My dogs (Springer Spaniels) do this - albeit not quite as "honk honk" as this - when they're on the chase, it's them communicating to their pack that they're on the chase. Stupid humans are supposed to join in the chase but they never do.

>> ^artician:

>> ^quantumushroom:
taxocrats are hoping Paul will get the nomination (he won't) so the marxist could run easy, deceptive ads about what a kook Paul is.
I'd vote for Kook Paul over the marxist.

Have your read Marx? I just want to know if you understand what that means, or if you're just talking out of your ass.


QM thinks Karl Marx was the one who honked a horn instead of talking.

>> ^Retroboy:

That bastard. He didn't even honk his horn first.


'Coooooomiiing throoooooooooooouggghhhhh'

'Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwp'

That bastard. He didn't even honk his horn first.

You guys don't honk three times at intersections anymore?

I just can't keep up.

Comment hidden because you are ignoring dag. (show it anyway)

It reminds me of the transition time when cars shared the road with horses. People definitely didn't trust cars then either and made them take all kinds of crazy precautions like honking three times at an intersection.>> ^kulpims:

@dag I wouldn't trust a car with my life just yet

I had a cat that I took on a car ride once because he was so cool. The car ride over stimulated him and he had seizure. He pissed and shit all over my passenger's side floor. Turns out he was epileptic >> ^Fletch:

The only time (and last time) I took a cat somewhere in my car without a carrier, he disappeared. He seemed a little stressed about the ride, so I figured he was under the seat or something, until the lady behind me honked her horn. I looked in my rearview mirror and my cat was taking a shit on the rear deck right between the speakers.
Use a carrier.

The only time (and last time) I took a cat somewhere in my car without a carrier, he disappeared. He seemed a little stressed about the ride, so I figured he was under the seat or something, until the lady behind me honked her horn. I looked in my rearview mirror and my cat was taking a shit on the rear deck right between the speakers.

Use a carrier.

Honk honk. I like this guy.

HONK!

If you watch the longer version of this video...I think this guy hit hard enough to trigger his fuel shut off. They are parked there for awhile and it looks like either someone is coming up to the vehicle or someone is getting in and out of it. And the truck keeps honking on it's own...either because of some sort of fuel problem or they shook a door open.

And it looks like there's 3-4 tracks. So it's like having 3-4 really close speed bumps and they launching off one to hit the side of another with their rear tires landing in between them making it even more jarring...so they probably can't help but hit the gas when they get jarred.

If it's like the way they do rail road track around here, they put space barriers on each side of the track so there's enough for the train wheel to fit between it at the block. Then they lay the asphalt up to the block so there's not a hard corner to wear down or pop tires. So the surface of the asphalt and the surface of the track are about level but the asphalt slopes up to and away from the tracks on both sides to return to roadway grade....probably for drainage reasons. And between the tracks is usually a treated wood or concrete gap space so there's not enough gap for wheels to drop down between the tracks when crossing them.

Can't imagine people don't recognize that as a railroad crossing considering the drop down bars and the Xing markings. Plus it has to look like a massive heaving in the ground when you drive up to it.

Who was honking?

>> ^gwiz665:

Bukowski wrote that? Huh, guess I should reevaluate my position on him.


This is one of my favorite short stories of all time:

http://plagiarist.com/poetry/194/

Cass was the youngest and most beautiful of 5 sisters. Cass was the most beautiful girl in town. 1/2 Indian with a supple and strange body, a snake-like and fiery body with eyes to go with it. Cass was fluid moving fire. She was like a spirit stuck into a form that would not hold her. Her hair was black and long and silken and whirled about as did her body. Her spirit was either very high or very low. There was no in between for Cass. Some said she was crazy. The dull ones said that. The dull ones would never understand Cass. To the men she was simply a sex machine and they didn't care whether she was crazy or not. And Cass danced and flirted, kissed the men, but except for an instance or two, when it came time to make it with Cass, Cass had somehow slipped away, eluded the men.

