Lisa, Lisa And Hello Kitty Jam Beats The Snot Out Of Lisa, Lisa And Cult Jam!

So, did you get the memo yet? Yeah, the memo sent out from the powers that be. Will you please stop saying "Whatchoo talkin bout, lastic?" and pooching your lips. That really disturbs me.

Just understand that the memo lays out the stipulations mandating that all mommies over the age of 30 must select at least one favorite Lisa Loeb song and play it endlessly until even the dog can howl along in tune. The mandate includes the over-hyped, over-played..... matchbox 20, Dave Matthews, Jack Johnson, and Celine Dion too, but I found an exemption clause and jumped on it immediately. I like Lisa Loeb. I won't lie and say I'm a raving Lisa lunatic in need of a frontal LOEBotomy, but she's a decent entertainer.

So, 'Underdog' wins as the chosen Infidel Favorite Lisa Loeb Song. I adore the creepy Hello Kitty theme in this video and the fakey plastic perkiness all around. And the seemingly possessed Hello Kitty strumming the guitar in the background holds a cute 'je ne sais quoi' appeal to it. Us Infidels have oft quoted this song, repeating in a forceful manner, "Don't be thy enemy, and DON'T stand in back of me." You can't complain when you've been warned......

Yeah, This Name Does Make Me Feel ILL!

I spotted this name yesterday while cruising through the hood. ILLISSA? Did they bastardize my name, Melissa, or is it a screwy ILL-mannered attempt at Alyssa/Elissa? I just can't decide. Mainly the word ILL sticks out. ILL, as in sick, ailing, afflicted, nauseous, poopy..... ILL like the rappers in the 80's who used to break it down with a raucous chorus of "You Be ILLIN!" ILL as in ILLegal. Doesn't the yard sign make this a house of ILL repute? It just rouses my insatiable curiosity to no end as to why the parents thought this an attractive name for their offspring. Did they sound it out first? Maybe these folks hail from ILLinois, Land Of Lincoln, and they decided to pay tribute? Certainly, I don't mean them any ILL will. And I don't want anyone to feel ILL at ease, but foisting this crap name on a child seems ILL-advised.

I'm In Mint Condition

Yes, I do indeed have a mint condition. So, all of you already know about my bendy chip compulsion. You know that my sandwiches must be sliced diagonally into cute little triangles. But I bet you didn't know about my special proclivity pertaining to individually wrapped peppermints, did you?

What's wrong with this innocent picture of the Dumass Taco candy dish? I'll tell you. The prestigious swirled peppermints should not have to fraternize with the inferior mint knockoffs lounging around in the middle of the dish as though they belong in the same neighborhood as the affluent swirled peppermint. That's just wrong. Look at the plainly dull white center of the knockoff mints. They're so freakin boring, I get a narcoleptic attack just looking at them. I've always felt an unexplainable attraction towards swirlies my entire life. Whether that entail dunking my brother's head into the toilet for an old-fashioned swirlie, or fruit swirlies in my yogurt, the Infidel consensus is that SWIRLIES ROCK! I'm an American, and I'm using my God-given freedom and right to refuse to partake of just any old peppermint. No, the mint must bear the Infidel preferred swirly stamp of perfection, or I don't want none of it. Peppermint Patty got my back on this matter too, dawg. When I hit it big, my appearance conditions will include a demand for me and my entire entourage to have unlimited swirled peppermints provided for us along with all the TV's in my dressing room playing non-stop 'Breakin 2:Electric Boogaloo' , movie marathons. It's a deal breaker for me.

I may spit a lot when I talk, but at least it's spittle candy coated in minty fresh goodness. Mmmmm.

Wordless Wednesday Edition: "Which Spice Girl Am I?....... Dollar Store Spice!"

The Infidels Go To The Big Top!.......No, I'm Not Talking About My Blouse.

