Welcome

You are lucky enough to have found Finucane dot org's Web Presence.

The big one with the blurry head is Daniel. He looks cherubic in photographs. His brother, Tim, wears a play carpenter's apron as a cape. Their mother, the patient woman helping to unrap, covered part of Tim's cape with a wild animal teeshirt featuring glow in the dark eyes. This article doesn't detract from the cape's use or visual appeal.

Finucane dot org's greedy nephews.

After much comment from Kirsten about Finucane dot org not including any pets, I include the following snapshot. This cat is at her cutest when she soils the carpet or bites me when I try to kick her out in the morning. She is called Henrietta. The shopping bag obscures Henrietta's gross obesity. It is an awful site to see her ponderous rolls of fat flail when she races (like the Sumo, Henrietta will move swiftly in short, powerful bursts) to her food bowls. The other cat (named Ella, not pictured) is skittish and becomes flatulent with pleasure when petted.

The cat's in the bag.

Last weekend we patriotically in cherished memory of our fallen heros in this, our time of gravest sorrow and resolve went to Las Vegas to support the struggling travel and entertainment industry. Kirsten and I broke even. The same can not be said for our companions. The secret is to bet the absolute minimum required to come out down two grand, then stop. Stop, go to the ATM, and then go back to lose some more. Then stop again and shoot yourself.
The vibrant glow you observe on the right half of the thumbnailed picture on top is not etherial vapor from doomed spirits cursed to forever plague the nightmares of Vegas scumbags; its a smudge on the camara lens. I've wiped it clean since this was taken.

Supplicants before the
almighty Dollar.

A quick bite to eat.

We were just thinking tonight about those enormous bedridden fat people who can't move and need cranes to take them out when they choke to death on their own swollen tongues, lolling and sweltering in their turgid blubber. Well, how do they get like that? They get that way by their family bringing them six chickens a day and tubs of ice cream and a grocery bag full of big macs. And then, for whatever reason, they get cut off from their supply and die.

There are analogs to this situation. Unfortunately, the Finucane dot org creative team wasted its quota of coherence coming up with the horrible description (in the process losing its capacity for rational thought), so there will be no political dynamite awaiting the fuse of radical imagery we fomented.

Political dynamite, eh? The cat disdains that kind of talk.

So I heard on KPIG this morning a gentleman comically lambasting the recently publicized behavior of mutual fund managers. He ended his piece by saying the fault is in deregulation, and if we further devolve the Federal Govt's power in the form of privatizing the social security money pit we are doomed.
KPIG is a very good radio station. They used to be world famous for their free live internet feed, but the RIAA got wind and... At any rate, their politics lean toward "straight-shooting freedom-loving leftist", so I shouldn't have been dismayed.
Here's my rebuttal anyway. It's common knowledge that mutual funds perform worse than the stock market over the long run. Any fool who puts their money in one is asking to get ripped off. The best punishment to levey on the industry is for private investors to sell off their funds and invest elsewhere. The idiot wing of the libertarian party would recommend gold. I suggest tulip bulbs. If they prove themselves trustworthy, then people may choose to invest in mutual funds again.

The alternative is for some regulatory half-measure shat out by whomever in congress got the fattest contribution from the banks that will
a) Give the socialists clout as backlash to the right's misdeeds,
b) Provide a new fluffy legislative cocoon so the public can go back to sleep, and
c) Slip more convolutions and loopholes into financial law for secretive experts to exploit at the expense of laymen.

In response to this article, I wrote the following complaint to the BBC:

Your article blaming the MyDoom worm on Free Software zealots disregards truth in its effort to glamorize virus writers.

By now you will have learned MyDoom, its variants, and nearly every other Internet worm released in recent years are created to enlist "zombie" hosts for sending spam email.

The automated distributed denial of service attacks reported to be their intent are with all likelihood a successful attempt to mask the worm-writers intentions from a gullible public.

Furthermore, in an effort to promote a perception that virus writers are mad geniuses, manipulating the black arts of computer science to bend the will of men and nations, the article variously describes MyDoom as "wickedly genius" and "clever evil". MyDoom is virtually the same program as the "ILOVEYOU" worm from 2000. It exploits the same flaws in the Microsoft OS and email readers that security experts have complained about for 15 years. Its "clever evil" -- if you must inform via hyperbole -- is its camouflage as a benign attachment.

Fair, well-reasoned reporting will help prevent the spread of viruses and worms. Alarmist cant will not.

What do you think? Is "alarmist cant" a cliché? Do I have too much time on my hands?

Oooh, that was a bit trite. Alarmist cant? I'm lame. Its also funny that I accuse the editors of "inform[ing] via hyperbole", when I--ostensibly in an effort to inform--riddled my note with exageration. A gullible public? Bend the will of men and nations? The article to which I replied was written at about the same time the BBC recieved its censure for the David Kelly affair. So I was doubly self-righteous.

A good resource to check your work for cliche is, of course google!
alarmist cant
Looks like I'm OK.

On the other hand (heh), the hackneyed redundancy "harbinger of things to come is worn so thin you can read Leviticus through it.
I read somebody else complaining everybody says "harbinger of things to come". I thought "harbinger of doom" was more overused, but I was wrong.

Check out this lady's site. Unbelievable. She's a motorcycle junkie from the Ukraine who takes cruises through the ghosttowns surrounding Chernobyl.

