Archives for posts with tag: opinion

Which came first? Bad polling or Donald Trump? Perhaps that’s a question best left for philosophers and besides, this isn’t a post about He Who Must Not Be Named. (I can’t promise he won’t come up again, though.)

Actually, this post is about polls themselves. As a little piggy who built a house out of straw, I feel I am eminently qualified to discuss and conduct polls of my own. I find the arcane craft of polling science to be an art form.

What is a poll? It’s basically just a fancy word for asking a lot of jerk faces about their opinions.

Read the rest of this entry »


****))))SPECIAL REPORT((((****

So special, it’s telling you what you already know.


Mandatory digression:

Well….I just returned home from my once-every-5-years physical.  Why the doctor’s office considers it rude to miss a physical for 4 years in a row, I’ll never know.  As punishment, they shredded my file 3 months ago and made me register as a new patient.

Filling out 20 forms with 8-font words must be the way they test your mental health.  If you can do it without having a melt-down in the waiting room, you’ve passed. 

They wanted to know my race, so I wrote: “Human.”  Then, on the 18th form, they wanted to know if I took illegal drugs or owned firearms, so I wrote:  “Are you crazy? What the hell does that have to do with a physical exam?” 

Age 13.jpg

Yeah, sure, I use bazookas as part of my upper body weight-lifting routine. That’s why I have huge muscles.

In case anyone out there is delusional enough to believe I lift anything but dogs...


 <–   This is me, at 13.  My upper arm strength hasn’t changed all that much.  

Canadians don’t have to worry about that sort of irrelevant nonsense; they’re too busy trying to survive their 9 month winters. 


In the USA, if someone robs a bank they yell:  Wallets!  Money!  Now, Mo%&$*#@^kers! 

In Canada, if someone robs a bank they say:  Your wallets and money, please.  So sorry.

Why would I believe that?  Look at the Vaulter Bandit, who chose a different bank to rob 4 times a year (on average).  In 2015, he disguised himself as a construction worker, chatted with bank security, robbed the bank at gunpoint and then said,  “Have a nice Mother’s Day,” to the employees.

If something like this happened in the US, the police wouldn’t have a nice thing to say about the  #%**$&^@d robber.  But not in Canada.

“He’s in relatively good shape. He can vault over the counter with ease. He’s very flexible.” 

I have to say that the women in Canada are tough.  The Vaulter Bandit left without any cash in 2011 when a female employee kicked him in the balls.

I have a theory:  There aren’t enough paved roads in Canada to allow a bank robber to escape anywhere meaningful.  Since the Vaulter Bandit has grey hair, he probably spent the winter in Palm Springs, California working out in a gym. That’s where most of the Canadian Snowbirds go.

He couldn’t come back to Florida and rob us, he was arrested and served time here. 

So what does he do when he can’t go south again?  He tries fleeing to Switzerland. They’re not as polite in Geneva as police are in Canada.  They actually arrested him.

People in Canada have to be polite to each other.  After all, that @$$hole next door might be one of the people helping you dig out of the snow in January.  That’s the way it was in Minnesota when I lived there, a state that might as well be part of Canada.

Hell!  Even your cats are different.

Here’s my proof.


Canadian Cat


My cat

You want more proof?

I’ll begin with an up-to-date map of Canada to show why there aren’t enough paved roads for a robber to make a decent escape:


Canada only has 4% of their roads paved because…I mean…really?  Who wants to vacation with the Inuit’s?    

Even the homeless have their limits on where to travel, especially during the winter.  They only go to the parts of Canada where the snowbirds have abandoned their mountain homes for the winter.

Homeless people aren’t stupid, or they wouldn’t survive for long.  Yet it does seem strange that Kansas is preferable to Mexico.  Then again, with so many corn fields, they’ll never starve.


from huffington post

But alas, I digress.

In the USA, all but 1% of the roads are paved.  The difference between paved and unpaved roads can be seen in these pictures:

The road in front of my house


Contrast that with L.A. at Rush Hour


For your viewing pleasure, here is a Canadian road during a major event:

Canadian Polite 3.jpg


Looking at the big picture, I’d say that Los Angeles has as many miles of paved roadway as all of Canada.

Canadian politeness is legendary

Here in the USA, that attitude has traditionally been called “Milk toast.”

The USA is known for letting it all out.  Just ask our favorite irreverent American, Maxine:

A maze Maxine.jpgMaxine on winter.jpg

If that isn’t enough to convince you that most people in the USA aren’t the type to say “sorry” in a Mosh Pit:

polite canadian1.jpg

In the USA, most graffiti is…well…graphic.


But not in Canada

Canadian Polite 2.jpg

So there you have it:  The difference between the US and Canada:

People in the USA say it like it is and Canadians want to survive.

Hello all. NWR Field Reporters here with a special report “views” post.

One of our readers, Darth from MeerKat Musings, took time out of his busy schedule to read some of what we write about here on The Nudge Wink Report. As Darth hails from the U.K. we need to remember to pronounce schedule as shh-ke-dule, and make Darth feel at home and welcome and not like we are ignorant layabouts. Except between the hours of 10am and 3pm, because with the time difference, we start our lunch early then curl up for our daily naps. So restorative, naps.