We finally got to experience the awesome Cirque Du Soleil on Friday, live, and in person. I know. As though daily life in the Infidel house isn't a frenetic three ring circus in itself. Our circus quest began two weeks ago while visiting our second home......Kroger's Grocery Store. The mini-Infidels and I went through our weekly ritual of congregating around the rack of tantalizing day old bakery goods. As we stood there, shamelessly squeezing and fondling the discount loafs, we spied two of the most adorable and perfectly tiny people standing in front of the butter case. Later we found out through the magic of youtube, that the couple was none other than Gregory and Valentina, the teeny stars of Cirque Du Soleil's production of Corteo!




In this video, Gregory attempts to tame some wild beasts of burden prancing cavalierly across the stage while Valentina stands side stage with the drummer clown. And in this clip, Valentina bounces and soars across the circus audience with the aid of giant helium balloons. The audience participates, keeping her afloat like a human beach ball. Very cool. Especially her sweet little voice that sounds like she shared a French kiss with the helium tank right before the show. Truthfully, it would require the efforts of a blimp or a zeppelin to attempt to lift this corpulent Infidel butt up in the air. And the audience would probably let me plummet to the ground because they wouldn't want to touch my feet to buoy my fat butt back up again.
Then we discovered that the recently built luxury apartments a few streets away from our house, holds the honor of providing temporary residence for the Cirque performers during their month long stay in Houston. The charter buses sit outside to shuttle them back and forth to practices and performances. We're the nerdiest of the nerdiest. I say this because every time we pass by the bus, we wave ecstatically and blow kisses to the Cirque people. Secretly, I have a fervent hope that their troupe desperately needs the talents of a bearded woman who can bite her own toenails, and they'll offer me a spot on the Cirque team.
Assuming that we could never possibly afford the exorbitant costs of Cirque Du Soleil tickets, we stopped by their amazingly vibrant and behemoth yellow and blue swirled tents for some pictures last week. I wanted the kids to at least get a close up look at the phenomena that prior to now, we'd only witnessed courtesy of DVD's checked out from the library. Look at their disappointed and pitiful little faces. If only I had a tin cup and a sign for them to hold that states, "Will Look Really Sad For Tickets," they might have scored a few on their own volition.
And then..........my Mom and Grandma pulled the ultimate in sneakiness by surprising the entire Infidel clan with tickets of our very own to attend the show! I freakin choked on my own spit when I got those tickets in my hot little hands, people. I stood on tippy-toes, during a blustery, windy day, in the bed of my truck, just to snap this picture. The security guards shook their heads at me in disgust. Life as a Cirque groupie is so hard sometimes....... The dizzying swirls and dramatic spires made me think that this is what Russia could potentially look like if they ever got a sense of humor.
Yes, and here's the Infidel peeps just chillin tent side and waiting for the show to begin! The Corteo theme centers around a clown's journey to Heaven and all the adventures and memories that swell up on the way. When compared to other glitzy and borderline garish Cirque Du Soleil productions, Corteo retains a very refined and understated quality. There's more flying angels in fabulous dresses than you could shake a pitchfork at. Grown men immerse themselves inside gigantic Cyr wheels, where they rotate like spinning tops. I called 'Heads.' Sunbum called 'Tails.' The performers kept their balance, and didn't topple over. Not even once. And the show included an impromptu rubber chicken rain storm. Yes. Now, that's what I envision my own Heavenly ascension(hopefully) to look like. An ocean of rubber chickens as far as the eye can see.

Oh, and my son, Buster, loved the show despite the noticeable lack of people dancing on crotches.

Colour My World.........With Love

Pervasive messages of tolerance and diversity have surrounded me my entire life. How many times I've spied billboards, commercials, and T-shirts espousing the phrase, "True love sees no color." The Infidel household strictly adheres to an eternal gospel perspective of loving and respecting our neighbors regardless of color, race, or creed. On the surface, it may seem as though I've achieved the highest echelon of color blindness, but it's not true. I'm a giant hypocrite.

