Skunkfeathers

Punxsutawney Scam

2012-02-02T00:47:00.006-07:00

Did you know: some scammers are NOT cognizant of February 2, any year, of being Ground Hog Day?

I didn't know this.

So how did I learn this? Easy: I had Punxsutawney Phil edit and 'respond' to and as an email scammer*.

Oh, it's not such a stretch: with ipads, notepads, droids, the availability of unencrypted wifi and such, did you think that the real Punxsutawney Phil isn't tied into The Weather Channel's long range weathercasting, before making his annual prediction? With all the sophisticated electronics in his burrow, it's a wonder Phil isn't Phriccassee.

But on the assumption that perhaps some of the email scammers who received this epistle ARE cognizant of Ground Hog Day, were they ever in for the prediction of their lives:

Yo
My name is Mohamed Alshaikh Bahrainian, a citizen based in Libya as business associate and personal Assistant to Mr. Saif Al-Islam who was arrested 20th November 2011 with two of his Aids while trying to flee to Niger Republic by the National Transition Government who over throw the late Colonel Gadaffi Government after the 9 months war.

Okay...that's a f**king lie. I am Punxsutawney Phil, that overweight ground hog who, for one pain-in-the-ass day a year, becomes rodent de celeb in a burg of peculiar folks in Pennsylvania. And I am here to tell you that I am pretty sick of this sh**. Every year, it's the same crap: lights, cameras, action, and some top hatted buffoon practically sticks his hand up my ass like he's my f**king proctologist, and tells the world what I just predicted about the next six weeks or so of weather for the season.

But things are different now: with wifi, droid phones and the internet, Mr. Top-Hatted Proctologist can kiss my fat rodent ass.

I have come privy to the existence of the sum of $240 Million Euros through Niger Republic to Nabouring country Benin Republic where it was lodged in Escrow account along 230 Kilos of Gold. Doesn't matter where it came from. I know where it is now. And I want YOU to help ME get it. With that money, I can dispense with this annual proctology exam in public, and live the life of a leisurely online scamming ground hog.

So...can we work together over this project? You must, of course, keep everything to your self secret and highly confidential. After I have your gullible assurances to this end, I will give you the details. Also please note that this must be concluded within reasonable time frame therefore your prompt reply is essential.

THIS MUST BE KEPT HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL AND SECRET. I WILL NEED YOUR DIRECT CONTACT MOBILE AND TELEPHONE WHERE ORAL CONVERSATION CAN BE DONE. I NEED YOUR FULL NAME. I NEED YOUR ADDRESS. I NEED YOUR AGE AND OCCUPATION. AND I WILL NEED SEX WITH JENNIFER ANISTON.

Respond to me if you know you are ready to work with me. And in return, I'll tell you what's REALLY going to happen with the weather in your area, and other choice bits of celebrity dirt, like how Lindsay Lohan is really Charlie Sheen in drag, and how I and that fat slob Michael Moore are twins that resulted from sex between a ground hog and a Sonic cheeseburger.

Refuse to work with me, and I'll condemn you to six years of that ground hog-looking fat ass, Chris Matthews, on PMSNBC.

Depending on how you chose here, Blessings to You or Piss Up A Rope.
Punxsutawney Phil, masquerading as Mohamed Alshaikh Bahrainian

So far, none of the recipients of this email have take steps to avoid six years of Chris Matthews. Poor bastards...

* well okay, so it was Seymour, my pet rock what did the editing and such. And the comment about having sex with Jennifer Aniston was Seymour's idea....("was NOT!!!")

The Ol' Scam Mail Just Ain't What It Used Ta Wuz

2012-01-30T00:43:00.005-07:00

Which is, I reckon, what a recent scammer thought when he received his email back.

*Nyuk*

Let's compare, shall we? Here's what the lil' bugger sent to yours truly:

Dear Friend,
I got your email on my search for a reliable business partner on theinternet.I am interested in establishing and operating a very viable business as ameans of investment abroad. I do not know too well how this is done inyour country,so I will need you to help me in this regard.My preference is any good profit yielding business and I would appreciate anyviable ideas you could come up with. I will also need you to help me look forproperties like homes and lands for sale as I am proposing to invest thesum of Twenty Million United States Dollars (20,000,000.00 USD) for this.

I do not know if you can and will be of help to me. For a brief on mypersonality; my name is Alhaji Hussain Ahmad, a Slovakian based in Libya.I am a retired Business man,formally into Oil and Gas business.I am 62 years of age,married with awife and 4 lovely kids. I have had so much problems with the LibyanAuthority just because am a foreigner I believe.

My need for this business propositionand to acquire these properties is veryurgent as I am planning to move out of this country with my family down toyour country. I want you to also help in finding a good home where my familyand I will live in. Please reply to my personal emailas soon as you receive this message so we can communicate further. bbhussain@gmx.com
Sincerely,
Alhaji Hussain Ahmad

Serious lack of imagination on his part, wouldn't you agree?

But with a little editing *presto changeo*, an otherwise bland email can become a cause de faux pas celebritee:

I got your email on my search for a person of dubious antecedence.I am interested in establishing and operating a movie making operation as a means of investment abroad. I do not know too well how this is done inyour country, so I will need you to help me in this regard. My preference is making home movies of me sodomizing pigs. I would appreciate any viable pigs you can get your hands on for me. You see, my religion forbids me to have
contact with pork. Well, they can kiss my ass. I want to sodomize pigs, so that's what
I'm going to do. AND, I want to make movies of me doing it, so I can sell them to other
pig f***ers here in the Middle East.

For a brief on my personality; my name is Alhaji Hussain Ahmad, a pig sodomizing lowlife based in Libya. I am a retired camel sodomizer, formerly into goats, too. I am 62 years of age, and I have hair plugs and false teeth. I have had so much problems with the Libyan Authority just because I love to buttf*** pigs. Asshats. My need for this business proposition and to acquire pigs to buttf*** is very urgent. I'm one pig-horny dude.

I want you to also help in finding a good home where I can sodomize pigs, videotape it, and
sell it to pig lovers of my former religion. Please reply to my personal email as soon as you receive this message so we can communicate further. bbhussain@gmx.com
Sincerely,
Alhaji Hussain Ahmad

I thought that this put some real pizzazz into his original email, didn't you? Sadly, he didn't think so:

blaspemy u will pay

Being the courteous type that I am, I had to respond:

What fiscal denomination is 'blaspemy' please? Which culture uses this currency?

Perhaps his silence only means he's trying to find out...can anyone help him find a currency stretcher, please?

Milestones Unrelated to Seymour

2012-01-24T00:45:00.002-07:00

For my 650th blog post, I figured why not have a little fun with that which makes this blog the unique waste of time it's been for the previous 649?

First, to the title. It has nothing to do with my pet rock, Seymour.

"Phffffft!"

I guess he told me.

Next, to the photos h'yar. What a study in contrasts. More on that shortly.

Milestones. In a life, however lived, one cannot help but encounter milestones.

For some, life's milestones are important, defining moments on their journey from birth to weighing the marks they've made in their passage to the next phase of spiritual evolution.

Little of which has to do with me. From henceforth I'll digress.

Tomorrow, I hit a milestone. Since it's unavoidable, I checked my insurance, and find that I'm not covered for unsatisfactory results resulting therefrom. I have to accept that which tomorrow brings.

My life has not had all of the milestones one might associate with the average life. Yes, I was born. Yes, I got baptized. And perhaps defined at least part of my life's path, when I chose my moment of baptism to fill my diaper 'n attire in the hands of the baptizing minister.

A sense of timing has not been one of my gifts.

I was average in many ways. I went to school. Achieved puberty. Kissed my first girl. Contracted my first bout with cooties. Found I couldn't sustain it (the puberty or the cooties). Was a lackluster Boy Scout. Started drinking coffee, shaving, coping with zits and why my voice was changing. I even had time for pondering life's imponderables, like why I was stupid enough to believe, at a young age, that I could pee on an electric fence with impunity. And why dares of that kind are best blissfully ignored.

I learned about chivalry while losing a bout with 400 lbs of concrete, and how a chivalrous episode was not always appreciated. I learned about gravity while falling out of barn haylofts, trees, off bicycles, and from one exceptionally well-placed bird house, courtesy of a sister.

I graduated from high school, and learned a simple truth: cheerleaders were never easy, and only got harder thereafter. I moved onto college, wherein I proved the previous sentence. I never succeeded in dating another one. Not for a lack of trying; more a lack of confidence and resources.

Life in adultdom has had its moments. I think I had one in 1981. It's been long enough ago that I'm not sure.

But other milestones and I have not met on the highway of life: marriage was not in my cards. There were too many jokers in my deck. The one I have always referred to as "the one that got away", didn't really "get away"; she made a wise choice.

My one and only engagement was a loss, if viewed militarily. Perhaps if I had viewed it militarily, a timely withdrawal to protect my flanks would have been in order. At any rate, I have no kids to have cost me sleep at night, to have given me moments to remember, to have driven my hair gray, my bank account empty, or to take care of me in my rapidly approaching dotage.

Some egg is thanking me, somewhere.

I managed to avoid an affliction referred to as 'mid life crisis'. For the male of the species, this 'mid life crisis' oft-times took the guise of buying a toupee, a sports car, dumping the wife and getting a 20 year old girlfriend. All of this done under the auspices of proving to the world -- and ones' self -- that they could do in mid life, what they did in their 20s.

I had no need of such demonstrations. I never lost my hair, only its color. I never lusted for sports cars; I found I could get tickets in a simple 4 door sedan. And as for the last category, I had no wife to dump, and as I aged, I found that 20 year old girls scared the hell out of me.

In short, I didn't need to prove to anyone or myself that I could do in middle age, what I did at 20. I did little to nothing when I was 20, and in the years since, I've gotten better and better at doing nothing.

My chosen career field was never a particularly 'get rich' kind of field. Coupled with the fact that an old joke about how money talks -- mine only knows how to say goodbye. Not that I haven't helped it over the years. But at least my chosen career field keeps me employable at just-above poverty wages.

So I have missed a number of milestones that many of my friends, peers and colleagues, have not. But tomorrow is a milestone I cannot deny. Chronologically, I hit the low end of a western US interstate highway speed limit sign. Put another way, 37 years ago, I was a senior. 26 years ago, I was a senior once more.

Now I get to be a senior again. No diploma this time. Only discounts. Eh.

And now, back to the pictures. One is me, a few months after I got my start. The other is me, 53 years later.

Did I ever go downhill. Small wonder I'm still single. Well, okay...a few other reasons for that as well.

But this milestone does not signify that the End is near: I still have online email scammers to abuse. I still have a job that counts on me to show up, until they tire of my crusty curmudgeondom. I have a book project that might or might not eventually see the light of day. I might yet indulge in another storm chasing opportunity, taunting and tempting the tornadic gods to give me more than I bargained for.

