Arch Stanton Guest Post: Kim Jong Il’s Titles, Ranked

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Everyone knows North Korea’s leaders (Kim Il-song, Kim Jong-il and Kim Jong-un) have an array of special titles, but they have more than you’d think. Like, WAY more. Many are simple modifiers on a title, whether normal or imagined. North Korean media is required to use one of these when addressing their leader in a publication, and is encouraged (read: also required) to bold their name or use a larger font. I wanted to rank them because I love ranking things, and because it’s important to know what to call our benevolent overlord after the impending war caused by our saber-rattling septuagenarian. Just kidding! We’ll all be swallowed whole in a nuclear hellfire before that! Let’s get to it already.

Amazing Politician: At first blush, you’d think this was an honor, but stop and think about it for a minute – an amazing politician is someone who is dishonest and manages to shoehorn their way into every topic regardless of their stance and is all-around terrible. This is basically saying, “you have a lot in common with Ted Cruz”. Fuck no.

Superior Person: What? It seems very half-assed. North Korea, I expect better from you… said no one ever.

Savior: I like my cult leader titles to be a little less on the nose.

Leader

Unique Leader

Great Leader

Peerless Leader

Respected Leader

Dear Leader

Wise Leader

Brilliant Leader

Supreme Leader of the Nation

Beloved and Respected Leader: Why are there so many modifiers for ‘leader’? it’s a very modest title, but if we’re going to use it, I will take two compliments rather than just one.

Fate of the Nation: Sounds like a lot of pressure. No thanks.

Commander-in-Chief: America let a fat idiot who is scared of stairs (http://thehill.com/homenews/media/325280-cnn-reporter-is-trump-afraid-of-stairs) use this term. No thanks.

Sun of the Communist Future: Here is the part of the list consisting of heavy-handed endorsements of communism which, hard pass.

Leader of the Party, the Country and the Army

Great Leader of our Party and of our Nation

Sun of Socialism

Leader of the Party and the People

Eternal General Secretary of the Party

Highest Incarnation of the Revolutionary Comradeship: If we’re going to embrace the communist monikers, let’s REALLY commit to it at least.

Great Man, Who is a Man of Deeds: I mean – what? He does deeds? Are they dirty deeds? Are they done dirt cheap? If any outlet uses this title, someone’s getting sent to a prison camp because this is a total cop-out. “Kim Jong-un, he does things” – get the fuck outta here.

Shining Star of Paektu Mountain: I don’t know what Paektu Mountain is, but I have a hunch it’s fake.

Bright Sun of Juche: Also fake.

Bright Sun of Pudank: Definitely fake.

Dear Father: Sounds like a weird Nicholas Sparks fan-fiction.

Beloved Father

Father of the Nation

Father of the People

Guarantee of the Fatherland’s Unification: I hate the use of “guarantee” as a noun. I base this opinion on absolutely nothing of substance or verifiable reason.

Symbol of the Fatherland’s Unification

General: Needs more gusto.

Great General: Better.

Beloved and Respected General: THERE it is.

Great Marshall: Bland.

Great Defender: Leaves a lot to the imagination. Thanks for defending us from… freedom of speech? Democracy? Food that isn’t dirt?

Leader of the Revolutionary Armed Forces: “Revolution” is such a gaudy term. It suggests being a part of the proletariat at one point in the past. Not us, we are sophisticated people of good breeding and can have no such stink on us.

Mastermind of the Revolution: You can call Kim Jong-un the mastermind of a revolution that happened twenty-four or twenty-five years before he was born, because that makes total sense. Also I just learned that no one knows his actually birthday – he is either 34 or 35, and there is a lot of debate on this. You learned something today!

His Excellency: Solid, but infringes heavily on the Pope, who’s got his own shit going on right now. I’m about cultivating positive PR, and we don’t need to get the stink of the Catholic Church all over us.

Sun of the Nation: Eh.

Great Sun of the Nation: Oh fuck yeah, much better.

Great Man, Who Descended from Heaven: Feels kind of blasphemous doesn’t it? I can dig it.

