By sheer random luck, I ran into Jim from Opiate for the Masses, and later met Seven as well (Jim's the guitarist & keyboardist, Seven's the drummer). Opiate are originally from Phoenix, which would be a bit of a small world story by itself. But as it turns out, the place I just moved in to in LA is the same place where Jim lived for a number of years prior. Now -that- is a small world story. What are the odds, in a city the size of LA, of randomly meeting the person who just moved out of the place you just moved into? Bizarre....

I give you:

The Jet-powered Beetle.

Ride-pimpers and Boy Racers, take note: this thing doesn't use any parts that you buy at Pep Boys. You have all collectively been owned. Have a nice day.

"Here's how it works. The president makes decisions; he's the decider. The Press Secretary announces those decisions, and you people of the press type those decisions down. Make, announce, type. Put them through a spell check and go home. Get to know your family again. Make love to your wife. Write that novel you got kicking around in your head. You know, the one about the intrepid Washington reporter with the courage to stand up to the administration... You know, fiction."

Kudos to a man with SUV-sized huevos, for standing 10 feet from the Monkey Fuhrer and giving him the verbal lashing he has so richly deserved for YEARS. Not to mention the so-called "liberal media" who mostly can't seem to stomach the thought of calling the Administration out onto the carpet for its myriad lies, boundless arrogance and unending hypocrisy.