And I have an unexpected milestone coming up this summer -- unexpected because I never got married and had kids, yet have been asked to play the role one would associate with a father at a very pivotal moment in another person's life. And perhaps I'll have more things to come along and cut into my hours of too much time on my hands, in the time left me.

What's more, I happen to have the benefit of knowing exactly how much time I have left. Yes, I do. I have 18 years, 9 months, and 26 days left. So says Deathclock.com. And that was on the normal setting. On the sadistic one, I died back in '93.

Since I'm still here, I reckon the latter date is still a 'go'.

Now I have 650 uniquely time wasting blog posts. Maybe I'll try for 700. After all, with now 55 years of practice, time wasting is what I seem to do best ;-)

Tofu is Evil

2012-01-19T02:51:00.002-07:00

This is all because my pet rock, Seymour, had to pontificate on the substandard accomplishments of the Roman Empire, when it came to pizza restaurant chains. And how one tofu-loving cousin reacted to it.

Now we're in mortal danger.

After reading an excerpt of Seymour's rant about how the Roman Empire could not have been such a big thang, what with their total lack of pizza restaurant creation, a cousin of mine decided to go one step beyond, and throw tofu and anchovies on a pizza.

Isn't mixing tofu and anchovies kinda like having PETA costar on Roland Martin's bass fishing show? I rather thought so.

But there was, apparently, some chemical reaction to combining tofu, anchovies, mozarella cheese and tomato sauce. Once it manifested, the pizza took the combination and went....zombie. And now we gots problems.

Reports of pizzas 'free' if not delivered within 30 minutes, were misreported by militant pies on the ZPNN* as "liberated pizzas running free". Especially those laden with the trigger ingredients, tofu and anchovies.

A wilding, stampeding herd of 'flash mob' pizzas were illicitly born, fueled by some zombification process that was chemically triggered by the very unfortunate combining of tofu with anchovies and tomato sauce.

Survivors at one southwest Denver suburban intersection reported being blocked and pelted with anchovy and tofu bits, whilst being verbally taunted by the 'flash mob' of wilding pizzas. One survivor swore he heard the raging pies chanting, "I've got your pizza pizza...BITE ME!", in a credible imitation of the late comedian Paul Lynde's voice, through the veritable blizzard of flying anchovy and tofu bits. Another swore that she heard an almost Soprano-esque voice proclaiming " 'Ey....youse ordered dis? Youse want somma dis? Fuggetaboudit!!!"

Local officials are nonplussed.

Since Seymour made hisself unavailable for comment, wanting no part of the blame for having started this mess..("Did NOT!")..this blogger tried contacting several reputable pizza delivery chains, to ascertain if any of them were responsible for combining tofu with anchovies on their pizzas, perhaps contributing to this sudden onslaught of pack herd wilding and zombified pizzas. A typical telephonic inquiry went like this:

Papa Murphys: How can we help you?

Me: I'm inquiring as to whether or not you folks offer a tofu-anchovy pizza, and if you realize that you've created a pie that chemically goes zombie, runs in malevolent packs, and is now attacking drivers and pedestrians in assorted metro Denver neighborhoods?

Papa Murphys: *said to someone in background* "another crackpot", followed by a *click*

The response was the same at every pizza chain this blogger tried to contact. Except Dominos. There, the voice laughed in an eerie, nostalgic manner, before hanging up on me.

I swore it sounded like the Noid, with a mouthful of tofu.

An hour later, a strange 'knocking' at my door -- which I didn't respond to -- was followed by a sound not dissimilar to a wind-blown, pounding summer rain which lasted for 15 seconds or so. And then, an ominous silence. Armed with a shotgun loaded with anti-zombie rounds, I cautiously opened the door.

The outside of it had been 'flash mob' tofu-ed.

If this happens to you, it's my pet rock's fault.

"Is NOT!!!"

* Zombie Pizza News Network...cable and satellite have a little too much bandwidth on their hands...

Seymour On The Roman Empire

2012-01-16T00:29:00.001-07:00

Seymour, the all-knowing pet rock, came to me with the most ludicrous of ideas.

"Is NOT!!!"

Seymour wanted to have me tell all of you good readers and Seymour-the-pet-rock fans, that he has some very astute and practically unheard-before complaints about a time in human history that was, in many ways, seminal to the growth and evolution of what we know of today in our forms of government, justice, politics, education, arts, entertainment and culture.

I told him that most folks aren't interested in his opinion of the very irreverent Comedy Central hit, South Park.

"Not THAT!!!"

Seymour was also not amused by my using the picture above, as an illustration for his subject of discussion. A man-bunny with a silly looking moustache, and a dog what looks very embarrassed to be in the same photo as the man-bunny of very dubious history. But I digress.

As you all know, Seymour the pet rock has been around a long time. A very looooonnnng time. Like, from the Beginning.

As such, Seymour has been witness to more history than is recorded. Certainly he has seen his share of pre-human history. To hear tell it, Seymour was once a kidney stone to a triciploplotz. "Was NOT!!!"

He mighta been.

At any rate, Seymour was there for the entirety of one of the most pivotal epochs in human history: the Roman Empire. From approximately 753 BC -- the founding of Rome -- to sometime in the sixth century AD, when pressures from within and without eventually brought a practical end to what had been a ranking world power, controlling much of the Mediterranean, and well into northern and eastern Europe, for hundreds of years.

Seymour freely acknowledges the contributions the Romans made to human history. And Seymour freely acknowledges the contributions the Romans made to today's world. Seymour once served as a paperweight for Polybius. Livy. Sallust. Cato the Elder. Cicero. And a chariot wheel chock for Sulla.

I can't write what Seymour has to say about Sulla.

But for all that the world -- and certainly the western world -- has gained from the ancient Romans, Seymour remains critical of the Roman Empire.

And it's not just because that on more than one occasion, Seymour found himself as ballast in a few Roman naval vessels, called quinquereme, which is Latin for "a big boat with oars and rocks in the bottom", or being used as a weapon by Roman legionnaires against a host of different adversaries, from Carthaginian heavy infantrymen, to wild Gallic and Germanic tribesmen who caked their hair in clay, wore little more than paint, and smelled (badly) of sauer kraut and improperly-aged lager.

Granted, Seymour was not much amused by moments like those.

But what Seymour found dubious..inexplicable...incomprehensible..and totally unforgiveable, was the complete lack of creativity by a supposedly mighty and advanced empire, as the Romans were reputed to have been.

Apparently Seymour wasn't impressed with aquiducts, reservoirs, coliseums, calendars, roads, written alphabets, books, contributions to the sciences, the arts, technology, education, astronomy, and the foundations of modern day legal and political philosophies.

"Oh, phfffft...just incidentals!"

No..what Seymour is critical of the Romans of is what they didn't do:

- for the hundreds of years of their ascendance, and at the apex of their power and creativity, not one Roman created, nor franchised, a pizza restaurant chain. Little Caesar's didn't come along until the 1970s or so!

Seymour has this "WTF?" look over that.

- and even more important: with all the migrations, invasions, et al taking place along pretty much the same routes, decade after decade, century after century, why didn't one Roman with more than four brain cells, envision the obvious and build a chain of 7-11 convenience stores? What with all those hungry, thirsty, weary migrants and invading armies, what 7-11 franchisee wouldn't have prospered?

You just know that Hannibal would have had to of stopped off at one for a slurpee, in advance of Cannae. And don't forget that Hannibal had 40,000 or so men along for the ride, with double that number of Romans awaiting them.

Did one Roman think to seize upon this economic goldmine of an opportunity?

"Phfffft! Not a one!"

Obviously, the idea of a 7-11 being pillaged by a horde of Vandals, never crossed Seymour's mind.

- and finally, to Seymour's supreme annoyance with that epoch, not one single solitary Roman entrepreneur ever bothered to come up with the idea of a chinese restaurant that took telephone orders and did delivery.

I did try to point out that telephones, and the technology for them, did not exist in the Roman Empire, nor for about 1100 years afterward.

"Phfffft...if they were so smart, why didn't they just invent them themselves? Hmmmm???"

So I tried to point out to a very obstinate Seymour that even had the Romans somehow figured out a very rudimentary telephonic communication system, I did not believe that the Romans ever ventured far enough eastward to meet and pick the brains of an early chinese restauranteur.

"They could have looked them up in the phone book!!! They had books, right? They knew what books were, right? They coulda looked them up IN A PHONE BOOK, COULDN'T THEY? HUH??? COULDN'T THEY???"

Those of you with kids can appreciate where I was getting with this discussion. It just became easier to make notes and give you what Seymour wanted.

And now, you get the picture: Seymour didn't like the Roman Empire. Because they didn't have, or deliver, pizza and egg rolls.

"PHFFFFFFT on them!"

Perhaps Seymour will favor us with his views and lengthy list of grievances with the Jurassic Period, when I am sure that, at one point or another, he was a kidney stone to a triciploplotz.

"Was NOT!!!"

Believe What You Will

2012-01-11T00:02:00.003-07:00

This picture might not make any sense now. It might not make any sense by the end of this short post.

Or it might. It's all about what you believe.

At the start of this lockout-affected NFL season, who woulda thunk that religion and faith would have combined to drive professionals, progressives and sports prognosticators, just about nuts?

If you've been a fan of the Denver Broncos, you know the trials and travails of this team since the last season of Mike Shanahan, the arrival of Josh McDaniels, and all that transpired up to the end of last season.

And it didn't get any better, what with Denver's abysmal 1-4 start this season.

What it did was get a fan movement chanting for a change, just as it had late in the disaster that was last season.

The fans -- not all of them, to be sure -- wanted Tebow. Tim Tebow. The second of our first round draft picks in '09, by then coach Josh McDaniels (the first round pick ahead of Tebow was wide receiver Demaryius Thomas, fyi, the other hero this past Sunday).

I can add nothing to what Tebow's accomplished prior to his NFL career; he QBed Florida to two national championships, and won himself a Heisman. He was apparently a champ with his high school team as well.

Followers of football know that those accomplishments, stellar though they be, do not always translate into comparable success in the NFL. A long list of number one draft picks and Heisman winners, who turned flops and duds in the NFL, are out there to be named.

And plenty of NFL pundits -- players and not -- claim that there is a lack of the next level in Tim Tebow.

But Denver had an obligation, in the wake of Kyle Orton's subpar performances in '10 and the first five games of '11, to find out exactly what Denver had spent a first round draft choice on. Certainly first year head coach John Fox, and the new Broncos executive staff, which now included Bronco legend John Elway, needed to find out what they had, so they could start making plans for the future.

To be honest, it's been a mixed review. To say that Tim's a slow starter is...supremely understated. And that Tim's passing game has been largely understated as well.

But in a season that had disaster written all over it, he took Denver to six wins in seven games, and almost without exception, in cardiac-inducing fashion. Last minute heroics, made possible by a stellar defensive team effort, has been the mark of a Tebow-led team. Then he and the team appeared to fizzle in the last three weeks of the regular season, making it into the playoffs because the entire AFC West was high-centered on mediocrity, and Denver managed a tie breaker to help them rise to the top of the AFC West's mediocrits.