Her sisters accused her of misusing her beauty, of not using her mind enough, but Cass had mind and spirit; she painted, she danced, she sang, she made things of clay, and when people were hurt either in the spirit or the flesh, Cass felt a deep grieving for them. Her mind was simply different; her mind was simply not practical. Her sisters were jealous of her because she attracted their men, and they were angry because they felt she didn't make the best use of them. She had a habit of being kind to the uglier ones; the so-called handsome men revolted her- "No guts," she said, "no zap. They are riding on their perfect little earlobes and well- shaped nostrils...all surface and no insides..." She had a temper that came close to insanity, she had a temper that some call insanity. Her father had died of alcohol and her mother had run off leaving the girls alone. The girls went to a relative who placed them in a convent. The convent had been an unhappy place, more for Cass than the sisters. The girls were jealous of Cass and Cass fought most of them. She had razor marks all along her left arm from defending herself in two fights. There was also a permanent scar along the left cheek but the scar rather than lessening her beauty only seemed to highlight it. I met her at the West End Bar several nights after her release from the convent. Being youngest, she was the last of the sisters to be released. She simply came in and sat next to me. I was probably the ugliest man in town and this might have had something to do with it.

"Drink?" I asked.

"Sure, why not?"

I don't suppose there was anything unusual in our conversation that night, it was simply in the feeling Cass gave. She had chosen me and it was as simple as that. No pressure. She liked her drinks and had a great number of them. She didn't seem quite of age but they served he anyhow. Perhaps she had forged i.d., I don't know. Anyhow, each time she came back from the restroom and sat down next to me, I did feel some pride. She was not only the most beautiful woman in town but also one of the most beautiful I had ever seen. I placed my arm about her waist and kissed her once.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked.

"Yes, of course, but there's something else... there's more than your looks..."

"People are always accusing me of being pretty. Do you really think I'm pretty?"

"Pretty isn't the word, it hardly does you fair."

Cass reached into her handbag. I thought she was reaching for her handkerchief. She came out with a long hatpin. Before I could stop her she had run this long hatpin through her nose, sideways, just above the nostrils. I felt disgust and horror. She looked at me and laughed, "Now do you think me pretty? What do you think now, man?" I pulled the hatpin out and held my handkerchief over the bleeding. Several people, including the bartender, had seen the act. The bartender came down:

"Look," he said to Cass, "you act up again and you're out. We don't need your dramatics here."

"Oh, fuck you, man!" she said.

"Better keep her straight," the bartender said to me.

"She'll be all right," I said.

"It's my nose, I can do what I want with my nose."

"No," I said, "it hurts me."

"You mean it hurts you when I stick a pin in my nose?"

"Yes, it does, I mean it."

"All right, I won't do it again. Cheer up."

She kissed me, rather grinning through the kiss and holding the handkerchief to her nose. We left for my place at closing time. I had some beer and we sat there talking. It was then that I got the perception of her as a person full of kindness and caring. She gave herself away without knowing it. At the same time she would leap back into areas of wildness and incoherence. Schitzi. A beautiful and spiritual schitzi. Perhaps some man, something, would ruin her forever. I hoped that it wouldn't be me. We went to bed and after I turned out the lights Cass asked me,

"When do you want it? Now or in the morning?"

"In the morning," I said and turned my back.

In the morning I got up and made a couple of coffees, brought her one in bed. She laughed.

"You're the first man who has turned it down at night."

"It's o.k.," I said, "we needn't do it at all."

"No, wait, I want to now. Let me freshen up a bit."

Cass went into the bathroom. She came out shortly, looking quite wonderful, her long black hair glistening, her eyes and lips glistening, her glistening... She displayed her body calmly, as a good thing. She got under the sheet.

"Come on, lover man."

I got in. She kissed with abandon but without haste. I let my hands run over her body, through her hair. I mounted. It was hot, and tight. I began to stroke slowly, wanting to make it last. Her eyes looked directly into mine.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"What the hell difference does it make?" she asked.

I laughed and went on ahead. Afterwards she dressed and I drove her back to the bar but she was difficult to forget. I wasn't working and I slept until 2 p.m. then got up and read the paper. I was in the bathtub when she came in with a large leaf- an elephant ear.

"I knew you'd be in the bathtub," she said, "so I brought you something to cover that thing with, nature boy."

She threw the elephant leaf down on me in the bathtub.

"How did you know I'd be in the tub?"

"I knew."

Almost every day Cass arrived when I was in the tub. The times were different but she seldom missed, and there was the elephant leaf. And then we'd make love. One or two nights she phoned and I had to bail her out of jail for drunkenness and fighting.

"These sons of bitches," she said, "just because they buy you a few drinks they think they can get into your pants."

"Once you accept a drink you create your own trouble."

"I thought they were interested in me, not just my body."

"I'm interested in you and your body. I doubt, though, that most men can see beyond your body."

I left town for 6 months, bummed around, came back. I had never forgotten Cass, but we'd had some type of argument and I felt like moving anyhow, and when I got back i figured she'd be gone, but I had been sitting in the West End Bar about 30 minutes when she walked in and sat down next to me.