The big one with the blurry head is Daniel. He looks cherubic in photographs. His brother, Tim, wears a play carpenter's apron as a cape. Their mother, the patient woman helping to unrap, covered part of Tim's cape with a wild animal teeshirt featuring glow in the dark eyes. This article doesn't detract from the cape's use or visual appeal.	Finucane dot org's greedy nephews.
After much comment from Kirsten about Finucane dot org not including any pets, I include the following snapshot. This cat is at her cutest when she soils the carpet or bites me when I try to kick her out in the morning. She is called Henrietta. The shopping bag obscures Henrietta's gross obesity. It is an awful site to see her ponderous rolls of fat flail when she races (like the Sumo, Henrietta will move swiftly in short, powerful bursts) to her food bowls. The other cat (named Ella, not pictured) is skittish and becomes flatulent with pleasure when petted.	The cat's in the bag.
Last weekend we patriotically in cherished memory of our fallen heros in this, our time of gravest sorrow and resolve went to Las Vegas to support the struggling travel and entertainment industry. Kirsten and I broke even. The same can not be said for our companions. The secret is to bet the absolute minimum required to come out down two grand, then stop. Stop, go to the ATM, and then go back to lose some more. Then stop again and shoot yourself. The vibrant glow you observe on the right half of the thumbnailed picture on top is not etherial vapor from doomed spirits cursed to forever plague the nightmares of Vegas scumbags; its a smudge on the camara lens. I've wiped it clean since this was taken.	Supplicants before the almighty Dollar. A quick bite to eat.
We were just thinking tonight about those enormous bedridden fat people who can't move and need cranes to take them out when they choke to death on their own swollen tongues, lolling and sweltering in their turgid blubber. Well, how do they get like that? They get that way by their family bringing them six chickens a day and tubs of ice cream and a grocery bag full of big macs. And then, for whatever reason, they get cut off from their supply and die. There are analogs to this situation. Unfortunately, the Finucane dot org creative team wasted its quota of coherence coming up with the horrible description (in the process losing its capacity for rational thought), so there will be no political dynamite awaiting the fuse of radical imagery we fomented.	Political dynamite, eh? The cat disdains that kind of talk.
So I heard on KPIG this morning a gentleman comically lambasting the recently publicized behavior of mutual fund managers. He ended his piece by saying the fault is in deregulation, and if we further devolve the Federal Govt's power in the form of privatizing the social security money pit we are doomed. KPIG is a very good radio station. They used to be world famous for their free live internet feed, but the RIAA got wind and... At any rate, their politics lean toward "straight-shooting freedom-loving leftist", so I shouldn't have been dismayed. Here's my rebuttal anyway. It's common knowledge that mutual funds perform worse than the stock market over the long run. Any fool who puts their money in one is asking to get ripped off. The best punishment to levey on the industry is for private investors to sell off their funds and invest elsewhere. The idiot wing of the libertarian party would recommend gold. I suggest tulip bulbs. If they prove themselves trustworthy, then people may choose to invest in mutual funds again. The alternative is for some regulatory half-measure shat out by whomever in congress got the fattest contribution from the banks that will a) Give the socialists clout as backlash to the right's misdeeds, b) Provide a new fluffy legislative cocoon so the public can go back to sleep, and c) Slip more convolutions and loopholes into financial law for secretive experts to exploit at the expense of laymen.
In response to this article, I wrote the following complaint to the BBC: Your article blaming the MyDoom worm on Free Software zealots disregards truth in its effort to glamorize virus writers. By now you will have learned MyDoom, its variants, and nearly every other Internet worm released in recent years are created to enlist "zombie" hosts for sending spam email. The automated distributed denial of service attacks reported to be their intent are with all likelihood a successful attempt to mask the worm-writers intentions from a gullible public. Furthermore, in an effort to promote a perception that virus writers are mad geniuses, manipulating the black arts of computer science to bend the will of men and nations, the article variously describes MyDoom as "wickedly genius" and "clever evil". MyDoom is virtually the same program as the "ILOVEYOU" worm from 2000. It exploits the same flaws in the Microsoft OS and email readers that security experts have complained about for 15 years. Its "clever evil" -- if you must inform via hyperbole -- is its camouflage as a benign attachment. Fair, well-reasoned reporting will help prevent the spread of viruses and worms. Alarmist cant will not. What do you think? Is "alarmist cant" a cliché? Do I have too much time on my hands?
Oooh, that was a bit trite. Alarmist cant? I'm lame. Its also funny that I accuse the editors of "inform[ing] via hyperbole", when I--ostensibly in an effort to inform--riddled my note with exageration. A gullible public? Bend the will of men and nations? The article to which I replied was written at about the same time the BBC recieved its censure for the David Kelly affair. So I was doubly self-righteous. A good resource to check your work for cliche is, of course google! alarmist cant Looks like I'm OK. On the other hand (heh), the hackneyed redundancy "harbinger of things to come is worn so thin you can read Leviticus through it. I read somebody else complaining everybody says "harbinger of things to come". I thought "harbinger of doom" was more overused, but I was wrong.
Check out this lady's site. Unbelievable. She's a motorcycle junkie from the Ukraine who takes cruises through the ghosttowns surrounding Chernobyl.