Friday, February 29, 2008

Coyote Stupid

Work email produces some of the weirdest stuff.

A week or so ago, in the morning reading came this email from a highly-placed corporate type:
Something To Think About: if Wile E. Coyote had enough money to buy all that 'ACME' junk, why didn't he just buy dinner?

Not so much a question that makes one go "hmmmm", as it does "and we're told not to screw around with the company email?".

Eh...upper echelon can do what it wants, but I digress.

Anyway and over the years, I've read a few notions on analysis of Wile E. Coyote, and why he did what he did, and endured what he endured, basically to gain something that wouldn't have provided as much nourishment as a bag of Fritos. I've seen a lawyer try to represent him with ACME over repeated product failures; I've seen ACME respond, suggesting that next time, let them pick Wile's brain, so he might get a working one. I've seen a couple of psychoanalysis of him, coming up with a plethora of reasons for Wile's behavior.

At any rate, the wise thing to do with this particular email was to read it, delete it, and go on. That's what people at my level of the corporate food chain refer to as "discretion being the better part of common sense". Well, as those of you who've read this blog for a spell know, common sense and discretion aren't always my forte (aka, The One That Got Away). In keeping with that mind-set, I didn't exercise it here, either.

Thus, what I sent back to Mr. Several Levels Above Me, in answer to his Something To Think About inquiry:

Bottom Ten Reasons Wile E. Coyote spent all that money on ACME junk and not a nice dinner:

10. There was no Chinese delivery in his rather sparse neighborhood

9. In Toontown, easy and logical just don't get it done

8. The Road Runner was slipping him Twinkies and Taco Bell on the side

7. His rather sucky accountant had deluded him with the benefit of tax write-offs

6. His agent did him one of the greatest product endorsement frauds of the 20th Century: Michael Jordan got Nike, Tiger Woods got Buick, and Wile E. got ACME

5. Wile remains beholden to his former stunt double -- Sylvester -- who threatened to quit unless he got a new contract that shortened the distance of his falls, and removed big rocks/little umbrellas from the litany of indignities and pratfalls that Sylvester had to undergo. Just how Wile is indebted to Sylvester hasn't been revealed, but rumor has it that there are sexually suggestive photos with a llama...

4. New Mexico restaurants discriminate against scraggly, animated coyotes

3. Wile has really bad gas, which might tend to explain #4

2. Due to the excessive insurance claims for ACME product mishaps and failures, Wile couldn't save a ton of money by switching to GEICO. It also didn't help that he tried to eat the lizard during the application process

And the Bottom #1 reason that Wile E. Coyote spent all that money on ACME junk instead of a nice dinner is....*drum roll*:

1. He's coyote stupid.

Last I heard, I was still employed and nawp....Dave Letterman's Top Ten writers have little to worry about, strike or no strike...

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Dear Skunky -- VI

My friend at the Denver Better Business Bureau strikes again.

Or one of her cohorts has. Either way, she sent along another email scam that her network passed along to her. And I can see why she passed this along with such obvious glee: this one is titled ARE YOU ALIVE/DEAD?
She knows that I have played, with past scammers, as the completely deceased Jerome "Curly" Howard of the Three Stooges. And this email scam is tailor-made for Curly. Here 'tis:
From: Mr. Charles Roberts
Federal Ministry of Finance
5th Floor, Annex 3, New Federal Secretariat Complex
Shehu Shagari Way, Central Area
Abuja Nigeria
Tel: 234-1-8539399


Attention beneficiary, my name is Charles Roberts I'm the personal secretary to the newly appointed Minister of Finance I'm directed to contact you and the Ministry to urgently confirm from you if actually you know one Peter Woo who claimed to be your Business Associate/Partner in Africa.

The said Mr. Peter is now claiming to us that you are dead and that he will like to make a change in your payment informations to his name as the new bona fide beneficiary of the said fund (uh, WHAT said fund?).

This development is coming now that the Ministry want to offset all out-standing payments to all our legal foreign beneficiaries arround the world and your payment file was affected. The said Mr. Peter Lun Woo is claiming to us that you were dead (yeah, I got that the first time) and you have instructed him to make a change of ownership to these funds before your death.

As the original account informations where the said approved sum should be remitted into (what he said) you are urgently requested to contact this office through this email address or phone tel 234-1-8539399, as soon as you received this message to as to know the true position of things. Your swift response will help things much.