"Well, bastard, I see you've come back."

I ordered her a drink. Then I looked at her. She had on a high- necked dress. I had never seen her in one of those. And under each eye, driven in, were 2 pins with glass heads. All you could see were the heads of the pins, but the pins were driven down into her face.

"God damn you, still trying to destroy your beauty, eh?"

"No, it's the fad, you fool."

"You're crazy."

"I've missed you," she said.

"Is there anybody else?"

"No there isn't anybody else. Just you. But I'm hustling. It costs ten bucks. But you get it free."

"Pull those pins out."

"No, it's the fad."

"It's making me very unhappy."

"Are you sure?"

"Hell yes, I'm sure."

Cass slowly pulled the pins out and put them back in her purse.

"Why do you haggle your beauty?" I asked. "Why don't you just live with it?"

"Because people think it's all I have. Beauty is nothing, beauty won't stay. You don't know how lucky you are to be ugly, because if people like you you know it's for something else."

"O.k.," I said, "I'm lucky."

"I don't mean you're ugly. People just think you're ugly. You have a fascinating face."

"Thanks."

We had another drink.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing. I can't get on to anything. No interest."

"Me neither. If you were a woman you could hustle."

"I don't think I could ever make contact with that many strangers, it's wearing."

"You're right, it's wearing, everything is wearing."

We left together. People still stared at Cass on the streets. She was a beautiful woman, perhaps more beautiful than ever. We made it to my place and I opened a bottle of wine and we talked. With Cass and I, it always came easy. She talked a while and I would listen and then i would talk. Our conversation simply went along without strain. We seemed to discover secrets together. When we discovered a good one Cass would laugh that laugh- only the way she could. It was like joy out of fire. Through the talking we kissed and moved closer together. We became quite heated and decided to go to bed. It was then that Cass took off her high -necked dress and I saw it- the ugly jagged scar across her throat. It was large and thick.

"God damn you, woman," I said from the bed, "god damn you, what have you done?

"I tried it with a broken bottle one night. Don't you like me any more? Am I still beautiful?"

I pulled her down on the bed and kissed her. She pushed away and laughed, "Some men pay me ten and I undress and they don't want to do it. I keep the ten. It's very funny."

"Yes," I said, "I can't stop laughing... Cass, bitch, I love you...stop destroying yourself; you're the most alive woman I've ever met."

We kissed again. Cass was crying without sound. I could feel the tears. The long black hair lay beside me like a flag of death. We enjoined and made slow and somber and wonderful love. In the morning Cass was up making breakfast. She seemed quite calm and happy. She was singing. I stayed in bed and enjoyed her happiness. Finally she came over and shook me,

"Up, bastard! Throw some cold water on your face and pecker and come enjoy the feast!"

I drove her to the beach that day. It was a weekday and not yet summer so things were splendidly deserted. Beach bums in rags slept on the lawns above the sand. Others sat on stone benches sharing a lone bottle. The gulls whirled about, mindless yet distracted. Old ladies in their 70's and 80's sat on the benches and discussed selling real estate left behind by husbands long ago killed by the pace and stupidity of survival. For it all, there was peace in the air and we walked about and stretched on the lawns and didn't say much. It simply felt good being together. I bought a couple of sandwiches, some chips and drinks and we sat on the sand eating. Then I held Cass and we slept together about an hour. It was somehow better than lovemaking. There was flowing together without tension. When we awakened we drove back to my place and I cooked a dinner. After dinner I suggested to Cass that we shack together. She waited a long time, looking at me, then she slowly said, "No." I drove her back to the bar, bought her a drink and walked out. I found a job as a parker in a factory the next day and the rest of the week went to working. I was too tired to get about much but that Friday night I did get to the West End Bar. I sat and waited for Cass. Hours went by . After I was fairly drunk the bartender said to me, "I'm sorry about your girlfriend."

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, didn't you know?"

"No."

"Suicide. She was buried yesterday."

"Buried?" I asked. It seemed as though she would walk through the doorway at any moment. How could she be gone?

"Her sisters buried her."

"A suicide? Mind telling me how?"

"She cut her throat."

"I see. Give me another drink."

I drank until closing time. Cass was the most beautiful of 5 sisters, the most beautiful in town. I managed to drive to my place and I kept thinking, I should have insisted she stay with me instead of accepting that "no." Everything about her had indicated that she had cared. I simply had been too offhand about it, lazy, too unconcerned. I deserved my death and hers. I was a dog. No, why blame the dogs? I got up and found a bottle of wine and drank from it heavily. Cass the most beautiful girl in town was dead at 20. Outside somebody honked their automobile horn. They were very loud and persistent. I sat the bottle down and screamed out: "GOD DAMN YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH ,SHUT UP!" The night kept coming and there was nothing I could do.