Glorious General, Who Descended from Heaven: ACTUALLY blasphemous.

The Great Sun of Life: In a sea of vastly over dramatic claims, “Sun of Life” is TOO much.

Leader of the 21st Century: Feels ho-hum, does it not?

Bright Sun of the 21st Century: You’re just describing the sun – no shit it’s bright, that’s literally what a sun is.

Great Sun of the 21st Century: ‘Great Sun’ I can definitely work with though.

World Leader of the 21st Century: There we go. I am all about being the apex of a new world order.

Guiding Star of the 21st Century: NOOOOOPE quasi-deified leader is much better.

Guiding Sun Ray: Got a real cult vibe to it, which fits in my life goal of having my own cult. Don’t worry, you’ll all get an invitation.

Invincible and Triumphant General: ‘Invincible’ is such an incredibly ballsy modifier. Do you think people roll their eyes (figuratively, lest they have them literally plucked from their skull) when they hear that? Like… we all know he definitely isn’t invincible, but we all have to pretend anyway. Everyone called his dad invincible, and then he just… left? Went to a farm upstate? He died! He definitely wasn’t invincible! Plus, triumphant is fantastic too – this five foot five inch chubby internet troll has only been triumphant against his generals when he makes them play Warcraft with him.

Ever-Victorious, Iron-Willed Commander: ‘Ever-victorious’, like North Korea has ever won a war. ‘Iron-Willed’ is great though. Credit where it’s due.

Party Centre: This is what I like to think people say about me when I show up at the bar.

Dear Leader, Who is a Perfect Incarnation of the Appearance that a Deader Should Have: I will not attempt to mask my tremendous vanity. Please refer to me as “Dear Leader, who is a perfect incarnation of the appearance that a leader should have Arch Stanton” going forward. I will not respond to anything else.

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Arch Stanton Guest Post: Episode 20 of Today I Learned – Michael Malloy

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I attended grad school about an hour away from my undergraduate college at the same time my brother was finishing his undergrad degree there. One Alumni Weekend, a friend flew in and encouraged me to make the drive to see each as we no longer lived across the street from each other. I drove in Friday after class, looking for a casual night as I was to play third base in an all-day softball tournament the next day, only to learn my friend’s arrival had been delayed, and she was going to be in town much later than originally intended. As two idiots in their early twenties are wont to do, my brother and I hit the bars. Our drink of choice was a “trashcan” – essentially a Long Island Iced Tea with a can of Red Bull shoved in the top. As two idiots in their early twenties, we were incomprehensibly shitfaced almost immediately, which did nothing to deter us from selecting something less volatile. After spending roughly a hundred bucks on these drinks in a bar where a $40 bar tab was a wild aberration, you could say I was inebriated.

Given the alcohol and the Red Bull, the rest of the night is spotty, a night deserving of the concept of ‘browning out’ – never quite blacking out, but retaining no clear memories. After stiff arming my late-arriving friend on the way out of the bar, the rest of the night consisted of an Impressionist-painting of fleeting recollections, with the only clear memory I have being of me laying on a couch at 6 sharply aware of how fucked I was for my 8 am alarm.

My alarm rings. In that instance between “asleep” and “conscious”, my mind panics and expects a catastrophic hangover. But no! I open my eyes, and feel positively delightful! I grab a bagel, hop in my car and drive straight to another bar (gotta pregame for the softball tournament, obviously!). I walk in, and one of my teammates immediately remarks “you are so drunk right now”. Well, that explains the lack of a hangover. Our tournament goes off without a hitch, assuming drinking a bar out of Bud Lights throughout five games is “without a hitch”. I play third base during the third or fourth game with my glove on my left hand, and a beer in my right; despite my inebriation, there was no one else on our team who could throw a ball from third base to first base – grad school does not attract the finest athletes. I drink all day, and all night, and go to a bar Sunday afternoon to keep drinking – it is football season after all. After twelve hours drinking on Sunday, we go to a strip club to round out what was certainly the drunkest I have ever been in my life.