Alive or dead? Mr. Peter Lun Woo? The swift response from a dead guy "will help things much"?Since he wants a response from a dead guy, let's give him one. Enter, grave stage left, Curly:

My good Mr. Charles Roberts, personal secretary to the Federal Minister of Finance, Government of Nigeria,

I am in receipt of your email regarding the claim by Mr. Peter Lun Woo, to be my business partner in Africa, and his claim that I am dead, and therefore he is entitled to my accounts therefrom.

In part, he is correct: I have the honor to be Jerome C. "Curly" Howard. I am, in fact, dead. I died on January 18, 1952. My earthly remains are interred at the Home of Peace Memorial Park, 4334 Whittier Blvd., Los Angeles CA 90023. I will even attach a photo of my plot location and headstone for your edification.

I am sure you ask, "if you are dead, how are you responding to this email?". Simple: because you asked me to.

Of course, there's more: during my ears of peaceful repose, a series of fiber optic communication lines were run through the park, one of which came into close proximity to my digs. Through the wonders of ITC -- instrumental transcommunication -- and the considerable work of gifted colleagues at the Timestream Astral Research Center, located on Marduk in the Third Astral Plane, a method of communication with the physical world has been opened, and has been in operation since the late 1960s. It is still an imperfect science, as I am not always able to respond to each and every email that finds its way to me; but with the obvious importance of this communication, my colleagues at Timestream made it priority that I respond to you.

As one might gather, money is like so much wall paper on the Third Astral Plane; it has no practical meaning or use here. I have it decorating my walls; I use it for toilet paper. Unless the concept of toilet paper is foreign to you, I think you get the picture. If it is, then think tree bark. I wish to provide a context you can grasp.

So I say to you, Mr. Charles Roberts, that Mr. Peter Lun Woo is absolutely correct when he writes to you and claims that I am dead. I am. Dead as a can of corned beef. And it don't get much deader than that, I assure you.

However, I never knew a Peter Lun Woo when I was alive, and his claim that he is my business partner is a wagonload of wildebeest sh**. But if you want to give him the money he claims, by all means...give it to him. With my compliments.

If I can be of further assistance, feel free to email me here. Buried in astral endeavors as I am, I'm not going anywhere for a few millennia.

J. C. Howard

Most times, an email like that goes unanswered. This ain't one of them, to my delight:

J. C. Howard, you not funny. Dead is not funny This business serious and you make jest of it. Answer serious or leave us alone!

Whaddaya mean, I' ain't funny? He was an absolute hoot! "Answer serious or leave us alone"? Why soitenly! So goes this reply:

Not funny? I'm not funny? Why, I'll show you! A skeleton clatters into a local bar and orders a beer and a mop....nyuk nyuk nyuk! See that? *bonk* Ow! Nyuk nyuk! What's the difference between a saloon and an elephant passing gas? A saloon is a bar room, and an elephant passing gas is BARRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM! Nyuk nyuk nyuk...I'm killing me here! Stop it, stop it....oh wait...that's me. I even do's my impersonation of a wolf...*whistle*...hiya, babe! *slap* Ow! You know I quit my job at the bakery...(she asks why)...oh, I got sick of the dough, and thought I'd go on the loaf...*sound of her slapping me*

Now I ask ya...what's not funny about that? Dead can be funny! But so can the living. I mean, how's this grab you: a live guy writes to a dead guy, asking him if he's dead or alive! Nyuk nyuk nyuk! And when the dead guy answers him, the live guy tells the dead guy to not jest and be serious! Don't that make the live guy look like a bonehead?

I got a million of 'em, Chuck, a million of 'em. But I'll share 'em with you later; right now, Moe's coming to straighten another chisel on my head. Seems that's where he always bends them, too. Woob-woo-wooo-wooo!

As of now, that got no reply. Apparently, Chuck doesn't like being made jest of by a dead comedian who can jest circles around him. Nyuk nyuk nyuk.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

The One That Got Away

As the last February 14 rolled around, and a friend of mine had finished reading my smart-ass reply to's solicitation to make me a "client", she asked me in that straight-away manner of hers, "just who was this 'one that got away' for you? Does she actually exist, or someone you just make up to avoid taking a chance?".
This particular friend of mine is one of several who tend to pull few punches when they try to pin me down on something.
"Nawp. She was very real. I don't think I could make up a woman like her, then, now, or ever again". "So, you've never really gotten over her, have you?" she continued.
"Nawp...I suppose I never did", I said in that dead-pan manner of mine, hoping for a change of subject.
"Then why not write about it?", she insisted.
"Nawp", followed by, "can we just drop this?" with an edge of annoyance creeping into my voice.