We’re not sure why Darth sent in this question but he’s a discerning chap and realized that we always have an answer to any question put forth by our readers. We don’t guarantee to always provide the correct answer but no one ever said we had to and we’ve checked out the 40-page employment contract management insisted we sign and, nope, an answer, any answer, fulfills our obligations under the letter of the law.

Darth asks, “What do we all think about cats?” And we’re fairly sure he means felines and not the Broadway show, CATS.

Tom: I did not anticipate this question. But, as a cat lover and an atheist I feel I am uniquely situated to field it. Cats are the clearest evidence we have yet that a malevolent designer was behind the creation of everything and/or the universe. (Whichever is bigger. I forget.) Not even Cyberdyne Systems T-800 (Model 101) was as cleverly designed. Witness the oddly shaped, pink, and quivering nose which is obviously intended to make us void our kibble. The outer coverings, or fur if you will, which lulls most humans inexorably into a false sense of security. And, of course, the hypnotic “purr” modulations which fiendishly distract our attention. That’s when we discover the claw, distant cousin courtesy of genus velociraptor. Such destructive power hidden in a cute little package. That can’t be an accident. That claw that perfectly split my fingertip in two and brought forth the most vivid shade of red I’ve ever seen. What do I think about cats? I think they are awesome! (And I didn’t even mention the litter box yet.)

Dave:  Many years ago, I decided that cats are wonderful, but only if properly cooked.  Since then, the internet has supplied me with enough cute cat videos to make my eyes itch.  In recent weeks, a male cat in the neighborhood has decided that my left front tire is part of his territory and has vigorously marked it as such.  Acceptable names for cats; Fritz, Felix and Bill.  Unacceptable names for cats; any name beginning with “Mr.”, any article of clothing, including but not limited to Mittens, Socks, Tighty Whitey, Boots or Peignoirs. So I guess my answer is that cats are not, in fact, the cat’s meow – which is ironic to say the least.  If you don’t like my opinion, go crap in a box.

Darla:  As Dave said: Cats – they’re what’s for dinner.

(Haha- fooled you.  I’m not Darla – I’m Peg!  HAHAHAHAHHA!!!!!. boy, howdy, I slay myself sometimes.  Like now.)

From The Real Darla: I approve the above message. Mainly because the original comment I spent hours on was deleted after my cat Mr. Piddles sat on my laptop and glared at me. I think maybe he’s trying to tell me something?

Molly:  I have owned cats, or should I say, they owned me. I thought I had the upper hand when I declawed Vinnie, the destroyer-of-all-things-upholstered. He plotted his revenge, however, secreting allergens that made ragweed look like roses, littering outside the box, and staring at me with those haunting, yellow eyes. I made a ‘mistake’ one day and left the window open with the screen unlocked. I haven’t needed an allergy pill since, and the bouquet of ragweed looks great on my windowsill.

Oma on the move, dog.

Oma on the move, dog.

Oma: I am currently freezing my tail off in tryouts for the Iditarod Dog Race and unable to file a report at this time. (Management: by this we can guess Oma’s feelings about cats.)

Blogdramedy: I lived for four years with two cats. If you apply cat math to those numbers and factor in the nine lives they seem to not be able to stop meowing on about, that time of my life lasted 22 years. Over what often felt like two decades of under-the-sofa fur balls, paper bag fights, an unknown number of lint rollers used so I didn’t leave the house looking like Sasquatch, and a nightly ritual of removing cat litter from between my toes before getting into bed. Those were good times. But since joining The Nudge Wink Report and seeing what goes on around the office? At least cats are clean.

Peg:  Judging from the inquisitor’s blog title, he’s primarily interested in our opinion of meerkats.  The only one I can think of is the one from The Lion King who chummed around with Boomba the wartyhog, singing Hakuna Potato all the live long day.    He was a bit of a smart-ass.  That’s normally a quality I admire in any species, but since that movie was big when my kids were little, I was forced to watch it approximately 5,437 times.  That inspires me to ask Dave for his favorite recipe for Meerkat A L’Orange.

Floridaborne:  This time I volunteered to wipe up the bottom of the page.  Why?  Because I’m going to show you what I think about cats–in pictures–and being the wonderful person that I am, I didn’t want to interfere with anyone else’s commentary.

Cats sleep on your work, giving you an excellent excuse to laugh at the latest Facebook posters without guilt:

cattered desk

Cats teach us how to say awwww in ways we never expected (and alleviate the guilt of laundry avoidance):

laundry day

Cats show their love for you in so many different ways:



They fit right in with the rest of the family:


Can cats be infuriating?  Absolutely!  I’m often awakened by the 7:30am alarm claw–on a Saturday.

But…the same cat that just scratched “FEEEEED ME! (ow)” on my chest, climbs onto my lap while I’m writing:


And he starts to purr a lullaby to me.

Thanks, Darth, for this question. Hope at least one of us gave you an answer that makes you want to bark. (Oh. Wait. Wrong animal.) *group grin*