I found myself today using the phrase “You’re damn Skippy.” Someone said something to me that I agreed with, so I replied, “You’re damn skippy.” Then I thought, what the fuck does You’re damn skippy mean??

Maybe there was a time when there was a guy named Skippy, like maybe in the Old West, and he was always right. Like when the mayor of the town, or the sheriff had a question they couldn’t figure out they’d yell, “Lets go ask Skippy, he knows everything!” So they’d run off and ask Skippy and he’d always be right. So ever since then, when someone said something that was correct, they’d reply, “You’re damn Skippy!” Like some sort of tribute to a long ago genius.

But it sounds really dumb to say, “You’re damn skippy.” And it sounds even more stupid to answer back, “I’m not skippy, I’m Jetteva.” So next time someone says to me, “You’re damn Skippy,” I’m going to reply with, “You’re fucking Margaret!” That’ll leave em thinking, where did that phrase come from?

A federal judge has denied convicted Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh’s request to delay his execution.

The Judge was quoted as saying, “Look you dumbfuck, you killed 168 people. Like it or not, kiss yo ass goodbye!”

The boys at BAMF peeped me to one of the funniest things I have read in a while. Of course, I’m not counting my own writing, which is so funny, I vomit at the beginning of every torturous paragraph. As a Simpsons fan, Conan O’Brien’s 2000 Harvard Commencement Speech spoke to me in a way that few men ever have. Seriously, this is just funny stuff. Does that even make sense. Get a Rope!

At once I am saddened and heartened by this news that Elle sent me. It seem that a Guinness packaging plant in Dublin is closing down, but the workers who are laid off will get liquid compensation in the form of 10 years’ free supply of Guinness. It would suck to get laid off, but that would be a great way to go out.

In other beer news, my own wonderful politicians here in Georgia have given me another great law to protect me from the sins of alcohol. This new law requires me to register my name and other info when I purchase a keg of beer. In the event that I then give this beer to undeaged punks who die, they can track me down and prosecute me. This smacks of big brother to me. Granted, I don’t buy many kegs but how much of a leap is it to imagine that every time I buy beer in any amount, I have to register, thereby creating a record of my more than normal alcohol consumption that will come back to haunt when my plan for simian world domination finally takes shape. Please, won’t someone deliver me from this bible belt hell.

This is learning. Yes folks, face it, the days of “Conjunction Junction — what’s your function?” on Saturday morning TV are probably over for good. But that’s ok, cause we have Herman the Worm now. Yes, I know it sounds like the name of that porn movie you saw in college. This site is cute, but not over-cute, and really shows off what learning on the web can be like.

And here you thought the web was all porn and pop-up ads. I’m a little tea pot.