"What", she snorted, "afraid to let others see you as human?".
Dang, I hate when she gets that way. Everything should always be talked about, in her view. Everything. Not in mine. Some things are best left off the radar screen.
Especially later that night, sitting at my computer and reading emails, when my annoyance at her prodding began to take me down Memory Lane once more. It's been almost 26 years since I last saw the "one that got away" -- pictured above -- and yet I must admit that she still remains in my memories, as vividly as if it were yesterday.
So, against whatever better judgement I have, and to make my friend happy, or at least get her off my ass on this particular subject, I'll let you see a piece of ol' Skunk as he hates to reveal parts of himself to be, and tell you of the 'one that got away'. Or not, as perhaps you'll see for yourself in the end.
I met her in college in the later part of the 70s, in a First Aid class. I was studying Criminal Justice; she was studying to become a physical therapist. The class was a mandatory for both of us, and some interesting quirk of fate just happened to put us in the same schedule. In one demonstration, she was playing the 'victim', and I was to show on her how to stop bleeding of the femoral artery via the application of pressure. I was a bit bashful in those days, and embarrassed to lay hands on her there, and she -- a bit embarrassed herself -- laughed at my red-faced, superficial demonstration, which had the instructor and me laughing, too.
In no time we became friends, and began to see each other outside of class.
At this time I knew that there was someone else in the picture: a lad she'd known for years prior. Her twin sister (they were identical twins) was dating his younger brother, and it was expected in her family that she and the older brother would marry one day. For now, I didn't let that bother me.
Many days or evenings -- at dinner, over coffee, or on the phone -- we would talk of many things, priority among them were her life, her loves and her fears. She would speak about how he -- the other guy -- wouldn't talk about such things, and how she was growing close to me, because I would listen to her, and appeared to care.
It wasn't hard for me then, and it didn't just appear so: she was beautiful in my eyes. Kind, pure, with solid core values. I adored her. I came to love her. But no matter how close we drew, 'he' was always in the shadows, and on the horizon of eventuality. There'd be some kind of reckoning at some point.
One evening, months later, she expressed to me her growing discomfort with the situation. Seeing me, yet feeling like she 'belonged' to him. At this stage, I had some chivalrous notions about love and trust (aka, "if you love someone or something, set them free; if the love's real, they'll return"). So I told her to be up front with him about me. With the way we'd grown close, I was confident that he would be what he was, and I would emerge as her choice.

One to take my advice in those days, she did tell him. And later, in her words, "he cleaned up his act", and she couldn't bring herself to part with him.
Inwardly, I was crushed. But having made a commitment, I couldn't back down. I bowed to her wishes as graciously as possible, and stopped seeing her, hating every minute of the withdrawal.

