Links of the Day

What were you doing during the Cold War? I was watching G.I. Joe and the Smurfs. Emperor Misha I has a much more interesting story.
Frank at On the Fritz has a better way to decide American Idol (which is about to come to its conclusion as I watch).
I forgot to link to this yesterday. It’s a list of quotes from every single U.S. president. I thought the Lyndon Johnson one was pretty funny, and the first George Washington quote is pretty awesome.

Frank Answers: Chicken or Egg, Licking Batteries, and the Flying Frank Fan Club

Dave from Colonia, Uruguay asks:
Which came first: the chicken or the egg?
I never understood why this was considered such a hard question. Eggs predate the chicken by millions of years, harking back to first egg laying fish.
Or is this some sort of creationist thing where God just suddenly created the chicken and it fell from the sky. If that’s the case, then He would have made the chicken and not a chicken egg, because the egg would have broke upon impact. That would be cool if that were true and that God still creates creatures that way. You’re just sitting in a park, minding your own business, and suddenly this huge dino-creature God just made falls from the sky. I know that’s what I would do if I were God; find some large congregation of people and then suddenly create some horrific beast. I’d then laugh my divine ass off as everyone fled in terror. I never was in to the whole “benevolence” thing.
Carrie S. from Everett, WA asks:
Why does it tingle when I put a battery in my mouth?
Well, Carrie, you understand that batteries are a great scientific accomplishment and they cost lots of money. You also understand that to play around and stick them in your mouth is wrong, so that tingle you feel is your conscience. 9-Volt batteries cost more, so your conscience gets really tingly if you put one in your mouth. AA batteries don’t cost as much, so licking one just causes your conscience to make your tongue have a salty taste. Now listen to your conscience and stop putting batteries in your mouth.
Ingrid P. from California asks:
Were you aware that there is a small group of teenage girls who would like to marry you?? We were thinking of starting a fan site, but we need more pictures of you.
A fan site of me is a great idea, and, if Ari Fleischer can be a sex symbol, then I sure as hell can. You must be a smart group of girls. Unfortunately, I don’t have many other pictures in digital form than those ones I took by holding a camera at arms length. If there is enough interest, maybe I could use some of my donation money booty to pay to get some good pictures done. Other than that, I did find this one of me doing aikido:

I’m the one with the green belt (it was taken a little while ago; I’m a brown belt now). To the untrained eye, it may look like I’m in trouble, but, in reality, I have my opponent exactly where I want him. Let that be a lesson to you: if you attack Frank J., you’ll wind up flat on your back while I fly away unharmed. (Hopefully no one knows that that type of throw is sometimes called “The Monkey Throw” as I’m tired of me getting associated with monkeys; I hate monkeys!)


Please keep the questions coming, <a href=”mailto:THISISSPAMTHISISSPAMace you’re from, I’ll randomly select one.

In My World: Orange Alert

Rumsfeld frowned at the crowd in front of him. “Why are there so many of you?”
“After the whole Jayson Blair incident, our editors are really cracking down on us about making up quotes or just stealing stories from the reporters nerdy enough to actually go to press conferences,” explained one reporter, “So now we all had to come to actually listen to you.”
“I hate reporters,” Rumsfeld muttered, “If you want a quote, here’s one: When Jayson Blair’s book comes out, I will personally beat him to death with it. Now get on with your inane questions.”
“Why are we in orange alert now?”
“How the hell would I know?” Rumsfeld shot back angrily, “That’s home security crap. My desire to kill foreigners is always at red alert.”
“But do you know anything about what the alert may be about?”
“No, all I know is it’s some chatter about attacking a press conference.”
“Infidels!” screamed four Muslim extremists who entered the room carrying AK-47’s. “We are in charge now!”
“You know this pisses me off!” Rumsfeld growled.
“We do not care!” answered a terrorist, “We hate Jews, America, and all American officials – except for a few of the Democrats – for reasons of varying levels of coherency, and you reporters will broadcast our message or we will kill you.”
“Can’t you do both?” Rumsfeld suggested.
“Laugh while you can, infidel!” shot back the terrorist. “We will execute you, the evil one who caused war against us Muslims and bombed our villages.”
“Oh, and I’m really convinced that was a bad idea now,” Rumsfeld chuckled. He then pulled out a tape recorder. “Note to self: bomb more villages.”


