Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader knows that the Minister of Agriculture doesn’t care for “slippery slope” arguments. Which your Maximum Leader admits is fair, in that most of the time the exponent of a “slippery slope” argument is committing a logical fallacy. It is important to remember however, that for a “slippery slope” argument to be logically flawed, the final conclusion must be shown not to be a result of the primary step in the argument.

Of course, when talking about our political society, typical laws of logic do not seem to apply. Indeed, sometimes people persist in denying the slippery slope connection even when you can clearly document it. (Like here and here.)

With that thought in mind, you should read the latest from Velociworld

Carry on.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader went and took the Red Dawn quiz for Smallholder. The results are unsurprising.

Erica…The Feisty One…

Which Red Dawn Character Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Okay they are surprising. Your Maximum Leader wouldn’t describe Smallholder as “feisty.”

Carry on.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader remembers loving the film Red Dawn when it game out. It was just the sort of mindless tripe he wanted to view all the time. So when he saw this quiz at I like your style, he knew he had to take it.

Jed Eckert…The Leader…

Which Red Dawn Character Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Carry on.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader needs to make a statement.

Bubble gum flavoured toothpaste is gawd-awful crap.

This statement is brought on by the fact that Mrs. Villain and his villainous progeny are out of town. When they left, Mrs. Villain packed toiletries - including the regular Crest toothpaste. Thus, your Maximum Leader was reduced to using the Villainettes’ toothpaste this morning. Two Diet Cokes and a mug of Russian Caravan tea were needed to expunge the foul taste from his mouth. Ugh.

Carry on.

President Bush broke the law when he authorized the NSA to easedrop on the phone conversations of American citizens without a warrant. Just in case anyone was unclear on this point.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Believe.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader was setting up an HP printer that his sainted parents bought for Villainette #1 for Christmas. While prepping the printer for setup he was instructed to remove a little orange plastic plug and put it in the recyling bin. (These instructions were pictographic instructions on a nice piece of paper that came in the printer box.)

That was when it struck him.

Why the hell does everything go into a recylcing bin? What is wrong with a good old fashioned trash can? A real nice old fashioned trash can that was round, tapering slightly towards the bottom, and painted olive drab. One you could light a fire in and not worry about melting your trash can. There were no little circley arrows all over it. It wasn’t blue. You didn’t put it on the curb for a special pick up.

Back in the day, your trash can was a functional metal container. When it was full you emptied it into a larger functional metal container. When Monday and/or Thursday came around you took the big container to the street and a big stinky truck came and took the contents away. (Or if you live in the country, you took the container(s) to the county dump every other Saturday. While at the dump you made sure to say hi to Larry. Larry is the guy at the dump gate who checks the county sticker on cars as they drive in. Larry is the guy protecting your tax dollars and valuable dump space. Larry is there to make sure some low-life from the next - less upscale - county a few miles over didn’t try to muscle in on your dump. Larry may only make about $22,000 a year, but Larry provides a valuable service to you and your fellow county dwellers. Hats off to you Larry…)

Trash cans didn’t used to come in designer colours. They didn’t match the soap dish and the shower curtain in your bathroom. A real trash can is bigger than a Kleenex box. (Your Maximum Leader can’t fucking abide by trash cans that are “full” after receiving one or two snotty tissues. He’d like to find the bastard who “invented” the small waste basket and shove one up his arse.) Riddle your Maximum Leader this, when did “waste baskets” shrink to the size of a small-headed Turk’s fez? Your Maximum Leader would like to know. If he needed a small waste basket he would have saved a frickin’ coffee can.

Now everything goes in “Recyle Bins.” Your Maximum Leader’s dear Villainettes even talk about the recycling bin. It s crazy. When did it happen that everything should be recycled? Snotty tissues. Used diapers. “Feminine Hygene products.” That stuff shouldn’t be recycled. It should be atomized. Who wants to buy a greeting card that is 7.53% recycled tampon?

Do you know what’s the most insidious recycle bin? Of course you do. It is the one in the Windows Operating System. Stuff just sits in it until you tell it to empty itself. You’re not really getting rid of anything you put in it. And you’re not recycling it either. That code, those old pics your boyfriend took of you naked at the beach, that stupid poem you wrote in Word, the spreadsheet you tried to use to balance your checkbook… All that crap is sitting in your Windows recycle bin. It just sits there. It doesn’t get magically reused by other elements of Windows or some other application. It just sits there. In the recycle bin. Waiting. Waiting to be erased.

Waiting to be erased… Just like this post…

Carry on.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader wants you to know that he loves his iPod. As it stands he’s loaded about 2/3rds of his CD collection into iTunes (and thus his iPod). He’s started to received podcasts (so far just ones on iTunes - if you know of others to recommend feel free to leave a comment). He has also spent about $30 on new music at iTunes.