Hey guys, I don't think the bus is going to move out of the way while its on its side, no matter how much you honk at it..

This pretty much showed how JS is a hypocrite so blinkered by bias that he personifies the very evil he decries.

Let’s call a tiger a tiger. Cable news channels have two completely different facets. One facet is the “news” update – which is when channels are announcing stuff that happens – the cut and dry stuff. The other facet is “commentary”: biased, agenda driven, subjective, interpretive, talking-head bologna that preaches to a specific ideological crowd. Whether you want to admit it or not – ALL news channels have both of these facets of News and Commentary.

Now, the cable news channels have a lot higher “Commentary to News” ratio because they are filling up a 24/7 schedule. Fox is not unique in that regard – but shares the same market space as MSNBC & CNN - about 20% ‘News’ and 80% ‘Commentary’. Whether you like the commentary of a particular channel depends on your own bias. To people who are leftists (the majority of the Sift and JS) commentary on Fox News is like garlic to a vampire. To someone on the right (such as myself) commentary on MSNBC is like salt on road rash.

If Stewart was really a true “satirist” (as he likes to say he is) then he would be mocking all sides because they both have plenty of targets. However, 99 times out of 100, Stewart focuses on the side he ideologically opposes while ignoring juicy targets on the other side. A real satirist doesn’t handcuff himself like that, so what Stewart is doing is less ‘satire’ and more ‘biased commentary’ because what he selects as subject material is driven by his biases.

Stewart can’t admit that or his audience of smug, self-congratulatory neolibs would lose their self esteem. So when presented with ironclad proof that he is biased by Wallace, Stewart CANNOT bring himself to admit it. Instead he desperately cringes behind his typical dodge of being “comedy informed by an ideological background”. What a load of honk. You were nailed Stewart. Your claimed beef with Fox News (that they are somehow ‘unique’ in commentary bias) is proven demonstrably false. Instead, it was made crystal clear that you simply don’t like Fox’s brand of commentary because it ideologically opposes your own. Kind of hurts when you can’t just mack at the camera when you get pegged don’t it? You got visibly irritable and defensive because the truth hurts.

So in this interview Stewart couldn’t dive into the tall grass of his standard “Hey – I’m just a comedian! No fair! My clown-nose is on!” coward defense. The commentary of many news channels is liberally biased just as bad (or worse) than any of Fox News’ conservative commentary. Wallace proves it in black and white. In fact there are many studies that have proven this point routinely. But Stewart can’t bring himself to SAY that news outlets he shares an “informed ideological background” with are biased because that would mean that he would have to admit that he HIMSELF is biased. So in the face of all evidence he says that hack organizations like MSNBC are not biased but “trend toward sensationalism and laziness”. I haven’t heard a weaker, more pathetic rhetorical dodge in a long time.

http://pewresearch.org/pubs/993/who-knows-news-what-you-read-or-view-matters-but-not-your-politics

Of course Stewart doesn’t want to mention polls like this that prove that FOX patrons are about 2X as ‘informed’ as people on MSNBC, NBC, CNN, ABC, or CBC. He doesn’t want to talk about the fact that Couric’s audience is about as ‘informed’ as the average reader of the Inquirer. Of course Stewart isn’t going to admit that people who listen to LIMBAUGH are more informed than his audience. No – like Obama – Stewart only sticks to isolated, biased polls that favor his own personal world view - and ignores the evidence to the contrary. BIASED.

If you’re a fan of Stewart then bully for you. He can be entertaining sometimes, and he even has the occasional decency to admit (albeit sarcastically) his own problems – such as with the whole Weiner scandal. But those of you who are patting yourselves on the back pretending that he somehow ‘skunked’ Wallace are living in a self-insulated fanboi fantasy world.

Wallace made his point. Wallace never tried to say Fox News doesn’t have biased commentary on it. Wallace proved conclusively that other news channels – including Stewart’s own show – are primarily driven by biased commentary rather than news. To the world, Stewart proved that he cannot bring himself to simply admit that left-wing, neolib commentary is biased. Thus, proving to all that Stewart himself is an untrustworthy, intellectually hypocritical, biased tool. Game, set, and match to Wallace. Now Stewart can slink back to his show and lick his wounds by selectively re-editing reality so he doesn’t look quite as big of a tool – as is his wont.