“Infidel!”
“No, my name is Buck, Buck the Marine,” Buck corrected, “I’m waiting here to meet with Rumsfeld after his press conference. We were going to go to a bar, drink a moderate amount of alcohol, and discuss new wars where I would get to kill more foreigners. Hey, those are neat AK-47’s you two have; looks just like the guns used by a lot of the foreigners I kill.”
“You killed out Muslim brothers!” the terrorist exclaimed.
“You knew them?” Buck exclaimed, “What a small world. So what are you guys’ names?”
“I am Mohammed.”
“I am also Mohammed.”
“That’s funny; you’re both named Mohammed. I was once in a platoon with two guys named John. We had to give them both crazy nicknames like ‘Johnny’ and ‘Jonathan’.” Buck laughed. “So do you guys ever use nicknames like ‘Mohammy’ and ‘Mohammathan’?”
“Do you insult our Muslim religion?”
“No, I don’t meant to do that at all,” Buck said sincerely, “My parents taught me to always be nice to people of other religions since they are destined for hell anyway since they haven’t accepted Jesus into their lives.” Buck nudged their AK-47 away from him. “You really have to practice better gun safety and watch where you point those things. Never point a gun and anything you don’t mean to shoot.” A thought then struck him. “Hey, it’s an orange alert right now, which means I’m being extra vigilant, and I’m starting to think you people are suspicious.”
“We will kill you and this Rumsfeld!” shouted one of the terrorists, “Then we will spit on the American flag and burn it.”
“You just made a big mistake,” Buck said darkly, “You angered a Marine.”


“Try to negotiate with them,” urged a reporter.
“No, we may end up with an outcome where they don’t die,” Rumsfeld answered, “That’s unacceptable.”
“Can you use your warmongering to save us?” asked another.
“Fine,” Rumsfeld grumbled.
“Quiet, infidels! It is now time to execute Rumsfeld.”
“Don’t think that’s going to happen, a-rab.”
“Ha! How will you stop us, old man?”
“By drawing my guns and shooting you,” Rumsfeld said, drawing his guns and shooting him. He then rolled across the ground and held out his .45’s in two different directions, quickly dispatching the other three terrorists in the room. “There may be more terrorists in the building,” Rumsfeld warned, “So everyone take out their guns.”
“We don’t have any guns,” a reporter said.
“No guns!” Rumsfeld yelled, “You knew we were in orange alert and didn’t bring a gun! Rarr!” He then grabbed the reporter and started shaking him.
Suddenly they heard more gunshots outside the room. It went on for a few seconds and then it ceased. It was silent for a few seconds, finally broken by the shout of “Ooh-rah!”
Buck entered the room. “There was a bunch of evil foreigners outside,” he explained to Rumsfeld, “So I killed them good and then shouted, ‘Ooh-rah.'”
“We heard,” Rumsfeld answered, “Good job, Buck.”
Buck looked at the reporters as he carefully held an AK-47. “Are you sure none of them are terrorists?”
“Not that sure,” Rumsfeld replied. He then looked at his watch. “We still have time for one more question.”
“Do you think you used excessive force against the terrorists?”
“Hey, you all saw me,” Rumsfeld said, “I didn’t continue to shoot them after they were dead.” He looked to Buck. “I’ve decided that questions was asinine; hand me something to break over his head.”
Buck handed him the AK-47. Rumsfeld then smacked it over the reporter’s head, snapping off the wooden stock. “Time for drinks,” Rumsfeld announced to the reporters, “None of you are invited.”
“Do you think in the next war we could kill Commies,” Buck asked Rumsfeld as they headed out of the room, “I’m getting tired of killing these Muslim extremists; it’s too easy.”
“We’ll see, Buck; we’ll see.”