At any rate, prior to and during the run, Tim has not been shy about his religious values and faith. Even in the face of reactions varying from "yeah, whatever" to outright condemnation and ridicule from assorted persons of dubious antecedence and personal philosophy, like "progressive" mouthpiece Bill Press, TV ratings road kill Bill Maher, or the NY Times, among others.

Tim doesn't let the ridicule, criticism and insults take one thing away from his faith. He believes. Simple as that.

Now, I'm not much of a church goer myself. I know what I believe, and that is pretty much between me and the Almighty. What anyone thinks about what I believe, doesn't amount to spit in the river, at least to me. At the same time, I don't go out of my way to put my beliefs out there. I don't wear my beliefs on my sleeve, as Tebow does.

That said, I don't care that Tim does so, either. Doesn't bother me one bit. Tim Tebow's openness in faith is a nice change from the Charlie Sheens, Kim Kardasians, Mel Gibsons, Bill Mahers, Roseanne Barrs and persons of that ilk, who like to parade their lack of ethics, morals and preferences to -- in a lot of cases -- bash Christianity.

I think it annoys progressives like those named above, that a fair cross section of America would rather hold Tim Tebow up as a role model, than Charlie Sheen and Lindsay Lohan.

At any rate, I'm a Broncos fan. I've been one since the early '70s. I still follow my original team as well, the Green Bay Packers. A team I do expect to see in the 'Big Show' again this year, though they don't have a cakewalk to get there.

I do not expect to see Denver there. Tebow and faith aside...I just don't think Denver is good enough to make to the 'Big Show'.

Fact is...I didn't expect to see Denver make it past the Steelers. My assessment was based in large part on what I've heard described as Denver's "prevent offense" that Tebow, faith aside, couldn't seem to stimulate in the crunch, as he appeared to do during the middle of the season. Perhaps the critics were proving right, after all: Tim didn't have the skills -- especially in the passing game -- to make a credible, long-term NFL QB. His 6-of-22 performance against Kansas City didn't help his defenders win any arguments. Even the venerable John Elway -- ol' "Cannon Arm" -- appeared to be losing faith on that score.

The Bronco's offensive performance in the first quarter against the Steelers seemed to bode very ill for the balance of the game, too.

Then came the second quarter. And Tim Tebow took his game to a new level others claimed he didn't have in him. He was throwing. Down field. And he was connecting. Down field. Four pass plays of 30 yards or more.

Where had this been all season? Then again, who cares, if it's here when it's needed.

Things seemed to cool down in the second half, and it took a couple of stellar defensive stands -- coupled with a couple of badly-blown calls by the officiating crew -- to send the game into overtime.

Luck -- or faith -- was with the Broncos on the coin toss. I just wasn't sure which Tim Tebow would take the field.

The 'down field throwing with accuracy' Tebow did. One play, one pass, and 80 yards later, Steeler Nation was stunned. Bronco Nation was ecstatic. And Tim Tebow was thanking his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, to the joy of many and the angst of others.

Faith is what it is, to each and every one of us. You believe in it all the time, some of the time, or none of the time. Tim Tebow believes in it apparently all the time. He lives his life thus.

There's not a whole lot wrong with that. Except to persons like Bill Maher, who, at least to me, doesn't amount to a fart in a hurricane.

Now, to Saturday. Stats-wise, I don't think Denver has much of a chance in Foxboro this weekend. New England pretty well stifled Denver in Denver three weeks ago. Tom Brady is in the elite of the AFC. His receiving corps tore up Denver's secondary. It will be a home town crowd for the Patriots. The oddsmakers will have the game heavily weighed New England's way.

Despite the odds and opinions of his antagonists and pundits, Tim Tebow will go in there and put his faith and his trust in his God-given abilities, his teammates, and his coaching staff. And win or lose, Tim will make no excuses. Win or lose, he'll thank his Lord and Savior. Win or lose, he'll thank his teammates for their efforts, and continue to set a standard that many, with faith and without, will respect and admire.

Tim will be a winner, regardless of the outcome of the game. Never underestimate faith over the long haul (now you may refer to the photo, above). Tim does it with faith, grace and class. The nun in the picture does it with faith and firepower.

And that being said by one who doesn't always have faith: me.

Conventional thinking tells me that Denver hasn't got a prayer in New England on Saturday. That same thinking told me the same thing this past Sunday, against the Steelers.

Choose to believe what you will or won't. But we in Denver have come to know what Tim Tebow believes in. He's up front about it. He's unashamed about it. Up to this point in his life, he appears to walk the walk by it.

And beyond the game of football, in the game of life, there's just not a whole lot wrong about that.

Seymour on Sucks

2012-01-07T00:21:00.002-07:00

My pet rock, Seymour, announced via email that he had an important announcement to make, and asked that he be allowed to make it h'yar.

A disclaimer will follow*.

"Will NOT!!!"

And with no further adieu**, take it away Seymour:

I am here to announce that after extensive studies of the subject material herein, I am here to present my findings to the internet world, so as to be included in this year's Nobel Peace Prize nominations for scientific research for the betterment of something, somehow, in some fashion. I mean, the president won one for doing nothing...

My research has led me to conclude, with out hesitation or mental reservation, that it sucks to be an anaconda.

Why, might you ask? Allow me the pleasure of elucidation, which I am assured will not violate the new energy CFL laws pertaining not whatsoever hereto that what's herein***.

Anacondas can't:

- play an oboe or a tuba

- eat peanut butter and laugh at the same time

- milk a chicken...(..uh...)

- date Sandra Bullock

- operate a TV/DVD remote control

- call to order Chinese derivery

- figure out place bet odds on craps

- understand one word of what Cartman says on South Park

- vote****

- get an MBA or PhD

- text

- get their genitals pierced

- program an ipod

- get a medicinal marijuana prescription

- walk their daughters down the aisle at a wedding...(my note: "DUH")

- ride a horse

- play an accordian...(and why would they WANT to?)

- throw a touchdown pass (there are some who argue that makes anacondas on par with Tim Tebow)

- become a lawyer, doctor, police officer, fireman or gynecologist

- dunk a basketball

- count to five

- pick their nose

- use a vibrator

- compete on Dancing With The Stars

- give a sh** about Dancing With The Stars

- learn proper tea etiquette

- light their own farts...(deterioration was inevitable and began several "can't"s ago)

- redefine what "is" is

- eat Debbie Wasserman-Schultz..(maybe a little steak sauce would help..? Okay, a few hundred gallons of it)

- slither after ingesting Viagra...(I think they'd find it hard to do much of anything..*ducking boos and whatever Seymour can find to throw*)

- talk 2012 politics on The Factor

- win a marathon...(unless they compete with a python..*ducking more boos and whatever's left for Seymour to throw*)

- shop online

- beat the pepper spray-wielding shopper to the Wii in Walmart on Black Friday

- drive a cat nuts with a laser pointer

- explain Rachel Maddow

- host a debate any better or worse than Donald Trump

- balance a budget, either

* Disclaimer: the so-called 'research' reported herein has not been independently verified by the NEA, FAA, WPA, NRA, NPR, UN, or any other acronym. However, most of it AlGore claims to have invented after Tipper took him to the divorce court cleaners. Seymour the pet rock is not a trade mark, but I'd consider a quart of ice cream in exchange for him ("Will NOT!!"). This blog post only happened because your regular host had a writer's block.

** Gesundheit

*** Seymour tells me that he's studying to be a congressrock to decompose legislation, legal-style...looks like he wrote NobamaScare...("Did NOT!!")

**** except in Chicago, San Freakcisco, or parts of NYC and Wisconsin, where anything is allowed to register and vote repeatedly

Veg Amore

2012-01-03T00:55:00.000-07:00

Whether this is a fitting way to ring in 2012, or ring out 2011, I'll let you readers be the judge.

A very recent holiday weekend rendered up this brief anecdote from a local gendarme during a visit to my place of employ: in another facility, on a visit for reasons unrelated to the photo at the right, this local representative of law and order was on an elevator with a female of the species. One who appeared to be feeling no pain as a result of some form of artificial ingredients that, among other things, render standard inhibitions in an 'un' mode.

For this female of the species remarked to our local gendarme, that she was "asparagus".

Okay, fine. We all have our veggie moments in life.

But then she followed this revelation up with a suggestion that she was going to indulge in matters of sexual promiscuity. She was just more abrupt and to the point about it.

The local gendarme was not sure if he'd been propositioned by an chemically amping stalk of asparagus with a strong 'un' attached to what might have been her more normal hibitions or not.

It does tend to toss out all of my pre-conceived notions about photosynthesis, which I hadn't pre-conceived until I heard the word in school, along with an explanation of what it was. What I recall of it is something akin to it being a chemical process initiated in plants by energy from sunlight, that converts CO2 and H2O into organic compounds that plants store as sugar.

I must have missed the biology part of class, where in a specific kind of artifically stimulated "photosins-n-such" causes an asparagal chemical process converting something into orgasmic reactions that are treated as another kind of 'sugar'. These can, I suppose, wind up as viral images on FB, YouTube, and Maury Povich.

Thus explains the 'photo' part, I reckon.

And since PETA is pushing veg amore as their latest effort to stop people eating tasty animals, perhaps our local gendarme missed out on a true asparagal orgasmic moment in vegetable phallic-ces.

Perhaps that's why I never took to asparagus in the dietary sense. I was never propositioned by it.

Happy New Year. Or good riddance to 2011. One or the other. I think.

Mayan Calendar Conundrums

2011-12-31T00:19:00.001-07:00

We've all been hearing about it. And now it's here: 2012. The 'End' of the Mayan Calendar. And what some are choosing to prophesize as "End Times".

Y2K was supposed to herald in 'end times'. So were two days in 2011, courtesy of the koolaid drinker, Rev. Harold Camping, mathematician emeritless.

The original Mayan Calendar -- I believe represented to the right h'yar -- was the creation of that celebrated Mayan astronomer and calendarer Balaj Chan K'hallmark. He would later design the first Chinese astrology placemats for restaurants, centuries before anyone knew he had. But I digress.

K'hallmark took a plethora of things into consideration (seasons, astronomy, human life span, events, weather, painful rectal itch, and some really good hallucinagens), and then designed this calendar that no one could read, but thought looked 'purdy', back in 3114 BC (Before Calendars). According to researchers, the calendar is meant to run 5126 years, more or less.

Which brings us to it ending in 2012. Some learned pundits insist that it ends on 12-21-12. Others believe they've found a Harold-Camping-mathematical-error in the calculations, and actually believe it will expire on or about 2-12-13.

If true in the case of the latter, this will save a lot of guys who were about to screw up with their Valentine's Day gift choices.

Meantime, we are confronted with the apparent fact that we have a Mayan calendar that apparently expires 10 days before 2012 does.