Your Maximum Leader hasn’t really created any playlists. In a way he hasn’t felt like he needed to. He’s been using the “Higest Rated” playlit that was built into the iPod. For those of you who don’t know what that is allow your Maximum Leader to explain. Every track of every album you put on to iTunes you can give a rating of 0 to Five stars. 5 stars is the highest rating. The iPod can go and randomly select songs with 4 or 5 stars and play through them all (without repeats). It is great. In the past hour your Maximum Leader has heard songs from Led Zeppelin, The Who, Eric Clapton, REM, Duran Duran, Buddy Holly, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Elvis. He has also listened to parts of Beethoven’s 3rd Symphony and Wagner’s Lohengrin. He has also gotten to Hoe-down with Arron Copeland’s Rodeo. Very cool.

Your Maximum Leader has also watched three videos. U2’s “Veritgo,” Jessica Simpson’s “These boots are made for walkin’,” and Sarah Silverman’s “Give the Jew girl toys.” Your Maximum Leader will admit he felt a little dirty watching Jessica Simpson washing the General Lee in her tiny pink bikini. But not so dirty that he will not watch the video again at some point today - and enjoy it.

Unlike Phin, your Maximum Leader hasn’t subjected any relatives to his selection of music. This is mostly due to the fact that the Villainous family are visiting other relatives…

Carry on.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader will point out to you that it is December 29th. That would make it New Year’s Eve’s Eve’s Eve. Longtime readers will note that this day that of the annual Pardoning of the Dwarves ritual. For those of you unfamiliar with this ritual, the original description of it is reproduced here exactly as the Poet Laureate wrote it:

Every New Year’s Eve’s Eve’s Eve (i.e., the 29th of December), the Maximum Leader steps out onto the soaring perch of his 200-meter-high obsidian balcony, surveys the fawning masses below, and begins the annual Pardoning of the Dwarves ritual, which ends with the incantation, “I PISS ON EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU.”

All the captured dwarves are brought forth into the daylight from their dungeons, flogging chambers, and forced-breeding dens, where they are ordered to stand in ranks while the wee Villainettes randomly select seven dwarves (yes, seven) for pardoning.

The audience wildly applauds the Maximum Leader’s demonstration of compassion and mercy. They celebrate with a feast, followed by an even more thorough flogging of the remaining dwarves. The seven pardoned dwarves are sent into the woods where they may seek their fortune as manual laborers, but are forbidden sexual congress with normal human women (a law put in place after the embarrassing Snow White incident).

Tomorrow, then, is the Pardoning of the Dwarves. Your attendance is requested. Please assemble in front of the Villainschloss Balcony to bask in your Maximum Leader’s Ponderous Peroration, and make sure your stomachs are empty, that they may be filled with the flesh of all manner of slaughtered beasts and birds. Please bring your horsewhips (and your good cheer) if you plan to participate in the Supplementary Flogging.

Glory to the realm!

This year there will be one small change… The Villainettes will not participate. The Villainettes, Mrs Villain, and the Wee Villain are off visiting family. Your Maximum Leader is, thus, a bachelor for the night. Woo hoo! (Says he.) Let the feasting commence!

Carry on.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader has never lived in the Chicago area. Indeed, all he can say is that he’s visited the great city of Chicago many times for business and pleasure. So, it is with some sadness that he reads off the news wires that the famous Berghoff restaurant is closing.

The first time your Maximum Leader went to the Berghoff was with the good Smallholder. The Smallholder and Mrs. Smallholder were living in the Chicago suburbs at the time. Your Maximum Leader was also attempting to pitch a little woo at one of Mrs. Smallholder’s college friends. (To no avail - in case you were wondering.) Your Maximum Leader and his Minister of Agriculture went to the Berghoff to have a beer and view Liquor License Number 1. We ended up having steaks as well (as your Maxmum Leader remembers).

Your Maximum Leader dined at the Berghoff a few more times on subsequent visits over the years. He had thought that one day he might take Mrs. Villain there for dinner. But now that plan seems to have gone the way of your Maximum Leader taking Mrs. Villain shopping sometime at Marshall Fields…

Your Maximum Leader hopes that Misspent is not too upset by this news.

Carry on.

Elmer remembered his mother’s voice. He heard her saying, “Elmer, concentrate on one thing at a time.” He also recalled his father commenting that Elmer was so uncoordinated that he couldn’t walk and chew gum at the same time.

