Chuck and Beans starts a flame war with an awesome cartoon.

Okay, so for those of you who haven’t heard about it, there’s this cartoon called Chuck & Beans. It’s accessible, funny, and just snarky enough to where I can show it to my younger sister without being called lame.

^^ So then the comic’s creator decided to do a two-panel layout of the arguments for and against organic food.  And I LOL’d. Matter of fact, I ROFL’d.

Of course the comment war ensued, and with it my frustration level. I mean, here’s this awesome, funny, well-written comic describing both sides of a raging debate accurately and with a sense of humor, and in come the boring activist types who can’t laugh at themselves.
So I’m going to post the comic, and my reply to all the haters. For more great comics, go follow the link to Chuck & Beans.

Great comic.

On a side note: to those who made the comments section a forum for the debate over organic/non-organic… The whole point of the comic is that neither standard is reasonable. Besides, too little is known about the possible health benefits or side-effects of either way of life.

As an example, we still don’t know for sure whether the incidence of disease is higher in those who eat organic or non-organic foods over the course of a lifetime.

And before you come in with an assumed answer, remember that one of the things pesticides help control for are pest-born diseases.

On the other hand, while all the chemicals used in farming and food-production must pass stringent protocols before being used commercially, we aren’t capable of using a crystal ball to gaze into the future and find the next DDT before it finds us.

sooo…..

Basically, we’re all screwed. Might as well LOL about it and not get all religious about a couple leaves of cabbage.

Well, that’s a surprise…

My household recently adopted a cat. The cat had hung around my room-mate’s work site for months, begging for food and sleeping on the doorstep (the work site was a residential remodel). The cat had no collar, but was not in bad shape. The roommate’s boss told him to get the cat off of the work site, one way or another. So… yeah. Yet another addition to the menagerie.

When the cat arrived, all the other roommates and I argued over what to name her. Some argued for ‘numb-nuts’, some argued for ‘cat’, some argued for long complicated names that I can’t remember and wouldn’t bother printing if I did.

I just called her sweetheart, because it’s something I call anyone whose name I can’t remember.

And she is mellow, sweet, and does something no cat of mine has ever done before (and I’ve owned many) – she sleeps every night curled up next to me, usually snuggled up to my belly.

She has this interesting habit. She likes to drag around a stuffed animal of mine, a miniature siberian tiger that was lying in the room when I moved in. She grabs it by the scruff of the neck and drags it all over the house, making this absurd little mewling noise.

Imagine my shock when I pick the cat up in the middle of the dragging routine to give it some love for being so cute, and discover a rapidly retreating, how to say, tumescence?

Turns out the dragging was latent mating behavior. I guess ‘Sweetheart’ has a thing for platinum blondes.

So I have a male cat named Sweetheart. @#$!&.

Par for the god-damned course.