Comments on Silly Legislation of the Day

First: if they want women to stop showing thier g-strings straps in public convince clothing manufacturors that women, most women have hips and an ass and the make clothing that fits those body parts!

Second- when I am out on my run and its hot and I'm sweaty I'm running in my jog bra and if you want to stop me, you'll have to catch me!

No problem, I don't wear underwear.

I wish someone would ban flip flops...I'm sick of seeing people's ugly skanky feet and hearing that sticky slap-slap sound while they walk. When did it become okay to wear flip flops all fucking year round? I've even seen them in workplaces. They aren't real footwear. Put some fucking shoes on. They aren't as horrid as tevas though. With socks.

Why oh why couldn't the South have won the civil war so the rest of us could be rid of them nowadays?

Wow. If showing my boxers is illegal, what happens if I go out like this:
http://www.theblogblog.net/?p=884

If the jogging bra ban passes, they'll face some terrible consequences. Unable to jog, their women will get fat. Soon, Atlanta will be home to chubs and chasers only.

No bra strap showing? wtf-ever.

I think girls squatting on top of a porta potty seat like a monkey at an ant hill, and (at best) pipping all over everything should likewise be banned.

@5---creepy that you're out snapping photos of women's ass cracks.

I hate baggy clothes as much as the next person, but this is fucking ridiculous. They're a little slow on the uptake too. When did baggy pants really become popular? The mid-90s? Where have those losers been?

Well, either you're closing your eyes
To a situation you do now wish to acknowledge
Or you are not aware of the caliber of disaster indicated
By the presence of a pool table in your community.
Ya got trouble, my friend, right here,
I say, trouble right here in River City.
Why sure I'm a billiard player,
Certainly mighty proud I say
I'm always mighty proud to say it.
I consider that the hours I spend
With a cue in my hand are golden.
Help you cultivate horse sense
And a cool head and a keen eye.
Never take and try to give
An iron-clad leave to yourself
From a three-reail billiard shot?
But just as I say,
It takes judgement, brains, and maturity to score
In a balkline game,
I say that any boob kin take
And shove a ball in a pocket.
And they call that sloth.
The first big step on the road
To the depths of deg-ra-Day--
I say, first, medicinal wine from a teaspoon,
Then beer from a bottle.
An' the next thing ya know,
Your son is playin' for money
In a pinch-back suit.
And list'nin to some big out-a-town Jasper
Hearin' him tell about horse-race gamblin'.
Not a wholesome trottin' race, no!
But a race where they set down right on the horse!
Like to see some stuck-up jockey'boy
Sittin' on Dan Patch? Make your blood boil?
Well, I should say.
Friends, lemme tell you what I mean.
Ya got one, two, three, four, five, six pockets in a table.
Pockets that mark the diff'rence
Between a gentlemen and a bum,
With a capital "B,"
And that rhymes with "P" and that stands for pool!
And all week long your River City
Youth'll be frittern away,
I say your young men'll be frittern!
Frittern away their noontime, suppertime, choretime too!
Get the ball in the pocket,
Never mind gittin' Dandelions pulled
Or the screen door patched or the beefsteak pounded.
Never mind pumpin' any water
'Til your parents are caught with the Cistern empty
On a Saturday night and that's trouble,
Oh, yes we got lots and lots a' trouble.
I'm thinkin' of the kids in the knickerbockers,
Shirt-tail young ones, peekin' in the pool
Hall window after school, look, folks!
Right here in River City.
Trouble with a capital "T"
And that rhymes with "P" and that stands for pool!
Now, I know all you folks are the right kinda parents.
I'm gonna be perfectly frank.
Would ya like to know what kinda conversation goes
On while they're loafin' around that Hall?
They're tryin' out Bevo, tryin' out cubebs,
Tryin' out Tailor Mades like Cigarette Feends!
And braggin' all about
How they're gonna cover up a tell-tale breath with Sen-Sen.
One fine night, they leave the pool hall,
Headin' for the dance at the Arm'ry!
Libertine men and Scarlet women!
And Rag-time, shameless music
That'll grab your son and your daughter
With the arms of a jungle animal instink!
Mass-staria!
Friends, the idle brain is the devil's playground!

People:
Trouble, oh we got trouble,
Right here in River City!
With a capital "T"
That rhymes with "P"
And that stands for Pool,
That stands for pool.
We've surely got trouble!
Right here in River City,
Right here!
Gotta figger out a way
To keep the young ones moral after school!
Trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble...

Harold:
Mothers of River City!
Heed the warning before it's too late!
Watch for the tell-tale sign of corruption!
The moment your son leaves the house,
Does he rebuckle his knickerbockers below the knee?
Is there a nicotine stain on his index finger?
A dime novel hidden in the corn crib?
Is he starting to memorize jokes from Capt.
Billy's Whiz Bang?
Are certain words creeping into his conversation?
Words like 'swell?"
And 'so's your old man?"
Well, if so my friends,
Ya got trouble,
Right here in River city!
With a capital "T"
And that rhymes with "P"
And that stands for Pool.
We've surely got trouble!
Right here in River City!
Remember the Maine, Plymouth Rock and the Golden Rule!
Oh, we've got trouble.
We're in terrible, terrible trouble.
That game with the fifteen numbered balls is a devil's tool!
Oh yes we got trouble, trouble, trouble!
With a "T"! Gotta rhyme it with "P"!
And that stands for Pool!!!

To maxsolomon, I can only say "hmmm."

To everyone else, I say: Atlanta is the suckiest shittiest hole on the face of the earth.

Well, I guess that the next time I go crazy I'll have to make sure I'm not standing on a busy street corner half naked like the last time or someone will fine me! Wait! I don't live in podunkville USA, so I guess it is okay and I'm sure little kids will take after me if I do it again and the nation will be ruined and those kids won't have a future! Yeah, that's the ticket!

I live in Atlanta. My morning commute takes me past the Governor's mansion, which is in a very Stepford residential metro-mansion neighborhood.

Every morning, there are literally dozens of trophy wives, iPods strapped to their arms, taking their morning jog down the road, past the Governor's mansion. They're all in trendy pink jogging bras. There's no way Atlanta will actually put a stop to that--no way.

I'd like someone to ban those sloppy jerseys and knee-length clown pants that basketball players wear instead of traditional playing outfits.

those fucking baggy things in pro basketball

I do remember movies of the old days - skimpy tight hot pants shorts on basket players --- what crotch --- and what leg

purely queer sex stimuli

Remind me again why The USA (Bush) disagrees with Iran and other oppressive states? They ban women from dressing certain ways, just like US. It seems that our country has a lot more in common then we thought. We love atomic energy, bombs and to oppress peoples personal expression, just like them. I am tired of seeing peoples underwear, but fuck it. If they want to look like they are 5 year olds for the rest of their lives...let them.

Man, FUCK that ban. I like the eye candy.