I constantly engage in the shameful practice of dividing and segregating just solely based on color and hue. I even have a special place in the house reserved for whites only. Non-whites have a place too, but I adamantly refuse for them to ever co-mingle or get too closely acquainted with the whites. It may sound ignorant, but I worry about their color rubbing off on my close little circle of pristine whites. I explained my conscientious inner conflict to Papi. He's a lovely shade of caramel himself, so I assumed he would hold a greater understanding towards my moral dilemma. I began telling Papi how judging and separating according to color runs afoul of all my standards and values and that I just couldn't stand to go on this way any more. Unsympathetically, Papi dryly told me, "Tough, girlie. You still have to do the laundry."

I've acquired a lot of cuts and scrapes from getting knocked down off my pulpit.

Forget About Your Nervous Breakdown, Enjoy A Tantric Styled Breakdown!

Hear the awesome guitar driven sound pulsating through your PC speakers? See the super hot Portuguese lead singer, Hugo Ferreira? What about the video showing the classic struggle between geekdom and chicdom among high school students? How do you feel about happy endings where the much abused and bullied nerd finds a friend and an advocate? Yes, 'Breakdown' ranks as my absolute favorite Tantric song ever. Alas, they've since parted ways, never to realize a follow up hit. It's all for the best, though. Do you know how weird I felt sharing with people about my enthusiastic love of Tantric? They gave me those mal de ojo looks like I was some sort of twisted kinky freak. I got all excited when I found out that Sting adamantly loves Tantric too. He even gave an interview about it! Ummmm, then I discovered that he was referring to the other Tantric, as in the ancient art of tantric lovemaking. Slap to the forehead moment. It's like the time when a casual boyfriend asked me what I was listening to on my Walkman and I blithely responded, 'Do Me Baby.' Oh, what a priceless moment of confusion.

Life has kicked this Infidel butt all over the place the past few days. I'll return shortly to read what's been going on during my brief blogger sabbatical, and to share some love. No, not Tantric love. Sicko.

Wordless Wednesday Edition:"Yep, He's A Beauty, But You Should Have Seen The Size Of The Fish Mailbox That Got Away!"

FISH!...............It's Not Just For Dinner Any More.

With A Neneh Cherry On Top

Today, I'm going way back into the Infidel musical favorite archives to, 'Our Year Of The Spandex Short'........ 1988!

I think of a young Neneh Cherry every time the super talented teenager, Jordin Sparks, performs on American Idol, just based on their similar appearances. Oh, how my 14 year old self loved to break it down to the beat of "Buffalo Stance." Nearly 20 years later, though, and I still don't have any clue as to what exactly a 'Buffalo Stance' is. I've partaken in many a 'Buffalo WING Stance,' but I'm not sure Neneh was referring to their spicy wing goodness in her song. Be on the lookout for the two dorky chicks dancing jerkily in the background, because those are my patented choreography moves. Just so you know, I forgave Neneh long ago for her blatant thievery of my special "Chicken On Fire" dance routine.

Freakin Puerto Ricans!

Hey, carronin went all Spanish on us by adding J.Lo's latest video to her blog. I'm just playing copycat.
Today's Infidel Jam is brought to you by the fine Musica En Espanol awesomeness of Puerto Rico. Ahhhh, Puerto Rico, the fabled birthplace of Ricky Martin, Jennifer Lopez, Celia Cruz, and the all time Infidel boricua favorite.........CIRCO! Lead singer, Fofe, and his merry band of faux punk musical comrades have crafted an amazing sound that runs the gamut from traditional pop, to cheeky rock, and then back to a classic, spicy Spanish groove. It keeps my musical ADD in check as I never get bored with their songs. "Un Accidente," currently rules as the reigning Infidel favorite. I love how the song kicks off with an Iggy Pop 'Lust For Life' drum beat. CIRCO's music is so good, it will even distract you from the decidedly creepy unattractiveness of Fofe. And, that's not an easy feat to pull off!