I don’t tell this story to brag (it should be more of a warning if anything). I tell this story because I look back astonished I could drink that much, and then realize this bender was only a fraction of what Michael Malloy experienced, the drunkest human to ever live.

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Michael Malloy was a coffin-polisher (I’m sure you could rustle up an internship on Indeed if this career path sounds promising) during the Prohibition. Malloy was a great worker, not because he was talented, but because he was paid solely in booze. Not only did he consume his liquid paycheck, he had also had a running tab at his dear friend Tony Marino’s speakeasy. Tony Marino, what a great pal for letting Malloy run a tab while everyone else had to pay for their drinks as they went along! Good ol’ Tony!

Turns out, Tony was deeply in debt and had devised a clever ruse to get himself out of it: he took out a life insurance policy on his drunk friend Malloy, and would let him die of alcohol poisoning in order to collect the pay out. Did I say Tony was a friend? I meant Tony was a total motherfucker.

Tony started pouring shots for Malloy – as soon as Malloy finished one, Tony topped him off. This happened for THREE DAYS STRAIGHT. Three straight days of Prohibition-era moonshine, and Malloy walked in on day four and allegedly proclaimed, “ain’t I got a thirst!” Today, we would call this a drinking problem, to which Malloy would respond how his only problem was his drink wasn’t topped off. Tony, being the enterprising entrepreneur he was, decided a change was needed – he gave Malloy a few shots of whiskey, and then switched in wood alcohol. The “alcohol” following “wood” is misleading – it’s poison. It’s literally methanol, and causes blindness and death because it is ACTUAL POISON.

A spot of poison never slowed our protagonist down though! By “spot”, I mean “another three days of drinking poison”. Day six of this bender and Malloy gets faint and collapses to the floor, his breathing slowing dramatically. Tony must have given an audible cheer that his plan finally worked, only for Malloy to start snoring on the floor of his bar. Malloy is pretty good at holding his alcohol-poison apparently.

Pissed, Tony and some friends wake Malloy up and start feeding him oysters covered in denatured alcohol (also literal poison) and give him more wood alcohol. Nothing. They graduated from oysters to rotted sardines stuffed with shrapnel between bread. Malloy ate that and asked for a second. Tony and his friends had begun shoving antifreeze, turpentine, horse liniment and rat poison into Malloy in attempts to accelerate the process. Not only was Malloy not dying, he was having a delightful time, hanging out with his dear friend Tony, who was kind enough to feed him in between drinks!

Malloy passes out again. Tony and his friends pick this grizzly-bear-masquerading-as-a-human-man and drag him to a park bench in the middle of a snow storm and soak him in water. Malloy’s liver may be able to process poison (at least until the cirrhosis sets in), but he is still merely a man, and “soaking wet in a snow storm” is a death sentence. PSYCHE! Malloy ambled his way in the bar the next day complaining of a “wee chill”. At this point, Malloy has already established himself as a Wolverine-like superhero incapable of death.

THERE IS STILL MORE. Malloy has been impossibly drunk, poisoned, fed shrapnel, poisoned again, and left to freeze, and just pushed on through that the perseverance is inspiring. Tony, outright pissed at this point and moves from “passively letting a man die” to “let’s kill this son of a bitch”. Tony and a friend drag Malloy out into the street and hold him up so a third friend can hit him going 45 mph in a car. Just to be safe – history has shown there is no such thing as “overkill” in regards to Malloy – they back over him before leaving him in the street. Dead in the street, Malloy’s asshole friends left to collect their hard-earned insurance.

Just kidding! Five days later, Malloy high steps his way into the bar where he proclaimed “I sure dying for a drink!” There’s a thought experiment about how we are all technically immortal until proven otherwise – God had attempted to show otherwise, and Malloy had issued a rebuttal to God and shown he was immortal. After another undefined window where Malloy drank everything in sight, he passed out. Tony dragged Malloy to a hotel with gas lamps, which he proceeded to hook a nozzle into the gas and put it directly into Malloy’s mouth.