I happened to mention this to one of my ever-inquisitive researchers over at Bonco, UnInc., the place that creates abominations like the AB-Dominationizer and Phfffft Asure, and the subsequent *TOING* made me immediately regret it.

Bonco, UnInc., is in the process of designing and releasing a new calendar that will 'fix' the loss of ten days* from 2012, by simply adding them to 2011.

They call it Simplicity gone Chronological by Bonco. I call it Bonco gone la-la.

While they last**, Bonco will have in stock amended 2011 Calendars. When the stroke of midnight is struck on December 31, 2011...it will simply become December 32, 2011. The big ball in NYC's Time Square will now not fall until the stroke of midnight that closes out December 41, 2011.

And yes, Bonco realized that this is going to f*** with a wealth of computer-run software and systems that are currently geared to the standard Gregorian calendars. So they have designed*** a 'patch' for said systems, which they say should be ready in time****.

So worry not: thanks to Bonco*****, 2011 is extended for the 10 days that 2012 was screwed out of by a Mayan with a penchant for making calendars while high.

Of course, there are those who buy into none of the Mayan Calendar prophesies, and are sure that life will go on, whether it be 12-22-12, or 2-13-13.

What does my pet rock, Seymour, say? "Phfffft. Just cover your bases, and celebrate Christmas early".

* using a chronological formula that didn't work for making cheese fries or curing ham that was already dead. But Bonco will keep trying until they find some use that works

** The printers are still LTAO at the idea, so they ain't been printed yet

*** The Bonco software engineer did suggest that due to inadequate testing of the 'patch', certain cyber 'anomalies' may result from applying the 'patch' to your cyber device, to include horrific cyber gas, or turning your Ipad into a carnivorous tampon which has eyes for small pets

**** The same guys that got lost with the Bonco Time Accelerator-Decelerator during the testing phase, are allegedly working on this project. So it may already have been done 5,000 years ago....or in 2912 AD. No one knows for sure. Does anybody know what time it is? Does anyone really care?

***** DISCLAIMER: Bonco, UnInc., asserts plausible deniability for any time warping, fruitcaking, ipod morphing, or attacks by carnivorous tampons, that may or may not be able to be associated to the 2012 Mayan Calendar 'patch' designed by Bonco engineers during their last seanance with Balaj Chan K'hallmark, at a frat party on the CU Boulder campus. Your results may vary from even weirder, to it just flat not working. In the case of the former, write and tell us about it if you live. In the case of the latter, simply return the unused portion to Bonco, UnInc, for a full "WTF shrug" from the US Postal Service, who has no idea what our address is. Bonco, UnInc, is a for profit corporation that's still trying to make one, and that's why Occupy Outhouses hasn't shown up to picket us yet..besides, they can't find us either.

Crop Dusted

2011-12-29T00:37:00.002-07:00

There is a connection between this post and part of the photo h'yar (William Shatner & wonky friend, from an old Twilight Zone episode).

There is also a connection between the coming subject, and the title.

In another time, place and pay grade, my job for one of those evil, mean corporations was as something of a security trouble shooter. Lots of unexplained emphasis on the "something", but I digress.

Anyway, on one particularly memorable flight, I noted on my boarding pass that I had been granted the seat in coach officially designated as '2B'. It was the first time in my flying days that I'd ever landed that seat assignment.

And after the flight, I swore it'd be the last. And I don't care if Willie Shakespeare takes offense at that or not.

It was supposed to be a routine trip: Denver to Chicago O'Hare. Drive from O'Hare to Elkhart, IN. A couple of day assignment, then back home. Eh.

The 'Bard should have warned me about the flight out.

Settled into my '2B' seat, I tucked my briefcase on the floor beneath the seat ahead of me, and after eyeing my seatmate for the flight -- a rather annoyed-looking woman in business attire who apparently couldn't get upgraded to First Class, from the amount of bitching she was doing to any flight attendant who regretfully ventured within earshot -- I fetched my trusty reading material from my case and settled in for the 2 hour (or so) flight. For this flight, my literary choice was The Caine Mutiny.

Even it would prove appropo before long.

After the smooth takeoff and relatively turbulence-free ascent to cruising altitude, I eased my seat back just a tad, and got as comfortable as my 6' 2" frame could get in '2B'. I was just learning how Midshipman Keith and roommates had managed to avoid fateful demerits for chasing an errant spring from a bolt action rifle out of their room and onto their dorm roof, when 'it' came a calling.

'It' didn't speak. 'It' was invisible. 'It' had no discernible form or substance. But 'it' was unforgettable. And unforgiveable.

A burst of sulphuric, rotten eggish flatulence. One that chose to savor the moment, and linger overly long, like two lovers at an outdoor restaurant, lingering over wine and moonlight.

They'd be an "awwww" moment. This was an "ack phooey" one.

The woman seated next to me gave me a "Was that YOU?!!??", almost accusatory stare. Attempting not to lose what stomach contents I had at the time, I managed one of those "It wasn't me" shrugs. I don't think she believed me, but the damning glare shifted away from me and resumed burning holes through the nearest flight attendant for not managing to upgrade her.

Mercifully, 'it' finally dissipated into the forgiving atmosphere, and I was able to wipe the involuntary tears from my eyes and resume my book.

About ten minutes later....it was baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack. As stark, pungent, and lingering as before.

I wasn't at first sure where 'it' was launching its hit and linger attacks from, but I was slowly beginning to focus on the seat ahead of me as the likely source. At the same time I started to wonder if perhaps the 'Bard was punishing me for having made fun of his writings in my junior high and high school days. My seatmate's glare took on a more viral, menacing radiance. Had it been a laser, I would have vaporized.

Again, I gave with a "it wasn't me, Ma'am", and watched as that penetrating glare was almost overcome by eyes rolling back in the head from the persistent, potent miasma.

And, once again, after an unmerciful minute or so, 'it' dissipated.

But like a bad re-gift for the holidays, it came back yet again. And again. And again. Always at about ten minute intervals.

I knew there was someone sitting in the seat directly in front of me. I began to wish I'd paid attention to what they looked like. I might have been able to arrange for another seat if I'd known I would be sitting behind one half of the future Terrence & Philip fart team from South Park fame.

When the attendants were bringing the beverage cart by and were serving me and Ms LaserEyes, another 'it' emerged from deep from within the depths of methanic Hell. The look on the face of the flight attendant -- trained to handle a plethora of aerial emergencies -- was priceless. A heart-felt "are you F***ing KIDDING ME?", to which both I and Ms. LaserEyes responded with "nuh uh, not me" looks, and I suggestively nodded to the seat ahead of me.

My complimentary pack of peanuts pried its way into my briefcase, which was trying to flee down the aisle from the persistent, lethal miasma. Even characters from the book I was reading were changing the book font into capital letters spelling out "DUDE!" The USS Caine's stack gas wasn't this bad. My fresh cup of coffee never had a chance; it chose instant evaporation over trying to mask the miasma with a more pleasant aroma of 100% Columbian.

Both Juan Valdez and his mule were laid waste.

I kept trying to read a book that was trying to mutiny along with all the characters therein, but with the every ten minute assault on my olfactories, I was finding myself trying to concentrate more on taking a deep 'hold it' breath just ahead of the next miasmic assault. I never quite got the timing down. Meanwhile, there was a growing concern that with each new 'it', the lift was pushing us past the certified top 'ceiling' of a 737. I could have sworn at one point we were pacing a satellite out my window. After another 'it', the satellite fell into the atmosphere and mercifully burned up.

I didn't mourn it; it was free. We still weren't.

There was always the chance that some measure of manners would overcome the engine of a farter planet, and whatever was sitting in the seat ahead of me would go pay a visit to the on-board outhouse and relieve us of that engine of methanic Hell. But the mystery occupant of '1B' never left his/her/its seat to avail itself of the minature flying outhouse on this becoming cursed 737.

And the ten minute intervalled miasmic paint peelers continued, right into O'Hare. I never thought I'd be so happy to take on Chicago rush hour traffic.

What brought this starkly to my memory fore, you ask? It was a recent workplace reference by a coworker of mine, after some unnamed soul therein had unleashed an atmospheric 'adjustment' that was, on a scale of 0-10 (with 10 being an Extinction Level Event), a 100.99. After picking himself up off the floor from where that particular olfactoric 'haymake' had planted him, he poignantly demanded to know "Dang, dudes...who's crop dusting?"

No one spoke. But someone 'giggled'. Or maybe it was....some'thing'.

War and Remembrance: Wake

2011-12-26T00:32:00.001-07:00

70 years ago, at about the same time that Pearl Harbor was being pummeled by a Japanese sneak attack, a Japanese air attack was also launched against the small atoll of Wake Island, in the central Pacific, roughly between Hawaii and the Philippines. The island was home to a Pan American air service operation, a small military airstrip, about 500 USMC and Navy personnel, along with 1220 assorted civilian contractors.

The air attack on Wake achieved surprise: land-based bombers from the Marianas succeeded in destroying 8 of the 12 F4F Wildcat fighters of VMF-211 on the ground, and costing the squadron almost half of it's personnel.

War had come to Wake.

Three days later -- December 11 -- a small Japanese invasion fleet approached Wake, consisting of three light cruisers, six destroyers, two patrol boats, and two transports, carrying 450 Japanese Marines. The Japanese anticipated no problem with taking Wake Island from the garrison known to be on the island, such was their confidence in themselves and arrogance in their belittling view of Americans.

The Marines and Navy personnel on Wake gave the Japanese a wake-up call.

A key part of the Wake defense system were six 5" guns, positioned strategically around the three islets that made up Wake (Wake, Peale, and Wilkes islets). Supported by 399 Marines, the remaining four F4Fs of VMF-211, and commanded by US Navy Cmdr Winfield Cunningham and Marine Major James Devereux, defenders was ready when the Japanese task force was sighted in the pre-dawn hours of December 11. Gunners of the 5" batteries withheld their fire until the task force was well within range, and then unleashed deadly accurate fire upon the task force: one Japanese light cruiser was badly damaged, and one destroyer was lost with all hands; equipped with aerial bombs, the four Wildcat fighters attacked, sinking a second destroyer. With that, the Japanese landing attempt was aborted, and the bloodied task force withdrew.

After a string of early victories, Japan had received her first 'check' in the Pacific.

In reporting the repulse -- and requesting supplies and reinforcements -- Cmdr. Cunningham is reputed to have included in his message, "Send us more Japs". It was heady stuff in the immediate aftermath of Pearl Harbor, and in view of the bleak news from other areas of the Pacific. At Pearl Harbor, Admiral Kimmel immediately arranged for reinforcements and supplies, and dispatched them on a task group centered around the aircraft carrier USS Saratoga.

The Japanese -- chastened by their spirited repulse -- reorganized their attack, and set off to not make the same mistakes twice. Besides land-based air attacks to neutralize Wake's "fangs" (the 5" batteries and remaining aircraft), the Japanese reinforced their task force with two of the carriers that had successfully attacked Pearl Harbor (the Hiryu and Soryu), as well as reinforced their invasion force with over 1,000 additional troops.