Speaking of music, we heard the new Shakira/Beyonce song "Beautiful Liar." Gag. Really, is it necessary to keep repeating your name over and over to make up for a glaringly noticeable lack of decent lyrics? How many times must we hear, "Shakira, Shakira. Beyonce, Beyonce?" So freaking annoying. I like to supplant my own name when singing along though, just for fun. "Melissa, Melissa......Hey!" So, then, we experimented, much like we did when the kids first learned 'The Name Game,' song. Alas, only my children lucky enough to bear a 3-syllabled name could pull it off. My 2-syllabled kids felt really left out and sad that they couldn't make their names work in a Shakira song. So, parents, that's another deciding factor to contemplate when selecting a name for your unborn babies. Please don't short change your kids by giving them anything less than the 3-syllabled names which they so richly deserve. I feel as though I have failed my precious 2-syllabled children and they will have suffer major esteem issues because of it.

Oh, and, uh, yeah, that was me changing the lyrics to Bananarama's version of 'Venus,' as a child to "Goddess of beauty and love, and Melissa was her name." I've got it, yeah baby, I've got it..........a touch of dementia, that is.

Oh, That Explains It!

Back in the day, I thought Jonathan Frakes was the hottest Star Trek man to ever walk the face of the Earth. Then he ruined it for me by marrying that hussy, Laura, from 'General Hospital.' I remained convinced that if they held a "Most Bootylicious Crew Member" contest aboard the Star Ship Enterprise, Commander Riker would shake his groove thang and take top prize. Secretly, I wished that he would incite mutiny on the deck by forming an alliance with Worf. Together, they'd stage a coup wherein bald Captain Jean Luc Picard would have to walk the plank so my man Riker could assume the leadership position. I mean, come on, how many times could Riker be expected to laugh at Captain Picard's lame joke of, "Number Two, I order you to take a Number One!"?

Anyway, the striking similarities between Frylock and Jonathan Frakes boggle the mind. And maybe even breaks a few copyright restrictions. Truly, everything I ever needed to know in life, I learned from Star Trek.

Love Is A Many Splendored Thing

I have a startling confession to make......
I've developed an insatiable crush on an animated french fry container.

It wasn't always this way. In days gone by, discovering wiry strands of goatee hair or a pair of eyeballs peering out at me from the cardboard folds of a greasy french fry box, would have sent me into nauseated fits of hysteria. But, no more.

The Infidel family remains ensconced in a time of prehistoric TV that passed the world by, eons ago. We only count one small archaic set among our earthly possessions. No cable. No satellite. No TIVO. No plasma. Not even a fancy remote control. Nothing. However, once I saw the Aqua Teen Hunger Force clips on youtube, I knew that my fetish and interest for all things weird, was piqued. The episode that hooked me involved Frylock drawing a 'treasure map' for Master Shake to dig holes where 'X' marked the spot. Secretly, all the X's marked where Frylock wanted his new azalea bushes planted. Such a clever ploy. Such a devilishly handsome and witty character.

So, yes, I like a talking, floating, limbless, apocalyptic french fry warrior. And he doesn't even have to supersize, or dab on any of that fancy catsup stuff for me, because I love Frylock just the way he is. I fantasize about him suavely whispering in my ear, "Oh yeah, baby, who's yo FRY DADDY, now?" I wonder if I could get Papi to wear a Frylock costume in the boudoir? Hmmmmmmm.

You Say It's Your Birthday?

Well, Happy Birthday to you.............

Hey Omar!
Get Crazay!
It's Yo Birthday!
You Thir-tay!
No Bacard-ay!
Fat Albert Say!
Hey, Hey, Hey!
Bombs Away!
Use The Bidet!
In Yo B-Day Suit? No Way!
How Risque!
No Britn-ay!
At This Part-ay!
Fire the D.J!
I'm Getting Carried Away-ay!