The next morning Michael Malloy was dead. Seriously. He was not coming back this time. Tony and friends collected their insurance, and had a story they would be sure to laugh about down the road. Local police heard rumors of this unkillable man, and eventually looked into it, exhuming Malloy’s body and discovering he had died from pneumonia and not the previously proclaimed gas leaked. Consider – this man had been poisoned for roughly ten days, abandoned in the freezing cold, hit by a car, poisoned some more, and had gas pumped directly into his lungs, and a cold killed him. Long story short, Tony and his friends were eventually sent the electric chair for killing this earthbound deity.

Everyone knows the story of the impossibly-difficult-to-kill Rasputin, but Rasputin doesn’t have shit on Michael Malloy, a man many would confuse as an exaggerated drinking tale masquerading as folklore. But no, Michael Malloy really existed, and he was the drunkest human being who ever lived, putting your best drinking story to shame a dozen times over.

Elon for the W

I couldn’t be more thrilled with this guy. Three years ago, I strongly disliked him. Fast forward to 2018 and this guy is both a personal hero and officially the real life Tony Stark. Here is an amazing series-of-photos meme from the internets:

And another great photo:

And to think, last weekend I stumbled across the following bumper sticker and was ecstatic to share it with this readership:

Now, I’m doubting the true extent of the innovative spirit and capitalist bent of Galt/Taggart. I’m pulling my vote from their box and casting it for Musk/Thiel.

Just once, I want Elon to finish an earnings call with “I will stop the combustion motor of the world.”

So I ask you: Who is Elon Musk?

Song of the Day (9/7/2018)

But before I begin, this:

Yes, China’s richest man and eternally adorable Mogwai, Gizmo could leave Alibaba in the near future. For the sake of keeping Geofredo Bezos busy and honest, hope that doesn’t happen. I side with Alibaba – we need to keep Amazon’s American imperialist aggressors at bay.

The song of the day. I may have shared this one before but it’s too good to not share again. It’s Disco Inferno by The Trammps.

Now, here are some license plates, bumper stickers, and signs from recent travels for your feigned enjoyment:

(I am serious, and don’t call me Shirley)

Bonus points to Arch Stanton for finding these gems:

Apologies for the grab bag of random shit in this posting. Remember to keep shopping Alibaba – we need to put food on the table for Jack Ma. Just nothing after midnight.

Arch Stanton Guest Post: A Ranking of Global Titles and Honorifics

An ordered ranking of titles or honorifics I would liked preceding my name. To be clear, I will accept any of them, and the ranking is more or less arbitrary. Some warrant long discussion or clarification, some don’t. Don’t bitch about how I only included the masculine derivations – it’s not my fault history features almost entirely male rulers. I’ll do my best to summarize some of the more abstract ones. Starting from the bottom:

  1. Sir: The lamest of titles – seriously, they gave one to fucking Bono. I would almost be insulted if offered it. This is what the drive-thru attendant at McDonalds call you after he dipped his balls in your drink. This is what you say to the cop that just wrote you a ticket before you call him a fuckface under your breath. This is what your overweight gym teacher demanded you call him. I get its granted by the Queen, but c’mon, it’s shit. I bet the Queen is hoping she dies before she needs to knight a DJ. (Related – Clint Eastwood is knighted! Clint: 1. John: 0.) (Brief DD Interjection: FUCK YOU, ARCH! “I won’t be wronged. I won’t be insulted. I won’t be laid a-hand on. I don’t do these things to other people, and I require the same from them.” – John Wayne)
  1. Elder: This is the guy who passes around the collection plate at church on Sunday mornings, basically to get out of wrangling his kids during the boring services. Hard pass.
  1. Laird: As a concept (the owner of a large and long-established Scottish estate) – awesome. As a title – unimpressive. Too similar to lard, and I don’t need to draw the comparisons.
  1. Boyar: An aristocratic member of Russia, next in rank to a prince. I knew a guy with the last name Boyar in undergrad, and he was a weirdo. He got married and had a kid within a year of graduating. No thanks. (DD Interjection: Boyar was far beyond “socially uncomfortable” – what a weird guy)
  1. Honorable: I hear it and think local or small-court judge, but televised!
  1. Earl: Has been repossessed in the name of American culture as the name of schlubby guys with far more attractive wives on sitcoms.
  1. Nawab: A Muslim ruler in South Asia. Doesn’t roll off the tongue.
  1. Prime Minister: It just seems so… petty. So European. Ugh.
  1. Pasha: A high-ranking Turkish officer.
  1. Lord: Not bad, but kind of played out with the rise of “Game of Thrones”. Lacks imagination.
  1. Imtiaz: Kind of a vague title for someone distinct or unique from Arabia.
  1. Szlachta: Legally privileged noble class of Poland – who wants that? And the title, it’s just so… Polish. No.
  1. Emir: A Muslim ruler or local military commander. Short, simple, kinda boring but not inoffensive.
  1. Lama: Buddhist teacher. He can really haul off and whack one – big hitters, the lamas – long into a ten thousand foot crevasse. You know what he says to me? Gunga galunga. So we finish eighteen and he’s going to stiff me, and I say, “hey lama, how about something for, ya know, the effort?” and he says, “oh there won’t be any money, but when you die, on your deathbed you will receive total consciousness.” So I got that going for me, which is nice.
  1. Samraja: An Indian king or prince, above a regular raj. The ‘sam’ complicates it.
  1. Count: Middle of the road British nobility. A middle of the road name for a middle of the road title.
  1. Sayyid: A Muslim descendant from Muhammad. Seems a bit blasphemous to me, but what do I know.
  1. Datu: Senior members of Phillipino royalty. Eh.
  1. Shah: Monarch of Iran. Sure, I’ll take it I GUESS.
  1. Cardinal: Senior member of Roman Catholic Church. Ho-hum.
  1. Kazoku: Japanese title for an individual in the line of succession.
  1. Marquess: British nobility. Before we get to the rest of the titles below, the order of importance, starting with the most significant title to the least: Duke, Marquess, Earl, Viscount, Baron. It just lacks that “UMPH” you want in a title ya know?
  1. Sharif: Someone of noble or highborn Arab class.
  1. Sheik/Shayks: Another Arab leader, but not quite a hereditary or noble birth, but still — “Sheik Stanton” works for me.  (DD: I love this)
  1. Maharaja: Sanskrit for “great or high ruler”. I could work with it.
  1. Junker: A young German noble or lord. Has really been bastardized into crappy or a drug addict, but kinda bangs as a sophisticated title. The associations drag it down a notch. I feel like you would be confused for a poor person in the Star Wars universe.
  1. Brahmin: Highest Indian class of priests, teachers and educators.
  1. Dauphin: Heir apparent to the French throne. A bit feminine for my taste, but feels regal regardless.
  1. Caliph: The primary Muslim civil and religious leader acting as a successor from Muhammad. Another one that is pretty great, but seeing as how whenever anyone hears it, all they think is “ISIS claimed they were the new caliph right?”, probably not something to be associated with if you ever want to fly on a public airplane again.
  1. President: Has lost it’s luster recently. They’ll let ANYONE be a president now.
  1. Suzerain: An individual placed in charge of another autonomous state in order to exude control – think a British appointment sent to India to run the country. A pretty rad imperialist concept if I may say so myself.