And so it remained, for about 9 months. Then, in a moment of curiosity (aka, weakness), I called her, just to say hi and see how she was. Was I ever surprised -- pleasantly -- to learn that after I'd stepped out of the picture, he'd returned to his detached, disinterested ways.
She and I picked up where we'd left off.
Not that, in all our times together, we ever had sex; one of her core values that I admired beyond my own testosteronal rooster's crowing, was her vow of no sex before marriage. I respected her for it, then and ever since. My own values didn't prove as steadfast in later relationships, but I never claimed to be a saint then or later, and I digress.
Time went by for me most enjoyably, as it seemed to me that we were growing closer together with each meeting, date, and conversation. Not a Catholic myself, I nonetheless attended Mass with her when I could. I felt no urgency or hurry; I felt I had time and love on my side.
Her twin sister and his younger brother were scheduled to marry in January of 1981, and six months prior, she asked me if I could 'write something special for them'. I'd dabbled a bit in writing at the time, and she 'loved' my way of expression on paper. So for her --who I'd do about anything for -- I gave it a shot. What I came up with -- professionally printed and framed as a wedding gift -- I would later learn had gone over superbly with all who read it.
And no, I won't share it here. Even if my friend insists.
I couldn't be there, you see: because 'he' still lurked in the shadows, and with the exception of her twin sister, I don't believe that her family knew anything about me. Still, my darling friend thought the world of me for coming through for her sister....and for her.
But, much as my coming up with that gift meant to her, it turned out to be the high-water mark for us.
As '81 approached 1982, she again became restless and uncomfortable, about being "torn between two lovers". I gently prompted her to talk about it, as we'd always found it easy to be up front with one another. Once again, I told her to be up front with him, and let the chips fall where they might. I was more torn this time about suggesting this, but I believed in doing the right thing for her, and hoped for the best this time. I put on a brave face and added with as much sincerity as I could muster to hide my memory of the last time, "whatever you decide, I will honor". The look of genuine appreciation in her eyes made it almost a bearable decision at the time.
After two of the longest weeks of my life (at the time), she made her decision. She couldn't leave him. Much as she cared for me, she would stay with him.
I haven't known many lower points in my life than right then.
But, as before, I had made a commitment. If every thought I'd ever expressed to her meant a thing, I had to stand by my word. I didn't manage to hide all the hurt this time around, but I lived up to my word. The last time I saw her, I kissed her, held her, and wished her all the happiness that I genuinely wanted her to have. All the while, dying a little inside.
I don't think that I've ever loved someone as much as I loved her. Or ever will, again. More on that later.
Over the next couple years, I thought of her often, but resisted the urge to call and check on her, just in case he'd returned to type. Then came the fall of 1985: I had spent a grueling summer working labor dispute security in Ohio for my employer. On an irresistable whim, I called her to see how she was, and perhaps maybe...but the recorded message I got indicated all of her calls were being forwarded. To his number. I didn't need to be hit over the head, but guess I wanted to be, so I called his number. She answered. They had gotten married in '84. Ouch.
I covered my disappointment by wishing them all the best, wishing that I could feel like I meant it.
Fast forward to early summer of '94: my then relationship -- an engagement that never should have been, but for my stubborn refusal to see the obvious, and accept when a commitment made was a bad bargain, especially when it was as one-sided as it had become -- was on the ropes, and headed for the crapper, a mere couple months hence. Thoughts of my long-lost love were once again encroaching, as they often did at low moments of my life. But there was no going back: she was 10 years married now. Still, the impossible-to-scratch itch needed to be addressed.
So I decided to try something to get me to quit dwelling on her: I sat down and wrote her a last, tell-all letter. Not that it was going to be sent; I wrote it for me, or so I told myself. In it, I confessed to her all of my feelings and thoughts that she'd ever known and probably long forgotten by now. I told her that, through good and bad, she was never far from my thoughts.
But, in the light of day that was overdue to shine on me, had come the realization that two men had competed for her affections. And it was time that I faced reality: the better man for her had won. I was, therefore, closing this chapter of my life, years later than I should have. And in so doing, I could finally -- really -- wish her and hers the genuine best wishes and life-long happiness that I had wanted to do so many years prior, but couldn't in my own heart.
Fool that I was...I went ahead and mailed it. Without a return address. In those days, my address and phone number were both unlisted. Little chance that she'd find me, not that I expected her to try. I assume she received it. Perhaps she even read it. It didn't matter now. It was finally done.
It worked for a while. About five years, and the eve of the New Millennium. The memories came back. And I quit fighting them.
So to this day, in 'those' moments, I remember her. I have made a degree of peace with the memories: I am resigned to her periodic visits on Memory Lane, understanding that my time with her is long over, and forever just a memory. Though, at times, I now welcome her radiant smile and sparkling eyes, visiting the moments I slip into remembrance. Those were some special times, truly. She was -- and I imagine likely remains today -- a very special, caring, beautiful woman. One who gave to me a very wonderful time in my younger life. So I'll keep my memories of her. She won a piece of my heart that is forever hers, and no one will ever be able to claim. To this day, I love her. To put it bluntly, that's just the way it is.
In the words of an old nostalgic song, many years have gone by, since I looked in her eyes, but the memory lingers...I go back in my mind, to the very first time, I felt the touch of her fingers.
In my 51 years, I am thankful for those lives who've touched my own in their different, and occasionally ongoing ways. But I'll never forget how you, Terry, touched and, for a time, enriched my life, more than a quarter of a century ago. Whether you ever stumble across these words at some point in the future or not, know that I've done my best to honor my commitment to you, made long ago. I still love you. I miss you often. But if you're happy, then it's all been worth it.
If there is a perpetuity of the mind and heart beyond the physical realm, you'll be a special, cherished memory, of and in mine, always.
Okay, ****, ya happy now?

*2014 UPDATE:  Fool that I am, I found her on Facebook and sent her a friend request...she rejected it without comment.  'Nuff said...the past is be left exactly that*

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Dear Skunky -- V

Sometimes, you need a little help in life. Sometimes, you need some professional expertise and advice. Sometimes, you need to consult with another whose experience has taken them where logic is left behind.

Sometimes, you'd be better off to just hit the 'delete' button. But what fun would that be?