Seriously, I just wanted to give a shoutout to my Creator on his special, special day. It's by the sweat of Omar's brow, and possibly the sweat of Omar's butt from endless dedicated hours plopped in his computer chair, that has made The Smiling Infidel the smiley faced beacon of light it is today. Omar has selflessly chosen to use his technological prowess and mad programming skillz to assist the lame and ugly blogs of this world with nary a desire for glory or compensation. To whom much blogger knowledge is given, much is expected. Omar obviously lives and breathes this philosophy. I was once counted among the most pitiful of the blogger down-trodden. Shamefully, my blog template came straight off the blogger rack. Hundreds of other blogs shared the exact same colors and design as mine, and I remained just another unoriginal face in the crowd. But now, I hold my head up high because the great and mystical, Omar, restored my blog beauty confidence with his extreme makeover powers rendering The Infidel a knockout one-of-a kind original!.

So, head on over to Omar's place and shower him with some Happy Birthday love! Three decades and counting.....

Special thanks to No Cool Story and her amazing graphic created just especially for Omar. No Cool Story is teh shiz, y'all!

It's The Most Stinkiest Time Of The Year.......

Here's a picture of the hardest working butt towel in all of Houston!

The unmistakable signs of spring has begun it's showy annual parade. Everything's blossoming up, providing large swaths of color all around the Infidel homestead. Perky daffodils, the shade of effervescent sunshine, dazzle all those who pass. The chirping of spring's official harbinger, the magnificent red-boobied robin, echoes through the lushly green and scenic landscapes. A steady rise in temperature means the ever abundant Houston hoochy mamas can finally exchange their sensible warm clothing for the more skankarific staples in their closet. Those poor Daisy Dukes and matching sparkly tube tops really suffered through a long dormant winter season. Like the famed rodent, Puxatawny Phil, sticking his head out of the ground to signal the impending arrival of spring, we Houstonites look towards the first sighting of the cagey half-naked woman strutting around the jungles of Wal-Mart, her natural habitat.

This week, the biggest, grandest, whiffiest, most tell-tale sign of spring reared up from the rear. My rear, to be exact. Yes, when the heat is on, I sweat. A lot. The time has drawn nigh to break out ye olde butt towel to line my truck seat with. Oh, glorious butt towel.........Master of super butt sweat absorbency and long faithful servant to The Smiling Infidel. May you live to fight and soak up butt puddles for many years to come. You know that song that goes, "Flowers in her hair, flowers everywheeeerre?" We sing it, "Butt sweat in her chair, butt sweat everywheeeeerrre!" At no point does our version mention anything about anybody loving "The Butt Sweat Girl," though. Oh, que triste. So, here's to you, my beloved butt towel, for all that you do, and the sweat that you stop from seeping through. I salute you! Woo Hoooo!

Wordless Wednesday Edition: "Hey You, Stop Staring At My Booty!"

My luscious, luscious Easter candy booty, that is, because it's mine..........ALL MINE!

And All Shall Obey The Command Of The Roach Whisperer!

What could my sexy-Mexi Papi possibly have in common with these three people? Well, while he may possess lovely little man chi-chis that look like slices of Mexican pepperoni, they certainly don't rival the chestage of 'The Ghost Whisperer.' Papi remains firmly old school in his doggy and child training practices too. No, soft voices and feel good mellowness did not factor in at all when he established himself as the alpha-male of our household. However, Papi has a gentle side that really surprises me sometimes.

Last week, my daughter who suffers from a phobia of insect close encounters of the worst kind, ran screaming from the house because she had spotted the biggest, baddest, ugliest cockroach in the history of cockroaches loitering around our front door like a roachy vampire just waiting for an invitation to cross the Infidel threshold. What did I do? What I always do when a roach is involved. I summoned forth Papi, our resident Roach Bounty Hunter and legendary Roach Slayer. My Sunbum and I watched from a safe distance as we waited for Papi to give that roach his last rites and extermination orders. Instead of the much anticipated Cucaracha Smackdown, though, I witnessed Papi leaning over the roach, speaking to it, and gesticulating wildly with his hands. What the frick?