  1. King/Emperor: Overdone. Not against it, but very played out in modern culture. Taking one would get you confused with a competitive Dungeon Master or adult kickball league MVP.
  1. Duke: Sure.
  1. Senator: Not like our modern, American senators, who are feckless cowards in the face of the oncoming Trump Train, but in the Roman sense. If the former, much lower, but if the latter, I would be pretty comfortable with.
  1. Bishop: Technically below Cardinals (and Archbishops but we’ll do just the one), but do cardinals have the coolest chess piece named after them? They do not. Bishop is a rad title.
  1. Raj: Indian ruler. I like it.
  1. Viscount: The ‘vis’ makes it hella cool. I feel like a virtuous dignitary on an intergalactic space station. Getting to the good stuff now.
  1. Burgrave: A German ruler or governor of a town or castle. A little under the radar as far as titles go, but even if you didn’t know what it was, you’d think, “oh shit that’s a bad ass” when someone introduces themselves as Burgrave.
  1. Margrave: A Holy Roman Empire commander sent to maintain a border province of said empire. Castles are cool, but a whole province? C’mon, that shit is cool.
  1. Shogun: Japanese commander-in-chief. The Japanese have always had emperors who were considered the rulers, but shoguns controlled all the military might at a time in history when that was basically all you had if you claimed to be in power, so shoguns were the real heads of state in feudal Japan. Projects a sense that you are not to be fucked with.
  1. Jagir: A feudal lord in South Asia. It sounds like jaguar!
  1. Baron: The lowest of British nobility, but by far the coolest. You’d be impressed if you met a Duke or a Marquess, but you’d think “aww yeah this dude fucks” if you met a baron.
  1. Sultan: Muslim sovereign ruler. It just has the right panache, ya know?
  1. Chief: Not going to lie, this might be the best title if you think about it. What is a chief? He is all forms of government for an area, as well as the military leader and cultural epoch. Chiefs are cool, and, if assigned as it was originally intended, a truly bad ass title. It loses points because it has been so diminished by dudes in pop collars at bars trying to act like they want to fight and put someone down by sarcastically calling them “chief”. Way to go dildos, you ruined the coolest title.
  1. Hidalgo: Not the horse, but nobility on the Iberian peninsula who were exempted from taxes but owned little property. I am fascinated as to how that all worked. If I introduce myself as “Hidalgo Stanton”, you’re first thought would be ‘he doesn’t look Hispanic.’
  1. Czar: Russian emperors. Exudes superiority and power, and that’s really what this all about. Loses points for being eradicated as a concept in a basement somewhere during the Russian Revolution.
  1. Governor: Not in the American state sense, but like the head of state for a foreign territory or Caribbean island. THAT is the type of persona I wish to flaunt. “Here’s Governor Stanton, and welcome to our tropical paradise, would you like a rum-based drink out of a coconut with a little umbrella in it? Hell yes you do.”
  1. Sheriff: Probably the lowest ranking title here, but definitely one of the coolest. Seeing as how this is partially a Western movies themed blog, its high rank is doubly warranted.
  1. High Priest: Not just a regular priest, but like, higher. Typically Irish or Celtic in origin, but more widely accepted as “any non-Christian religious figure”. Christianity would call it blasphemous, but I would call it awesome.
  1. Kaiser: German for “emperor”. When you hear about kaisers, you are hearing about people who are not to be trifled with. Kaisers are here to fuck shit up, and I am on board.
  1. Sovereign: A bit vague and expansive for any particular definition, but typically used by imperial explorers or autocrats in reference to the rulers of another territory, used in order to convey their high rank without knowing the specific or preferred term for a ruler. You may get confused for a sovereign citizen slash someone who is definitely on multiple government watch lists, but it definitely has that je ne sais quoi I’m looking for. Radiates power and nobility, with a hint of intrigue.
  1. Viceroy: Similar to a suzerain, a ruler placed in charge to exercise authority over a colony on behalf of another state. I’ll be damned if the West didn’t come up with a lot of interesting ways to exert imperialist control over the rest of the world, all of which use bad ass titles. Similar to viscount, calling yourself Viceroy so-and-so makes me think you are a intergalactic strongman on a remote smugglers’ planet.
  1. Pharaoh: FUCK. YES. You know EXACTLY what is in store when you hear about Pharaohs, and that is definitely the title for me. You can squabble about the rankings, but you are incorrect if you pick anything other than Pharaoh as number one.

