellow students in my department. On the third hand, which I recently had grafted to my body for just such an occasion, I was officially adopted into the School of Dramatic Arts yesterday. Aside from the fact that their acronym is SODA, my new department is super cool.
Today's frustrations:
1. Google does not respond well to natural-language queries such as "What the hell is wrong with my Vivitar camera flash?"
2. My Vivitar camera flash does not respond well to natural-language queries such as "What the hell is wrong with you?". Additionally, it does not respond well to shaking or threats of violence, either.
ETA:
Because I am a mad fantastic genius (or at least passably bright), I fixed my flash. I used ketchup to strip the corrosion off the contact plate, and voila.
And your mother told you condiments were only for eating...
Today's frustrations:
1. Google does not respond well to natural-language queries such as "What the hell is wrong with my Vivitar camera flash?"
2. My Vivitar camera flash does not respond well to natural-language queries such as "What the hell is wrong with you?". Additionally, it does not respond well to shaking or threats of violence, either.
ETA:
Because I am a mad fantastic genius (or at least passably bright), I fixed my flash. I used ketchup to strip the corrosion off the contact plate, and voila.
And your mother told you condiments were only for eating...
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