I cautiously moved in closer and heard him telling the roach to move away from the house as he shooed it from our front stoop with a paper plate. The roach didn't scurry away at first, and actually had the temerity to rise up as though he needed more instruction from his master, Papi The Roach Whisperer. I wanted to give the roach directions too......to the nearest Raid Roach Motel! Where he could check in but never check out. Papi had one foot up in the air, and I wondered if our cucaracha had his entire life flash before his beady microscopic eyes as he literally waited for the other shoe to drop. Finally, Papi succeeded in ushering it out to our front yard where I hope it became supper for one of the many lizards running around. I couldn't resist teasing Papi calling him a 'closeted Buddhist' and 'The Roach Whisperer.' I imitated and mocked Papi endlessly, taunting him with a soft and whispery, "Move on now roach. Your business here is done and you need to go towards the light where your kazillion little roach family members are waiting for you."

So, aside from my title as The Smiling Infidel, I am also the 'Muchacha de la Whisperer Cucaracha!' This roach exorcism might have been just an anomalous event. We can't feel entirely certain that this little roach wasn't the stoner star of the 'La Cucaracha' song, so high from his 'marijuana que fumar' that he could barely stumble around, let alone figure out how to enter our house. Even with the door wide open. Oh well, at least he didn't try to sing us any Bob Marley songs or tell Cheech and Chong jokes. I should patent my Papi's awesome roach whispering skills. He's like the Roachy Pied Piper. I'd live in fear of the major insecticide companies, though, looking to rub out their superior roach extermination competition.

Just Thought You Should Know....

That our huevos are bigger than your huevos!
Happy Easter to all of you Infidels from all of us Infidels!

Giving The People What They Want

Enjoy the collage of painfully depressed, angst-ridden EMO EMU who drown their sorrows in pseudo-alternative rock bands. Rock bands that specialize in poetically despondent lyrics, grousing and bemoaning the harsh and woeful existence they lead out in the tree-lined suburbs.

FEEL the urge to flop your hair over one eye.

APPLY black eyeliner copiously to form dark rings around your eyes.

PIERCE any body part you can stick an earring through.

LISTEN to Fall Out Boy on your ipod.

WRAP yourself in the standard EMO uniform issued white studded belt.

WORSHIP and pay tribute to the Godfather of EMO, Robert Smith.

Why the sudden EMO EMU onslaught? Well, I've had a mad rush of people lately, logging onto the Infidel from all across the world. Just today the site meter marked visits from Finland, Sweden, Czech Republic, Serbia, Poland, Romania, Peru, Spain, United Kingdom, Mexico, Canada...... Holy crap! Who knew that EMO-ism has spread like a virulent disease to become an International movement? So, of course I'm encouraging this behavior. Come one, come all to marvel in wide-eyed delight at the amazing assortment of EMO EMU's that I have to offer. An EMU for every taste and predilection. Ostriches need not apply.

Oh, and for the freak who logged on from beautiful downtown Tehran, Iran this morning.....SHAME ON YOU! When terrorist countries come a looking for Infidels, it strikes a certain amount of fear into me. Visions of beheadings and bombings go dancing around in head. But, no, not Mr. Iran. He had other things on his mind today. More pressing, urgent issues. I honestly think that Mr. Iran just plain has issues. Want to know what he was looking for? Dirty pictures of domestic cooking queen, Rachael Ray! May mercy be brought upon his sick and twisted little soul.

Wordless Wednesday Edition: "Well, At Least They're Honest About Where The Taco Meat Comes From."

Dumass Taco holds a special place in our tiny little Infidel hearts. I thought regulars to this here blog would enjoy a photographic update of the newly painted window action happening down at Dumass Taco and to let you all know that they found themselves featured on The Jay Leno Show, Monday, March 12. Awwww, look, they even included the cute four-legged Dumass mascot. For more information and gratuitous pictures of Dumass, Dumass Tacos, and even Mr. Dumass himself, please see these links.
Infidels vs. Dumass 2007
Meanwhile, At The Dumass Grand Opening

Welcome To Infidel Feel Good Day 2007!