Arch Stanton Guest Post: Animals With Fraudulent Diplomas

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A while back I wrote an article about a bleakly American Wikipedia page (“List of federal political sex scandals in the United States”), which started as delightfully anodyne – he may have been gay! He loved a black woman! – and ended up with a lot of sexual assaults and a suicide. Sorry about that. It took a turn I did not expect, and I wasn’t about to toss the whole thing (I am not a very diligent editor). As you can tell by the title here, it is unlikely we run into such a macabre conclusion this time. ANIMALS WITH FRAUDULENT DIPLOMAS!

Before we dive in, let’s consider the pretext for this article more closely – are we to understand there are animals out there with LEGITIMATE diplomas? Where is THAT list? I imagine it’s the hypothetical monkey who eventually tapped out Shakespeare on a typewriter after an infinite time frame and that painting elephant with an honorary art degree. Alas, there is a trend you will soon see.

Colby Nolan: Colby Nolan was a six-year old house cat who was awarded an MBA in 2004 by the illustrious Trinity Southern University. Are you unfamiliar with Trinity Southern? It’s probably because it was a Dallas-based diploma mill that would send you a diploma for $299.00. Colby’s owner, a Pennsylvania deputy attorney general, sent a resume stating Colby – who is a cat by the way, let’s not forget that critical detail – had taken classes at a local community college, worked at McDonalds, babysat and maintained a newspaper route. This cat is out there trying to provide for his family. Trinity responded due to the lack of experience, they would need another $100.00 to process his degree. Lo and behold! Colby got an MBA. Trinity was subsequently sued into oblivion. THIS CAT EARNED HIS DEGREE DAMNIT.

George: George is a cat owned by BBC host Chris Jackson who wanted to prove the illegitimacy of hypnotherapy. Jackson got his cat registered with the British Board of Neuro Linguistic Programming, the United Fellowship of Hypnotherapists and the Professional Hypnotherapy Practitioner Association, thus securing George’s licensed accreditation as a hypnotherapist. I would still let George tell me my future.

Henrietta: Another house cat owned by a journalist with a vendetta, Henrietta obtained a diploma from the American Association of Nutritional Consultants. Upon being accepted, her owner responded it was an honor that would have to be award posthumously as the cat had passed away. I SWEAR THIS IS AS SAD AS THIS GETS.

Kitty O’Malley: Obviously another cat (she is also identified as Spanky, which is a WAY better name), this one obtained a high school diploma from Washington High Academy in Florida. Kitty/Spanky then applied to multiple local colleges, none of which accept her. I am as shocked as you she did not get into Florida State, where she could have majored in prescription forgery, insurance fraud, or aluminum-siding resale.

Oliver Greenhalgh: A cat accepted into the English Association of Estate Agents and Valuers after sending eleven guineas, a piece of British currency that had been out of commission for over a century. The English Association of Estate Agents and Valuers aren’t even good at being paid for their scam.

Oreo C Collins: A cat who “graduated” from an online high school, despite later admitting she had to lie about her age in order to qualify. Oreo was heading an investigation by the Better Business Bureau.

Zoe D Katze: Cat owners really ride hard for puns while naming their pets. This German cat also obtained multiple hypnotherapy certifications after her snitch of an owner followed a vendetta against palm readers and tarot card readers. Get a hobby nerd.

Lulu: In 2010, a class action was underway against Virgin Islands’ Concordia College for defrauding “students” with bogus degrees. Mark Howard, one of the attorneys for the claimants, used his dog Lulu as evidence of the illegitimacy of the college. In court, Lulu had “graduated” with a better GPA than one of the key defendant witnesses. This is the academic equivalent of the kid who was benched on his high school basketball team in order to open up playing time for Air Bud.

Molly: In 2012, a Houston news team got a degree from a local diploma mill for a photographer’s basset hound after sending a $300.00 check and completing a “laughably easy take-home test”. This news team could have just completed the take-home test on their own to show how easy it was, but a wise producer managed to shoe horn a dog into the story, and here we are, talking about it six years later. That is a producer who is good at their job.

Pete: The American University of London offered a four-year lurcher (basically an off-brand wolfhound) an MBA for $4,500.00 despite making up all his work experience and an undergrad degree from a fictitious undergraduate program. Pete managed to get his MBA just four days after applying. Good boy, Pete.

Sassafras Herbert: FINALLY someone who knows how to name a dog! Sassafras got a diploma for $50.00 from the American Association of Nutrition and Dietary Consultants. Let the free market settle which degrees are fake and which are real, I always say.