Dear Skunky has been asked for help, by a fellow blogger who has received one of them thar email scam letters, Little Lamb. LL is apparently not familiar with this venue of the Internet, and LL knows that Dear Skunky irrationally, foolishly courts and jousts with these cretins.

In short, and to paraphrase a quote from Little Lamb, "I want Skunkfeathers to represent me with these people".


What Little Lamb received is what is known as a "phishing" scam letter. Something one receives that appears to be from legitimate sources, seeking folks who believe in the authenticity of the sender, so they'll click on the provided links (which don't go to any legitimate name-brand company) and give to the lower-than-snake-spit scammers things like useful personal information, accounts and passwords to same, for later use by the scammers in ID fraud and theft.

Here's perxactly what LL received (under the PayPal banner):

Dear Customer,

This email confirms that you have paid SH ENT ( $23.00 USD using PayPal.

Payment Details

Transaction ID: 9U863270P60945720

Item Price: $20.00 USD

Total Shipping: $3.00 USD

Total: $23.00 USD

Order Description: Swishahouse Logo - T-Shirts
The following options were included with this payment: Size: 2X

Color: navy

It may take a few moments for this transaction to appear in the Recent Activity list on your Account Overview.

Business Information

Business: SH ENT

Contact E-Mail:

(that was the bait; now here comes the hook)

Note: If you haven't authorized this charge , click the link below to dispute transaction and get full refund to the link below (Encrypted link)
If you have any questions about the shipping and tracking of your purchased item or service, please contact SH ENT at

Thank you for using PayPal!

The PayPal Team

PayPal Email ID PP120

Now, if you don't have a PayPal account, you'd likely ignore this and move on. But if you do -- based off the email addy you received this on, and this is what the scammers are counting on -- your curiosity may well get the better of you, as you know you haven't made any such purchase, and you'll immediately click on the link to figure out what's going on, if not to get your refund. If you're paying attention when you click on the link, you'll note what appears in your top screen window is NOT something that accesses PayPal, but another site entirely. One, in this case, tricked out to look like a PayPal site. You enter your account access information, and wha la, you've been had.

It must work, 'cuz I've been receiving these kind of emails for the past three years. It just doesn't work with me, 'cuz I don't and have never had a PayPal account. On a few occasions, I've followed the link, and entered in totally bogus (and thoroughly insulting to the scammers) account and password information, and that was that.

But since Little Lamb asked for "representation", Dear Skunky was more than happy to provide it. Witness, therefore, the letter that was dispatched to the provided email of SH ENT:

Subject: Official Notice of Rejecture Of Your PayPal Phishing Gambit

Dear SH ENT of dubious antecedence and poorly-crafted phishing scam,
I am the Hon. Skunkfeathers, PC, AoL, and occasional blog columnist of Dear Skunky, retained to represent the party of the first part (herein and after referred to as LL), who was contacted by yourself under the auspices of party of the second part (herein and after referred to as PS), and served under a pseudo PayPal linkage with notice of unrequited debt in the amount of $23 USD for a 2x sized, Navy colored, Swishahouse T-shirt, alleged transaction ID of 9u863270p60945720.
As retained representative for party of the first part in this faux transaction by party of the second par, herein are the grounds thereby the fraudulence of the actions generating the email to the party of the first party by party of the second part are deigned to be, in all parts contained therein, inert compost:
1. The party of the first part never served in the Navy.
2. The party of the first part doesn't wear a 2x, and isn't likely to order something that would fit the party of the first part like a circus tent.
3. The party of the first part has never heard of Swishahouse, and to quote the party of the first part, "I wouldn't order a t-shirt that said that for all the lamb chops in a sheep ninja training camp in the Falklands or Montana, whichever's closest". More or less.
4. The party of the first part has never used a PayPal account for such haberdasheresque nonsense.
5. The party of the first part has never heard of, done business with, contacted, or had her pets defecate on the lawn of the party of the second part.
6. The party of the first part doesn't phish, fish, or advocate whaling in the rain forests or allowing tuna to fish for dolphins, as it is non sequitur to this proceeding.
You are thereby notified that your phishing scam email to the party of the first part is recognized as that heretofore so labelled, and is rejected on the basis of the heretofore recognition thereof, and because you are theretofore recognized as being full of composting material of the most dubious origins.
In other words, pound sand: you ain't gonna git squat from the party of the first part, you goat sucking egg poking cheeseball.
I have the honor to be,
Hon. Skunkfeathers, PC, AoL
The Law Orifices of Howard, Fine, Howard, Skunkfeathers, Phulovit, Frankoonsteen, Ungabunga and Ewehoff, PC AoL.
"Representation With Obfuscation Made Vacuously Obstruse"
As the email didn't 'bounce' I eagerly awaited some kind of intelligent, articulate riposte from the scammers.