I'm proclaiming this lovely Monday, dawn of a fresh new week, as 'Infidel Feel Good Day 2007!' I've noticed some fellow bloggers down in the mouth lately. Well, as annoyingly catchy church songs 101 taught us, "No one likes a frowny face. Change it for a smile!"

Local Houston blogger, On The Run, studied her tushy off for an important test and still found herself cheated out of a well deserved 'A.' Italian eatery franchise, Carrabba's, understands and wants to make things all better by cooking up a meal especially for her, and delivering it right to her car. By the way, I've seen this chick in her workout gear at the YMCA. On The Run must have her own carb eating stunt double because she definitely doesn't look like she's partaking of the pasta and breadsticks diet.

For dearest, funniest, goofiest, shizziest, Millie, because sometimes being 'flaky' is a good thing. In my world, it ranks as one of the highest compliments one can receive. Think about it, snowflakes are both flaky and one-of-a-kind originals. Right? Flaky also equates to rich, wholesome goodness that serves as a treat for all those around them. Now, if someone called you 'dry and crusty,' that's a whole nother matter.

Heavily pregnant blogger, Carrot Jello, has felt the searing pain that only buyer's remorse can inflict. See, she purchased her some new pajamas online in anticipation of baby carrot's May arrival, only to discover, to her sheer horror, that they had a juvenile print stamped all over them. Juvenile, as in juvenile delinquency. Well, the pajamas pictured above are mine. They're wrinkled up like an elephant's butt after many months of non-usage. The floral print makes me feel like Laura Ashley's fat twin that the family feels deeply ashamed of and keeps hidden from the public eye. When I wear the pant and top combo it's like 1956 all over again. I tell my Papi that we must invest in twin beds because sleeping in the same one is just so dirty and shameful. Always think, WWMTMD? What Would Mary Tyler Moore Do?



And finally, for elizabeth w., our very own blogger psychotherapist version of 'Analyze This!', I offer the Infidel family's deepest condolences on the passing of her beloved grandmother.

Naturally, the upbeat ditty 'Feel Good Inc.' by Gorillaz, is the official song of 'Infidel Feel Good Day 2007.'

Introducing The Cousin Of Spongebob Squarepants , Captain Bob BrownPants!

Coinciding with the first ever ,official, commemorative, sentimental, 'Infidel Feel Good Day 2007,' here comes the Infidel Joke Of The Day. I laugh at this one about the noble Captain of a ship facing the ultimate losing battle every time I hear it. It also makes me ponder the potential practicalities of the brown uniforms worn by UPS delivery personnel. Hmmmmm.
Long ago, when sailing ships ruled the oceans, a sea captain and his crew were in danger of being boarded by pirates. As the crew prepared for battle, the captain bellowed to his First Mate, "Bring me my red shirt!" The First Mate quickly retrieved the captain's red shirt, which the captain wore and led the crew to battle the boarding party. The pirates were repelled. Later that day, the lookout screamed that there were two pirate vessels sending boarding parties. The crew again prepared for battle, but the captain again calmly bellowed, "Bring me my red shirt!" And once again the pirates were repelled, though this time the crew sustained more casualties. Weary from the battles, the men sat around on deck that night recounting the day's occurrences when an ensign looked to the Captain and asked, "Sir, why do you call for your red shirt before battle?" The Captain, exhorted, "If I am wounded in battle, the red shirt will not show the wound and thus, you men will continue to fight unafraid." The men sat in silence marveling at the courage of such a man. At dawn the next morning, the lookout screamed that there were pirate ships, 10 of them, all with boarding parties on their way. The men became silent and looked to the Captain for his usual command. The Captain, calm as ever, bellowed, "First Mate, Bring me my brown pants!"

Follow that with my second favorite seafaring joke, and you have quite a distinguishing nautical theme happening. Although, in my mind, I always relate this joke with Star Trek's, Captain Jean Luc Picard, simply because he began each episode with something along the lines of, "Captain's Log, Stardate: 3021."
Q: What did the cabin boy find in the Captain's toilet?
A: The Captain's log!