Sadly, with the relief of Admiral Kimmel by Admiral William Pye, the Saratoga force was recalled; Pye wasn't willing to take the risk of additional ship losses after Pearl Harbor. Cunningham and Devereux were advised that they were on their own; knowing what that meant, they prepared their meager force as best as they could, and waited.

On the early morning of December 23, 1941, the Japanese task force returned and attacked. The battle ashore was fierce -- two Japanese patrol boats used to land troops, were shot up and destroyed, and Japanese troop casualties were heavy, with the Marine contingent on Wilkes islet, counterattacking and wiping out the Japanese troops that had landed there -- but the Marines, badly outnumbered and out-gunned, were forced back, and by mid-afternoon, were forced to surrender. Survivors -- combatants and all but 99 of the civilian contractors -- were fated to almost four harsh years as POWs, transported to work camps deep within the Empire, where a number of them perished due to abuse, disease and starvation. The 99 retained on Wake were kept as slave labor, only to face a barbaric end.

After an attack by a US naval task force in October, 1943, the Japanese brutally executed the 99 civilian contractors they had kept on Wake. Retribution for this atrocity would come after the war.

The island was returned to American control when the Japanese garrison surrendered on September 4, 1945; Cmdr Cunningham and Major Devereux survived imprisonment, and returned to witness the Japanese surrender.

Wake Island, December 7-23, 1941. Remembered here, 70 years later.

Bonco's Unusual Holiday Gift Ideas

2011-12-22T01:02:00.001-07:00

*A reprint from 2009, and a suggestion for last minute Christmas shoppers who are looking for something they can't find. This is definitely one of those. Sixth in the series of three *suspended disbelief* products by Bonco, almost ready for your gift giving needs this holiday season...and yes, we know we can't count. Please note the *suspended disbelief*

"Necessity is the mother of invention" -- Plato.

An intellectually stimulating way to start a column about the newest product in development by the folks at Bonco, UnInc., the same folks who brought you useful* things like the ABDOMINATION-IZER, PHFFFT Asure, and the EZ-Nav One!

"What mothuh thought it necessary to invent THIS?" -- me.

A back-to-reality way to prepare you for the rest of the story.

While winter's in the air, spring isn't all that far off, and with spring comes that itch to get to gardening, farming, etc. Of course, for any kind of agricultural activity to be successful, Ma Nature's benevolent cooperation is always a plus.

One can assume that benevolence, but as Captain Queeg loved to observe, you can't assume a gawddang thing about the Navy, Ma Nature, or much else in life. One ill-timed visit by mesocyclonic supercell thunderstorms, and those waves of amber grain, so laboriously sown, are reduced to the botanical equivalent of Kenny on South Park.

Without this in mind, I and a couple Bonco technicians were re-watching a pathetically laughable scene from the movie Twister: the scene where two stormchasers had just sacrificed his new truck with a jury-rigged tornado laboratory aboard, to an F-5 tornado in a cornfield. And just as the two 'chasers were pondering finding a Motel 6 to celebrate, the twister shifts track, and begins harvesting corn in their direction.

Before I could comment on the abject absurdity of the scene -- a real F-5 would have run them both down in seconds -- I saw the lightbulb of sudden inspiration appear and explode over the head of one of the techs.

This was an "uh-oh" moment, if ever I saw one.

Well, after months of secret research and design, the brains at Bonco are ready to let me in on their latest endeavor: one that brings together an invention of Man, a mother of a natural monstrosity, the necessity of Nature, and the thoroughly ludicrous notion that Bonco can somehow combine the three into a controlled, benevolent, productive invention, user-friendly and agriculturally viable.

They call it The Cyclonic Harvester by Bonco.

I call it the equivalent of a porcupine enema at 150 mph. Not sure which could prove worse.

On a restricted access** preserve in NE Colorado, the (mad) scientists at Bonco have been raising crops -- and then razing crops -- in a Pyrrhic effort to train fauxnados (the laboratory equivalents to the real things), in the intricacies of the harvest. Yes, that's right: they are training one of Ma Nature's most random and savage leviathans, to harvest and deliver crops for the benefit of Mankind.

The theory they labor under -- that of it they revealed to me -- is that, like in the movie Jurassic Park, if a fauxnado is artificially conceived under lab conditions, upon birth it will 'bond' with it's creator. In this case, a flock of lab-coated, absent-minded professor types. And from this first 'bonding', the transformation from awesome natural force of destruction, to benevolent, Man-loving contributor for the greater good, can be crafted.

I seem to recall a different result from the aforementioned movie -- the hatchlings tried to eat their creators -- but my negative waves weren't buying any second-thought capital at this point.

While Bonco won't discuss the patented*** and highly technical details of how they've managed to delu..er..achieve the uncredible progress they claim thus far, unnamed and scattered sources have revealed some..er...'pre-production issues' on the road to marketing. For example:

- a novice F-3 that was assigned to harvest, bale and stack a 200 acre field of hay. Net result: they found only some of the baling twine. 70 miles away, in Nebraska.

- when a gifted F-4 successfully harvested and shucked 100 acres of seed corn; it then got cornfused, and offloaded the shucked cobs into and through the designated holding structures, while decorating and perforating property outbuildings over two successive counties with billions of imbedded kernels. Litigation pending.

- an eager and willing but clumsy F-3, had to be told, via a rather pricey tornado whisperer, to put down the farm house, gently, and back away carefully. It didn't work, and the F-3 is now in therapy. What's left of the house is in Kansas.

- a rather immature F-2 that simply couldn't resist levitating and playing dominos with dairy cows on a nearby farm, and is now on time-out (how they're managing that, they're not saying and I'm not buying).

- lastly, there is another unanticipated problem: the "call of the wild" effect. When a real tornado happens by (and here, May-July, it can be often), the human-friendly assimilative training the fauxnados undergo is mildly**** undermined. A tornado is, after all, hardwired to roam free and at random, scattering terra firma and mobile homes like a bored cat does with pieces on a gaming board. A fauxnado, though man-made and at least as smart as a politician, still operates from a similar meteorological dynamic template.

To paraphrase Dr. Ian Malcolm, "Nature finds a way".

Ever undeterred by technical setbacks, pick-ups, unsubtle put-downs, warnings and lots of debris, the Bonco folks are determined to have their Cyclonic Harvester ready for the annual Farm Implements and Technologies Show***** in Omaha, NE, in the spring of 2012.

Omaha, I've given you all the warning you'll ever need.

* a claim/allegation yet to be substantiated in a lab or court

** like an asylum, families can come and visit the inmates at the 'preserve', too. Few have; small wonder why..

*** nonsense

**** more like humongus...

***** Disclaimer: if Bonco, UnInc., sets up a booth at the aforementioned show, it is hoped that the folks running the show have the sense to have Bonco conduct demonstrations of the Cyclonic Harvester at a site well away from the show, the city, and any populations. After all, we ARE dealing with a product that combines innovative technology with a force of Nature that, er, isn't easily amused with or corralled by innovative technology. Bonco only guarantees that the results of using the Cyclonic Harvester will be, in the words of one survivor, "absolutely f***ing stupdefying". FTC Disclaimer: no recompense of any kind changed hands at this stage of development; one of these Cyclonic Harvesters experiencing 'technical difficulties' could have all sorts of appendages changing geographic locations, but that's for future litigation and storm chasers to sort out.

A Small Medium At Large

2011-12-18T00:08:00.002-07:00

With the approach of calendar 2012, my pet rock, Seymour, has emailed from his current digs in Loveland, Colorado, that he has had a "psychic vision". In fact, a whole series of them.

I suspect overexposure to one of my sister's horses' road apples, but I digress.

"Is NOT!!!"

At any rate, my pet rock has decided to weigh in with his premonitions for the upcoming year. *NOTE: the writer of this blog is not necessarily endorsing the following premonitions...unless they're funnier than any he could come up with*

Thus I bring to you, Seymour the Pet Rock's Psychic Predictions of 2012 (with me, for the most part, resisting occasional editorial comments):

- January 2 will follow January 1

- There will be a presidential election in November

- Someone will lose it

- Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, and Kim Karcrashian will be in the news in 2012

- Like 2011, not for anything worthwhile

- I will have more "phfffts!" for Skunk in '12 (on this, we agree)

- The Milwaukee Brewers will win the NBA championship at the Final Four in March (...uh...)

- Zombies will dedicate a statue to Harry Reid as Most Like Them

- MSNBC will cancel their newest show -- My Favorite Islamofascist -- after one episode, when he blows up the set during rehearsal and musses Rachel Madcow's hair (I wonder if they'll run an ad for that during the Super Bowl?)

- MSNBC will NOT run an ad for the aforementioned show during the Super Bowl; they will, however, have Betty White kickboxing Abe Vigoda for an Ensure commercial.

- Time Magazine will name "Occupy" campsites as the newest EPA Superfund sites

- Ted Nugent will NOT be named ambassador to North Korea

- Mel Gibson and Danny Glover will star in "Lethal Weapon XVIII", protecting Hugo "Playdoh" Chavez from Donald Trump's hair

- Rich progressive people who want to pay more taxes in '12 will simply sign over their estates to the IRS

- George Soros won't *Like* this on Facebook

- Baseball season will open in April with the Green Bay Packers defending their title against the Anaheim Mighty Ducks (....um...)

- Joe Biden will lose a few more hair plugs

- Michael Bay will make another bad movie, and the South Park Boys (Parker/Stone) will parody it

- Hawaii Five-0 will still suck for the way they treated Pearl Harbor veterans

- And so will CBS

- Barney Frank will publish a memoir, "How I Let Fannie Mae Do You While I Let Freddie Mac Do Me!"

- Sarah Palin will NOT read it

- Debbie Wasserman-Schultz won't get one iota smarter than a tree stump

- Guam won't tip over...yet

- A tsunami will not wipe out Pahrump, Nevada

- A manatee protest march through Miami will be averted by manatee indifference

- The Denver Broncos -- despite Tim Tebow -- will NOT win the Stanley Cup

- Howard Camping's fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth Rapture predictions will suffer further mathematic errors

- He won't get the ninth one right, either

- a scientist will prove conclusively that a spaceship made out of broccoli won't make a four year aspire to eating it

- December 21, 2012, will be followed by words from our sponsors

- And tax forms from the IRS

- I will travel to at least two out of state locations *hint to Skunk*

- Alien life researchers will think they have *finally* made contact

- It will turn out to be one of the Occupiers, looking for a bathroom

and, last but not least..

- I predict that all of Skunk's readers will always like MY posts best over his!

- *To Skunk* Nyah nyah

Santa Claus Re-writing Your Scams

2011-12-12T00:37:00.005-07:00

My pet rock, Seymour, lurves this time of year. Because he thinks he's been good enough to acquire significant largess from The Jolly Big Guy.