Sonny: Sonny got a medical degree, excuse me – A FUCKING MEDICAL DEGREE – from Ashwood University after listing work experience of “significant proctology experience sniffing other dogs’ bums.” That’s just A+ comedy writing guys. That’s better than you’ll get on this internet backwater of a site.

Wally:  Wally received an associate degree in childhood development from Almeda University in 2004 after claiming to “play with kids every day… teaching them to interact better with each other… teaching them responsibilities like feeding the dog.” Almeda University returned fire, claiming Wally’s owner had committed perjury by creating a false identity using a fabricated name and date of birth, thus illustrating Almeda University’s lack of understand about the concept of perjury. Wally was born to be a star, because he went on to be featured in a Wisconsin mayoral campaign with a dialogue bubble “I graduated with [mayoral opponent] Bill Chesen”, referencing the candidates phony Almeda University bachelor’s degree. Wally is better at political satire than any other writer, dead or alive.

Ollie: Mike Daube, a public health expert in Western Australia, used his dog to promote a list of made-up credentials like “past associate of the Senton Park Institute for Canine Refuge Studies”, which was the pound where Daube had rescued Ollie. Multiple predatory journals accepted her application as a member, with the Global Journal of Addiction and Rehabilitation Medicine naming her an associate editor. Jesus guys, get it together, you aren’t even TRYING anymore.

Maxwell Sniffingwell: HELL YES this is the good stuff. Pompous British name by someone who clearly has never been out of the tri-state area? Big ol’ checkmark. An Arkansas veterinarian submitted an application to Belford University on behalf of his English bulldog based on his work as a reproductive specialist (NICE), noting his natural ability in theriogeneology (basically animal husbandry, or “pet-fucking” for the less initiated). The application was accepted with a payment of $549.00.

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m about to pet my dog and pad my resume. Au revoir!

House of the Day (and Random Bidtits; 9/4/2018)

First off, HAPPY (belated) CAPITAL DAY!!!  Yes, it’s that time of year where we celebrate the hard-fought battles of capitalists past.  I’ve often struggled with officially moving the Capital Day holiday to the first Monday of March but I fear that without a September Capital Day to keep you grounded in the realities of elementary economics, you risk slipping into the throes of organized labor.  Let’s not let that happen.

Capitalism.  Because our financial lifeblood flows through this fount. (Thanks for the term, Uncle Ethan.  Since day one, Uncle Ethan has been a major source of inspiration for this blog.  And to quote a mutual friend, “sometimes I got the sugar, and he got the coffee.  Sometimes I got the coffee, and he got the sugar.”)

Plus one more shout-out to Arch Stanton.  Arch recently shared what has proven to be one of the greatest articles I’ve ever read.  It’s American Hippopotamus by Jon Mooallem.  Don’t let his New York Times leanings/credentials scare you, this article (https://magazine.atavist.com/american-hippopotamus) will entertain you for nearly two hours and it’s well worth your time.  You can also click the article link and listen to the audio version.  Reading this, I even learned about a new animal, the dik-dik.

Some of you may be aware that I have a FOB Ukrainian co-worker.  Today, someone asked her if she’s ever considered getting a tattoo.  She responded that she wouldn’t get one now but did consider getting one many years ago at the age of 12.  Before I could connect my brain with my mouth, I blurted out “of what, a map of Ukraine?  That would’ve been a great idea up until 2014.”  Other office mates shared a solid chuckle.  She turned commie red with embarrassment.

This readership may be aware that I’m an amateur real estate and property appreciator in my spare time (I prefer to surf the web rather than work on my spare tire).  As such, I’d like to begin a new category of posts around houses and real estate.  Postings on the topic will come far and few between.  Lucky you.  I won’t bore you with details like price or square footage – the photos are enough before I lose your ever-fleeting attention.  Today’s house of the day used to belong to something of a personal hero of mine: Howard Robard Hughes.  Without further ado, the house:

May the virtues of American Capitalism keep your arrow straight and true.