They were right. Elmer regretted not listening. His clumsiness finally got the better of him. He tripped in his kitchen while drinking a glass of water. He tried to move the glass from his mouth before it shattered on the tile floor. Too late. A singularly large piece was driven upwards and severed his jugular vein.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader seems to be reading a lot about goings-on in Asia today. First it was Burma moving its capital. Now it is Pakistanis killing their children to protect their honor. According to press reports, Nazir Ahmed has killed his three daughters and his stepdaughter to preserve his family honor. It is alleged, by Ahmed, that his stepdaughter (aged 25) committed adultery. Although the woman’s alleged lover has not been found, Ahmed slit her throat to preserve his family honor. Then Ahmed went and killed his three daughters (aged 8, 7, and 4) so that they wouldn’t grow up and follow their stepsister’s bad example.

When the police investigation is completed Ahmed may be sentanced to die by hanging. Then again, he might get 10 years in prison. One can only hope that he is hanged.

The most startling portion of the article, in an article that is pretty horrifying to begin with, is the information on how many honor killings there may be in Pakistan each year. There may have been 267 this year (2005). There were over 500 reported last year. Some may claim, as the article does, that this is due to increased penalties, more policing, and a stricter stand against such horrible crimes. What the article doesn’t claim, and your Maximum Leader is sure it would claim if the article were written about crime in the US, is that perhaps some honor killings aren’t being reported as such and are hidden. One wants to be optimistic, but it is hard to when a nation (and in some cases a religion) has a bad track record.

Carry on.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader has been falling down on the job of bringing you all interesting stories from overseas places that one might not ordinarially read about. He had hoped to do more commentary on the wider world over last year, but didn’t really.

He will have to say that this story is worth commenting upon. It seems the military junta controlling Burma has decided to pack up shop and move to a new (and yet unfinished) capital city. No longer will the wonderfully foreign sounding “Rangoon” be the capital of Burma. The new capital city is (so far) called Pyinmana. Your Maximum Leader says that it is “so far” called Pyinmana because the actual location of the new capital is about 20 miles away from the city/town of Pyinmana. Your Maximum Leader suspects that once the move is completely finalized the junta will start calling their new city something else.

One wonders if foreign governments will move their embassies from Rangoon to Pyinmana. Your Maximum Leader certainly hopes not. Being stationed in Rangoon (diplomatically speaking) has a certain ring to it don’t you think? <start upper-crust British accent> Question: “So Roderick, where are you stationed ole boy?” Answer: “Rangoon ole chap. I believe that is a tropical station you know. I’ll be sure to pack my linen jacket.” </end upper-crust British accent>

Well… One hopes that Rangoon will not suffer as a result of this move. The country has seen enough suffing as it is. Moving the capital from the one place in Burma that people can think of to some remote wasteland is one silly move made by some silly dictators. Then again, Brasilia is a big success isn’t it? Really now, no one ever goes to Rio de Janerio now that the capital has moved…

Carry on.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader apologizes to you all. He had a big ole Happy Christmas post complete with an image of the Adoration of the Magi done by Raphael all worked up… Alas, he was working on it on his lovely wife’s computer. And he thought he saved it into Movable Type before logging off last Friday night.

Alas, it was not so.

Then Christmas was upon him. Your Maximum Leader was so busy with home stuff he had no time to try to post anything. And then he realized, just now, that his Christmas greeting never made it to this page.

So, dear minions, please accept your Maximum Leader’s warm Christmas/Holiday greetings. He hopes it was a good one for all of you.

And don’t forget, Dec 29th is coming.

Carry on.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader reads on the news wire that the birth rate in Scotland was up last quarter. Indeed, it seems as though those wacky Scots are doing what they can to make sure the last Scot doesn’t die in 3021 (as currently projected). The article goes on to state the marriage rates were down. Death rates seemed to be down slightly or the same.

So this means that fewer old Scots are dying of surprise when their granddaughters come home and announce that Angus knocked her up a few months ago. Well, that and the fact that Fat Bastard must be out of the country.

Of course, if there are any nice Scottish lasses out there who want to have a baby they should contact your Maximum Leader… (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)

Carry on.

UPDATE: This is a good day for Scottish blogging. Your Maximum Leader discusses Scottish birth rates. Robbo the Llamabutcher discusses the anti-kilt state of Missouri; and the Colossus tells us that soon Scots will not be able to smoke in their homes.

What should we make of all this? Well… As best your Maximum Leader can tell it means that the last Scot will die in 3021 of exposure since he was no longer able to wear his kilt. After his death the last Scot’s very healthy lungs will be transplanted into the chest of a chain-smoking Chinese bagillionaire who would otherwise die of lung cancer.

The Scots will have begun written history as wild picts who scared the Romans into walling them off; and will end as an undersexed naked nanny-state dweller… A sad end to a noble race.

Carry on.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader sees a story on the news wires saying that some International Olympic Committee member pushed the wrong button during one of the rounds of voting to determine the host city for the 2012 Olympics. That voting error may have contributed to the victory of London over Paris.

Concerning this story your Maximum Leader has one thing to say. This is whole thing is probably just the Paris Organizing Committee’s way of whining.

Carry on.