I addressed pet rock delusions a few years back. 'Nuff said.

In honor of December, and the major holiday that is sometimes...okay, oft-times forgotten for the religious significance it's meant to reflect -- especially when you're engaged in mortal combat inside of a Walmart -- I decided to recruit hisself for some help in recrafting email scams.

Yes, I 'hired' Santa Claus.

I know...he's supposed to be busier than a three peckered goat in a ewe propagation clinic this time of year. But with the proper incentives*, he was willing to lend me a touch of his creative license.

And one particularly bad-attituded elf with a vituperative pen and wit.

At any rate, I got an email from an improbably named scammer, Zaytuna Owocomes, asking me "with tears in his eyes" to help him out with his dead parent's inheritance.

I turned this one over to the Santa/Raging Elf Syllable Syndicate, and this is the rather...uh...unique result that went back to Zaytuna and 24 of his friends and peers:

Ho Ho Ho,

We'll get around to the innuendo there later. And trust me, that is not meant as an Italian suppository, unless you're Italian and into that kind of thing.

I am writing you with tears in my eyes because I am laughing my jolly fat ass off. Here I am, in my busy season, and what some yutz described me as being "busier than a three peckered goat in a ewe propagation clinic", and THEN has the NERVE to ask me to help rewrite a letter, well...I had to find time for it.

So here's the rewrite...why would you think that I would want an ATM card, an inheritance from some mythical corpse, an online job, or to convince me that I won an online lottery -- when I can't even get a winning raffle ticket in the annual elf "slap and tickle" party raffle -- is simply beyond my jolly fat ass to contemplate.

But it's obvious to me that you need some help. Yes, you do. My spell check found 30 typos and grammatical errors in your email, for starters. Had you devoted some time to basic education, you could have been on par with a class of 2nd graders in Georgia, rather than on par with a senior class of "valleydicktoreeans" out of the DC public skools. I won't get into your habit of sodomizing domestic animals behind the termite mounds just now, but before you act shocked that I know, let's remember who I am.

To business. You will wonder how I got your contact. If you remember who I am, and know a few songs about me, you f***ing already know that. I'm Santa Claus, and my intel service puts Mossad to shame. I even get dishonorable mention on Attackwatch.com! I know you and all about you. I know what you've done this year, how bad you've been, and how unlucrative your bad has been.

But Santa isn't without feeling or compassion.

And to prove it, I am writing to tell you that you need to write to Zaytuna Owocomes, from the Ivory Coast. His late parents left him a huge investment in meerkat compost, and he wants to share it with all of you.

He wrote and told me so.

He also wants to sodomize your domestic animals, have you pay for his breast implants, and pay to help turn him surgically into an inflatable sex toy.

Oh...*perusing the fine print*...guess I wasn't supposed to let you in on that part of his fantasy.

Anyway, I want you all to write to Zaytuna Owocomes at owocomez89@msn.com and help this poor lad realize his fondest hopes and dreams this Yule time. Make sure you tell absolutely EVERYONE YOU KNOW about Zaytuna and his email address. Public restroom walls are great for this. In your case, carving the info into the giant tree you use for a dunny will work as well.
You can also sign up for Zaytuna's email scam list, and for the first 100 to do so, you'll receive a free 8x10 print of Zaytuna Owocomes, sodomizing a goat, with his personal autograph (on the photo, not the goat). Please send him your personal information so he can send you the picture.

And I can promise you, the joy of the smile of delight that you will put on Zaytuna's pockmarked face will be something that is guaranteed to sink a thousand ships and cause thousands of botox treatments of the rich and famous to fail simultaneously.

Now to my opening reference...Lindsay Lohan, I seed your Playboy stuff. HO HO HO...WHOZ YER DADDY!!! I'm not, but I'll play one for the night ;-) I'm up on my shots. But I digress.

On behalf of Zaytuna Owocomes at owocomez89@msn.com

Santa Claus

I hope that makes for an enjoyable avalanche of emails for good ol' Zaytuna. Really.

* a box of chocolate petit fours and a poo catcher to protect him from reindeer 'games' and blowbacks during "The Ride"

Maybe Home Depot has coupons for poo catchers ;-)

I Did NOT Write Anuddah Crispmoose Lettah

2011-12-08T00:53:00.001-07:00

*A somewhat annual update to something I insist I'm not doing each year....one of 'those' "what the family dun" Christmas letters*

As y'all know, I don't do these letters. The one that my pet rock, Seymour, forced me to do in '06, and insisted on having updated and reposted in '07 and '08, was done strictly to appease a persnickety pet rock ("am NOT!!").

So let me be clear: I -- me, moi -- will NOT do 'another year of what the family dun' Christmas letters.

Now that we have that made perfectly clear, here 'tis:

-- Ma continues to thrive, garden and churchify in the bucolic burg of ******** Colorado. A more statuesque place you'll not find herebouts, if you know what I mean. If you don't, I won't explain it beyond drive thru and see all the statuesques there'bouts. She's learned computers, email, email forwards, and how to attach photos without the use of safety pins. She still isn't allowed to chase anyone's dogs around the neighborhood, and still follows the Broncos and NASCAR with the same zeal as heretofore or any other number. In short, life is good in Ma-dom.

-- Big Sis #1 continues to rocket sciencify in the easternesque burg of ****** Colorado, where Kansas can still be seed on a clear day, but only if one really wants to look, and no one seems to want to. Her two bionic cats -- Hudson and Edsel -- continue to defy conventional science and vet visits. She is still doing marathons, biathalons, triathalons, quadathalons, sextupathons, octothons, and is thinking of doing a noendinsightathon, wherein she bikes, runs, swims, shoots, spits, throws, hurdles, turkey calls, runs post patterns, crochets, tosses fruitcakes, and manages to get the cats to the vet, all in one handy competition. Life is good -- albeit active -- in 1st Sis-dom.

-- Big Sis #2 & hubster continues to horsify on the outskirts of ******** Colorado, where Kansas can't be seen from -- it's on the wrong side of the highway -- but a horse is a horse of course, of course, unless it's two cows or two dogs, not counting the burro across the fence and the skunks that wander through now and again. Her bucket-chasing 3 year old, Renny, has learned the 'Mr. Ed leer', and uses it to advantage with Lena, especially when she has a pet rock on her back and is having her picture taken. Mara just takes it all in and blames Hubster, who has to deal with an amorous cow, Bessie, and her prodigy Chloe, who don't know how to chase a bucket or to leer, but will chase Hubster. Sis rides, trains, competes on, feeds, waters, grooms and checks the horses for elk envy disease. Renny, Mara and Lena have her trained well. The dogs -- the soccer-playing Merlin, and the oft-*groaning at Merlin* Santa Fe -- take it all in and have no idea or opinion about it, long as they're fed and kept supplied with squeaky chew toys. Life is good in the 2nd Sis-dom.

-- Lil' Bro, Wife and Daughter in ****** Colorado, continue to do what a triad of such does: Lil' Bro -- the other rocket scientist in the famdamily -- continues to rocket sciencify, whilst being taunted via text, cell phone and in person, by his Raiders-supporting daughter, who is now in senior-dom in her 'series of firsts' high school, from which she'll get to be amongst the first senior class to graduate from, giving her another thing to taunt Lil' Bro about. Wife takes it all in and keeps it all working, and keeps at the same time tabs on the other daughter, married to a mountain man in Montana, where they've just put half the animals in the state in their freezer for the winter, to feed their two young 'uns, with a third now on the way. Meantime, Lil' Bro's latest feline Mafia continues to abuse their long-suffering beagle, Merlin, who has gotten used to losing his pet bed to Badda Bing and Badda Boom, or whatever the two cats' names are. Life is good -- for all but Merlin -- in Lil' Bro-dom.

-- And amongst other nieces and nephews from Colorado to Florida, things continue to be what they were, are, and will be, with jobs, growing and new young 'uns, mortgages and being glad they cook better than their crazy uncle, who cooks worse than he doesn't write these letters. Which translates into, by and large, things being good in Niece and Nephew-doms, respectively.

-- and now the part my pet rock has been waiting for: Seymour is continuing his travels and life experiences. After nation-hopping between '07 and '09, he's visited Texas, North Carolina, Virginia, and is currently riding horses and helping piece together puzzles in Loveland, CO. Where he's off to next is still in the air -- pun partially intended -- though he has invites to Arkansas, Louisiana and Califorlornia. Seymour continues to write poetry and music lyrics badly ("do NOT!!!"), and imagines himself to be the next Rock of Letters. Granted he's older than petrified dinosaur poop, and doesn't realize what that means ("do TOO!!! PHHFFFFT!"). At any rate, Seymour probably has more trips pending in 2012, but wants to be here in December of 2012, in case the end comes with the Mayan Calendar, so he can take permanent possession of the DVD remote. Life is pretty good in pet rock-dom, especially for one very spoiled pet rock ("am NOT!!!").

-- finally, since I don't do these letters, I have nothing to report on me. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Bumpkus. I'm boring. Other than experiencing economic changes that seem to parallel career changes in the year quickly closing. I went from gainfully employed, to unemployed, to sorta re-employed, sorta, to finally again re-employed, though having to do some serious catching up to reacquire the "gainfully" part, which won't be caught up anytime soon. Oh, and I'm working on a book about scambaiting, that might or might not be published in '12, before the Mayan Calendar shuts everything down...*snerx*.

The rest is what it's always been, and in my boring case, always will be: being hated by tornadoes on the Plains, online scammers and ex-girlfriends, while I just do what I do. Which ain't much, 'cuz I'm boring ;-)

And that concludes this Crispmoose letter that I didn't write for 2011. Merry Christmas*.

* for the politically correct, yes, I just said that. Offended? Phffft.

70 Years Ago

2011-12-04T07:55:00.001-07:00

It began at or around 0755, Hawaii Time on December 7, 1941.

The following call to General Quarters sounded aboard the battleship USS Oklahoma: "Real planes, real bombs; this is no f**king drill!".

Aboard the submarine USS Tautog: "the war is on, no fooling!"

Aboard the USS West Virginia: "Away the fire and rescue party!"

Aboard the old minelayer USS Ogalala: "all ships in harbor sortie!"

Aboard the supply ship USS Castor: "the Japs are bombing us, the Japs are bombing us!"

Aboard the battleship USS Nevada: "All hands, General Quarters! Air Raid! This is no drill!"

Aboard the heavy cruiser USS New Orleans: "Padre, there's planes out there and they look like Japs!"

Aboard the battleship USS California: "Jesus Christ...Jesus Christ!"

Aboard the battleship USS Maryland: "The Japs are here..."

At the Ford Island Administration Building: "Just gotta try to remember this date.."

Aboard the destroyer USS Monaghan: "Hell, I didn't even know they were sore at us!"

The message that shook the world at 0800, Hawaii Time, from the CINCPAC Administration Building: "AIR RAID ON PEARL HARBOR. THIS IS NO DRILL".