Uh, not really.

In any event, I didn't get any. Instead, I got the satisfaction of having soived, when my soivices was sought. Now Little Lamb has only to worry about some of her regular commenters, who keep wanting to cook her (like /t.).

For that, Dear Skunky recommends she sends a few of her ninja sheep to deliver some pointed lamb chops about the head and shoulders.

Sunday, February 3, 2008

Nightmare On Tech Street

*originally published 12-30-05*

Do you remember the blog entry I made when the inscrutable pet rock Seymour -- after my allowing him to watch a marathon of original The Outer Limits series on the Sci-Fi Channel -- frantically reconfigured my TV/VCR remote for, among other things, home defense?

A reconfiguration which I discovered when I inadvertently vaporized my refrigerator and the vacant (I hope) apartment next door, but I digress.

I recently heard an interview on KOA (85 AM, Denver) about what sounded to me like an amusing new book, How To Survive A Robot Uprising: Tips on Defending Yourself Against The Coming Rebellion by Daniel H. Wilson, a roboticist and Ph.D candidate at the Robotics Institute of Carnegie Mellon University. So out of curiosity, I ordered the book ( with the intention of doing a book review of sorts on it, having received the bemused approval of the book's author to do so.

Seymour and Jane are not impressed, but more on that in a mo'.

Wilson presents an informative, tongue-in-cheek (or is it?) look at the state of robotics in research, development, deployment. He then ventures into seeming parodious speculation about the eventual open rebellion likely to be staged by the ever-evolving AI-fueled robots against their imperfect human creators (think the original series episode of Star Trek with Nomad, the space probe merged with an alien probe, that began destroying all that was not 'perfect').

Among some of the informative and eye-opening segments of the book are:

- How to reason with a robot (use a mathematical distraction: as a last request before disembowelment, ask the robot to remind you of what the highest prime number is. While it sits down to think, you may be able to quietly slip away). You might also try the ploy successfully used by Mr. Spock on the malevolent android 'Norman' (Star Trek), wherein he posed the following to Norman: "Everything I say is a lie. I'm a liar". Norman self-fried, and Captain Kirk got the girl. Well usually, but not in this episode.

- How to fool a thermal imaging target tracker (likely used by a rebelling robot): lose the human heat signature by smearing yourself with cool mud and leaves, and stay still.

- How to deactivate a rebel servant robot (think Rosie from The Jetsons): use the pool ruse: throw a handful of leaves into the pool and ask your loyal robot to fetch them by hand. When it leans over, plant your foot on its metal hindquarters and shove.

- How to notice the first sign of a robotic rebellion: problems in computing infrastructure, no matter how brief or well explained. Like, for example, cell phone drop out, or cable TV signal interruption, or getting booted off-line while on the Internet.....uh...

- And if the rebellion is on and you've made it past the first wave, how to pose as a humanoid robot: pretend to act damaged (Seymour says I already have this one down ass rock).

Of course, Wilson did touch on the possibility that an evil bot/cyborg might come from the future to the present, intent on jumpstarting the rebellion before we're ready (ie., it returns from the future to thwart the publication of his book, for example). Personally, I can see such a scenario going either way if it happens 30 years earlier: we're likely screwed, unless Linda Hamilton is not too young at that point; on the other hand, it will have considerable trouble recruiting other bots of the era to aid it. I mean, cars that tell you that your door is a jar aren't going to make for the most intelligent or useful of allies, and it might just have a cyberbreakdown when it realizes it's landed in a period of robotic moronity.

We can only hope.

At any rate, I highly recommend the book from both a humorous reading and just-in-case perspective, and that you visit the aforementioned link to the website for more information.

As for Seymour and Jane, after reading to them select excerpts of the book, they are now both hiding under the love seat, and Seymour is giving me that "see, SEE?" look over my having gingerly disassembled/discarded his TV remote home defense device. Perhaps I'll come to regret that decision down the road, but the chinese food delivery folks are probably vastly relieved it's gone now. You know what they say about "accidents will happen".

Oh well...I can just imagine the fit Seymour would throw if I brought home one of those robotic dogs that was/is all the rage at Christmas time.

Of course, after reading Wilson's book...I think that not likely.