From Hickam and Wheeler US Army Air fields: "It's the real thing!"

From naval personnel housing with a view of Pearl Harbor: "there's a battleship tipping over.."

At the Ft. Shafter Catholic chapel: "God bless you all, the Japanese are attacking Pearl Harbor. Return to your units at once.."

Aboard the battleship USS Arizona: "Fire on the quarterdeck!" moments before the forward magazine exploded, killing over 1000 of the ship's company in an instant (see photo above).

Aboard the heavy cruiser USS San Francisco, one below-decks sailor to another: "I thought I'd come up and die with you".

A Marine aboard the 1010 Dock, standing in the open and firing a rifle at attacking Japanese planes: "If my mother could see me now".

Aboard the destroyer USS Helm as a sailor requested the keys to the ammo lockers: "Damn the keys! Cut the locks!"

A signal from the USS Curtiss: "Submarine sighted to starboard" (one of the midget subs the Japanese sent in to attack ships inside the harbor).

To a flight of B-17s coming in from the mainland, air traffic control reported -- after giving routine wind direction, velocity, and the runway on which to land -- "the field is under attack by unidentified enemy planes".

Aboard the repair ship USS Vestal -- along side the destroyed USS Arizona, after she exploded: "Come back! We're not giving up this ship yet!"

Aboard the destroyer USS Monaghan, an unarmed sailor -- throwing wrenches at passing Japanese planes -- was heard yelling for a gun and ammo: "I can't keep throwing things at them!"

Aboard the destroyer USS Helm as she sortied under attack: "Take her out, I'll direct the (gun) battery".

Aboard the light cruiser USS Helena when a Marine-manned gun mount shot down a Japanese plane: "The Marine team scored a touchdown!"

Aboard the dry-docked battleship USS Pennsylvania, in response to a report that the guns were getting too hot, and should the gunner keep shooting: "Hell yes, keep her going!"

A gunner aboard the light cruiser USS Helena, yelled to the admiral on the bridge of the nearby USS Ogalala: "Pardon me, Admiral sir! Would you mind moving from the wing of the bridge so we can shoot through there?" The admiral complied.

Warning message from a scout bomber off the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise, that was approaching Pearl Harbor, back to the ship: "White 16 -- Pearl Harbor under attack. Do not acknowledge".

Aboard the now sunken battleship USS West Virginia: "History is being made now, and you and I are in the middle of it, and our actions might affect the outcome".

Aboard the battleship USS Tennessee during the height of the air raid: "To hell with fuse settings -- shoot!"

Aboard the seaplane tender USS Curtiss, a mortally wounded sailor to a friend: "My foot's gone, isn't it?".

Aboard the battleship USS California, a sailor stood fast to his station below decks, knowing the ship was sinking: "This is my station -- I'll stay here and give them air as long as the guns are going". He didn't survive.

Aboard the hospital ship USS Solace, a nurse was heard to shout every time she saw a Japanese plane go down: "Woo-woo, there goes another one!"

Above the Marine airfield at Ewa, Japanese pilot Lt. Yoshio Shiga strafed the field, and turned for a run at a Marine standing by a disabled plane. "The man refused to budge...kept firing back with a pistol".

Aboard the dry-docked destroyer USS Downes, an individual sailor fired a .50 caliber machine gun at the Japanese planes as fires swept closer. Witnessed from the USS Pennsylvania: "wondered how long any man could stand that kind of heat. As the flames swept closer, the sailor seemed to have a harder and harder time keeping his head up. Finally he dropped to his knees, head down, but with one hand still hanging on the trigger of the gun. That's the way he was last seen when flames and smoke closed off the view".

Aboard the USS New Orleans: "Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!"

From Honolulu Radio KGMB, announcer Webley Edwards: "This is the real McCoy!"

From US Senator Burton Wheeler of Montana, an up-to-then a supporter of isolationism from foreign wars, in response to a reporter's question about Pearl Harbor: "The only thing now is to do our best to lick hell out of them!"

From the floor of Congress, 1229pm Eastern Time, December 8, 1941, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt: "Yesterday, December 7, 1941...a date which will live in infamy..." began his six minute speech that resulted in a formal declaration of war, and brought the United States into World War II (Germany and Italy would declare war on the United States on December 11, 1941, bringing us all the way in).

70 years ago*.

* Source for quotes: Day of Infamy, by Walter Lord

Secret Shopping For Scams

2011-11-29T01:40:00.008-07:00

The week of Thanksgiving, 2011, officially heralds in the Christmas shopping season, aka "Black Friday", with deals, steals and combat zones inside Walmarts and Targets, nationwide.

But that ain't the only way to get roughed up.

On November 1, I received the following email invitation:

Greetings, We have a mystery shopping assignment in your area and we would like you to participate. Thomas Heaston, Secret Shopper (with a circled 'R' at the end).

*TOING* I haven't played a 'secret shopper' scam in a while, so I 'eagerly' respond:

A mystery shopper program? What is that, please?And in a lengthy response, he told me what I expected to hear, having been contacted by online scammers running a 'secret shopper' scam before. The essence of it: they get me to believe I'm being hired to secret shop assorted businesses, with money sent to me by the secret shopper company, and I get paid by them to...secret shop. While they hold out the promise that I "get to keep any purchases you make on the secret shopper program", the first assignment is never Walmart, Sears, Target, The Diamond Cabaret, etc....it's always a Western Union.

*TOING*

Yep...they 'pay' you for your first assignment in money orders. Which you are expected to cash at your bank. After setting aside your 'pay' -- in this case, $200 -- you 'secret shop' the chosen Western Union by wiring the balance of the secret shop money order funds to an addressee given you by your 'employer'. And, of course, send your employer the information on the wire, to include the all-important money transfer control number (MTCN).

And after you complete your 'assignment', you await the next. Except -- if you've really been foolish enough to believe in this nonsense -- the next contact you have is with your bank, informing you that the money order(s) you cashed were fraudulent.

And you owe the bank the whole amount.

That's how it's supposed to work...for the scammer. It never has from here. But it's always fun to let them imagine it's going to.

So, I fill out the 'application' I receive from the scammer -- who claims to be Thomas Heaston, email heaston@gmx.com -- and decide to violate one of the cardinal rules of scambaiting, giving him most of my home address. Not all of it, but enough for his "employment packet" to get to me.

The wait is longer than I expect -- his scam operation must have run out of counterfeit money order blanks and he needs someone to make up more -- but in the meantime, Heaston (or whomever he really is) sends me 'how to' instructions for my first assignment. And I am to use a nearby Western Union facility to 'shop', and wire the balance of the money I'm being sent to a Joyce Lindamood, Ferris, TX.

Uh huh.

After some back and forth emails, with me playing the "ever so eager to get to work" secret shopper, Heaston finally assures me that my "packet" will arrive the week of Thanksgiving.

And finally on November 28, I receive via Fed Ex the "employment packet". Which consists of two Money Gram money orders, each for $850.25 (pictured above).

They're not bad, as fraudulent money orders go: they even fake some of the 'security features' on real money orders. Except these 'security features' don't perform as advertised. But no matter....the money orders look authentic. Sent from a John Adam, with an address of 137 North Washington Street, Falls Church, VA, with a telephone number of 703-533-0039.

Which, in further research, belongs to a company called Polu Kai Services, Inc., located in Falls Church, at that address. A construction and environmental firm with absolutely no connections to any secret/mystery shopper program.

But well aware of the scam: the young lady I spoke with there told me that the scammers had apparently opened a bogus Fed Ex account on the company name out of New York, and 40 Fed Ex packages had gone out under that account, before it was shut down (presumably including mine). The company there had filed a police report.

I told her my plan: she was at once concerned for my safety and amused. I just hope the other 39 recipients of these packets are either smart enough to do some research before acting, or are scambaiters like me.

Meantime, I contacted the authentic Money Gram 800 number, and through a series of prompts to the right feature, I verify that the serial numbers on my two money orders are authentic.

Or at least, they were once: both belong to money orders that were cashed on August 4, 2011. One for $62, the other for $106.24.

Nyuk nyuk.

So to an unsuspecting eye, the two money orders appear authentic. And that's what 'Thomas Heaston, John Adam' & Co. are hoping I am.

*BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZER*

I send Heaston an acknowledgement email that the money orders are received:

I have the packet! Thank you for the opportunity to give me the business! I will be going to the bank first thing in the morning, then off to Western Union! Thanks again! This will be FUN.How much fun for me depends on the scammers. Developing...

UPDATE: it didn't turn out to be so much fun. After sending the scammer a quick email that I'd cashed the money orders and done the Western Union thing, and inquiring about my next assignment, the scammer quickly reminded me that I had forgotten to send him the MTCN number.

No, I hadn't 'forgotten':

Well actually, this gives me a chance to let you know that I didn't give you the MTCN number because I decided that one secret shop with all that money just didn't seem to be a fair representation for you, my employer. So I kept more of the money so that I could secret shop a few other businesses hereabouts, since you did say that I could keep whatever I secret shop bought, right? Anyway, when you send me a reload and my next secret shop assignment, I'll send you the MTCN number. In the meantime, I did send (not really...*snort*) a token Western Union to the lady in Texas you mentioned. Tell her not to expect more than $100. I figure the 'secret shop' was more important than the amount sent, right?

That drew this brief response:

This is not how you were agree to work. I need MTCN and you keep only you pay no more. Get me MTCN at once.

Which drew my brief retort:

Shirley you jest. Yes, I did just call you Shirley. I wired $100 to your Texas lady (not really) and used the rest to secret shop a tire replacement store, a grocery store, a gift store, and a topless cabaret where the girls REALLY appreciate being secret shopped, I can assure you. Dang, this secret shopping sh** is FUN. I eagerly await my next money orders and my next assignment! You rock!

But apparently not any more: no more responses from Mr. Heaston. I guess I didn't measure up to be the kind of 'employee' he sought after all.

;-)

Short, Sweet and Huh?

2011-11-22T03:25:00.003-07:00

Two emails. Two replies. One response twice. One response blank.

One wisely silent. The other, "Huh?"

The first email notified me that Western Union wanted me to know I had one million USD posted to them in my name. By, of all entities, the "Europeans Union".

Read it in their words:

WESTERN UNION MONEY TRANSFER keiko7@optusnet.com.au

your $1,000,000 (one million dollars)was deposited here in our Western Union office by Europeans Union(E.U) for immediate transfer to you.Contact us now for more detail.

So I did, but not as they might have expected:

Thank you. But since I am rich -- well beyond the amount cited here -- I wish you to keep it with my blessing. My hundreds of millions is enough for me.

This drew an unexpected reply:

u cant not be serious?

Bad grammar out; bad grammar in:

Yes, I can't be.

I don't think that their brains fried over the answer, like the android Norman in the Star Trek (TOS) episode, I, Mudd, but they didn't bother to follow up. So I hope they enjoy dividing up that 'million'.

Then there was the spam email I found amusing. Granted, I don't know if it was spam, a phishing email, or what it might have been. You decide:

From: Detox (PlatinumCreditCard@HouseLoanExpedition.com)

Subject: Help a friend in need!

The only thing in the body of the email was a link that was titled 'DETOX'.

And then at the bottom, this peculiar disclaimer:

We respect you privacy. If you wish to no longer receive these emails, unsubscribe by reply to the email. You can also write us at: Island Vacation Fantasy, 2121 N. California Blvd, Suite 290, Walnut Creek CA 94596.

Hmmm. Are credit card advertisers or island vacation fantasy folks pushing detox? Well, you know me: without investigating the link (a bad idea, even with anti-virus etc protection), I wrote back thus:

Thank you. I've been known to help a friend in need now and then. I'm just not sure what 'need' you're offering me to help with: a credit card, detox, or a fantasy island vacation? I have no interest in the credit card (see what I just did there?). I am not drunk, though the silly season makes for more opportunities, since seeing a red nosed reindeer and perverted elf games is easier to excuse on excess libations. And Fantasy Island shut down when Mr. Rourke and Tatu went deader than two cans of corned beef. So...WTF do I do with your email? Besides the obvious suggestion? Elucidation, please.

I received back a reply...with no reply.

I'm not sure if I flustered them with the images of perverted elves, or the confusion over Fantasy Island (probably in syndicated re-runs wherever they are)'s two patrons being dead as cans of corned beef. I did ask:

You have replied without replying. Is the significance of your blank reply that you drew a blank, and are not able to grasp the images of dead cans of corned beef? I stand ready with counter elucidation, if this is the case. Elucidation is the fiber of a bowel movement. Write back to help yours.

So far, they haven't apparently grasped the value of fiber. No reply. Further elucidation, if they do ;-)

It Blew By One Night

2011-11-15T00:22:00.001-07:00

Meteorology in Colorado is, to say the least, interesting. Mr. Spock would call it "fascinating". Especially as he watches one of his ears go whizzing off to Limon.

Large snowstorms are possible from September to May. 70 degrees in January. Pleasant, spring-like Mays. Violent, wild Mays. The dog days of summer in August. Trying to dig out the dogs amidst the drifts of record-breaking snowstorms in March.

You just never know around h'yar.

One phenomenon we see locally in the late fall, winter and early spring is, when conditions are right, winds off the foothills. Not kite-flying winds; not a rustle of the branches winds. Not a caress your cheek wind.

Something that is locally called a "chinook" wind.

A plus of the chinook is that, when it comes in the winter, frequently it is a warming wind, raising chilling temperatures and melting snow. And for the Denver Metro, a chinook can be welcome when winter temperature inversions are right to cloud the city horizon with a smogish haze. A chinook will send the smog east/northeast.

Kansas can't thank us enough.

But the chinook does have another side to it. They frequently come in at low-end hurricane force. Wind gusts during chinooks, in varying areas along the Colorado Front Range, have been known to exceed 100 mph. Some place called Wondervu once recorded a gust over 130 mph.

I can't find the place on a Colorado map, so it must be in Kansas, too.

At any rate, when the 'chinook' is predicted locally, meteorologist post high wind warnings for the Front Range, from the Wyoming border to New Mexico. For when the chinook is in not-so-rare form, it doesn't waste the appearance.

Just a lot of stuff in its path. The wind gusts in certain areas take things not nailed down. And sometimes, some things that were.

As I went to bed around Saturday noontime, November 12, 2011, high wind warnings were in effect for Denver and the Front Range until the morning hours of Sunday, November 13. At times as I tried to sleep, I could hear the sound of wind gusts on the roof.

The Fiddler never had a prayer. Hope he had a parachute.

As I prepared to leave for work late that Saturday night, the winds locally in Green Mountain didn't seem very bad. It seemed, at least from my view, that the chinook had been overplayed, at least in Lakewood.

Driving west toward Golden and Clear Creek Canyon however, I found where the chinook was lurking.

And from here on into work, it was more than just a chinook: it was a sch-muck.

I'm used to high winds in parts of Clear Creek Canyon and the US 6/Colorado 119 corridor to Black Hawk and Central City. Areas therein like "the Narrows", are frequently tickled by strong wind gusts. Deer and mountain lions in the area -- long used to the weather anomalies -- are equipped with sand bags.

This particular night was a bit unusual. Once I cleared Tunnel 1 -- just beyond the entrance to Clear Creek Canyon -- I noticed the tell-tale sideways 'nudge' of an unseen hand, pushing my car's front end. I didn't need to look beyond the debris in the headlights to see brush and tall grasses on the roadside, laying prone, to know that I'd found the sch-muck.

Or the gusts of wind that momentarily cut visibility with clouds of sand, gravel, tumble weeds, etc flying about. Or rocks knocked into the roadway from the canyon walls on either side. And/or occasional small animals, flying monkeys, houses with big-eyed farm girls, whirling by in the more prodigious gusts.

I won't mention the witch-looking broad on a bicycle. I hadn't had enough caffeine at that point to be sure that I saw that.

But as I approached the southern end of Black Hawk on 119, I was certain of the continuing presence of the sch-muck: a road side tree came down on the road behind me.

Allllll-righty then.

But better was ahead: a lot of road construction is taking place on the south end of Black Hawk. And a crapload of those 55 gallon drum-style orange traffic markers that block or define lane changes, were ahead at the second traffic light into Black Hawk.

Not all of them were where they had originally been placed. As I approached and slowed for a light going from yellow to red, I saw one barrel -- in the south bound lanes -- decide that it wanted to experience the thrill of flight. The sch-muck chose that moment to encourage it thus.

While I admired the dream and the effort, I was dubious of the aerodynamics and wisdom of the attempt. Worse, I was rather unimpressed with the sch-muck wind trajectory the barrel chose for re-entry and landing to terra firma.

Attempting to judge an unpiloted construction barrier barrel's irregular flight pattern, I reckoned it for a touchdown to the right of my vehicle. So I chose to steer left to evade.

I didn't realize, until too late, that the damned barrel was apparently socialist: and with a loud *WHUMPF*, we greeted each other just short of the 2nd light.

Thankfully, the impact was insufficient to trigger my steering wheel airbag. Perhaps it was the colorful metaphors I was at that moment unleashing, that kept the airbag from wanting to meet the foul-mouthed windbag behind the wheel.

At any rate, that particular 55 gallon sized, weighted orange plastic construction barrier barrel -- however long it had served its aforementioned function -- would never again seek the skies for high flight. Sch-muck winds or not.

At least, not in one piece.

The balance of the night was as could have been expected in this minature mountain Vegas venue: high winds, flying stuff, power 'bumps' and the joys of occasional folks having their wind breakers act like the Flying Nun's habit, in momentary stout gusts that continued until the daylight and meteorology combined to tame the sch-muck winds.

Perhaps the night was best summed up with the coming of dawn: hung up in a road side tree -- what was left of it -- was a flying monkey, tangled up with one half of a deer antler, a pair of panties and a bra, an empty margarita, and muttering something in flying monkeyese that I didn't quite catch as I drove by.

I'm not sure I could ever have had enough caffeine to be absolutely sure of what I thought I saw. But the 'gesture' I got in passing, was a universal one.

Obviously that flying monkey had negotiated traffic in Denver rush hour, too.

Secret Powers...For Sale

2011-11-12T00:50:00.004-07:00

I know something that you don't.

How do I know it? Because I got the email that offers to tell me so.

Neener boo.

Late the other evening, right out of cyber thin air, it came to me like an email out of the blue. An email entitled Secret Powers. Therein, it asked me all the questions I've never asked myself. And at the bottom, it promised me a 7 day guarantee to find all those answers, simply by responding to the email address at the bottom.

Well, you just knowd I was gonna have ta.

With one wee little proviso: I answered the questions the email posed, and THEN sent it back to the emailer. And 25 or so of his/hers peers and colleagues.

I'll spare you a recap of the whole email AND response; instead, I'll share with you what went back to the emailer. In bold, I'll give you the original contents as I received them; in italics, I'll give you how I helped the emailer out, by answering the posed questions.

You may be your own subjective judge of how it worked out:

Has anything ever bothered you in life? If so, get the f**k over it, Zipper Lips. Do you have any problems you need to solve? Get off your fat ass and solve it, then. A pending court case you have that you want to solve in your favor? Hire a good f**king lawyer and don't be doing the sh** that will wind you up in court in the first place. I mean, WTF!

Health, relationship, finance. They're all overrated. But I digress.

Welcome to the world of false miracles and faux wonders! For a fee that you pay to me, there are supernatural treasures and power to liberate mankind from all afflictions. Why? Because I found where they store all those props from the last Indiana Jones "Crystal Skull" movie.

And for a price, it can all be YOURS!

Let me answer some of your questions of life. Why can't you live the life of your dreams? Because Sandra Bullock thinks you're a dweeb, that's why.

Why must you work so hard and yet earn so little? Because you're the dumbass who got the liberal arts degree that wasn't worth a job at McDonalds!

Why can't you be happy with the one you love and desire or why can't the one you love reciprocate and appreciate that love? Because your fetish of buttf**king goats repels her, you moron.

Why would the doctor tell you there is no solution or cure to your problems? Because any medical doctor knows that you surgically can't fix stupid.

Why would your lawyer say you stand no chance, that your case is hopeless? Because he/she bothered to read the f**king law, the same one that you chose to break, nipplehead.

Have you been cheated by anyone or those owing you money refuse to pay back? Quit lending money to deadbeats and that won't happen, you idiot.

Do you need a rapid job promotion in your place of work? Assassination might have worked on the Enterprise in a parallel universe, but I wouldn't recommend it here. Besides, your boss KNOWS you spend time in the restroom whacking off, instead of doing your f**king job, you pervert.

You want to venture into politics? Who wouldn't: young interns letting you play hide the cigar in the vaginal humidor, and lots of lobbyists with lots of money who'll give it to you so you'll support a law authorizing anal sex with camels.

Now I understand certain things are hard to believe and comprehend, but all I ask from you is only 7 days and if you will follow my instructions and use the items you will receive, I promise your life will never be the same again. Why? Because my items I send you are thermonuclear devices that explode when you open them, and being next to one of those exploding will guaran-f**king-tee that your life will never be the same.

If you don't trust me on that, contact me and I'll prove it to you.

If you find no relevance in the help I offer, you're a f**king dumbass and I hope you get genital-eating crotch crickets.

All inquiries should be directed to this email: secretpower1@blumail.org

Asked and answered. And not a few hours after I sent the emailer my "edited" inquiry, I got a response that was the epitome of brevity:

f**k you.
Nor was I long in response:

I fail to see how that solves all, or for that matter, ANY of my problems in 7 days. Or EVAH. Elucidate, please.
None was forthcoming. Guess they'll remain "secret powers", eh?

No Contest

2011-11-08T07:29:00.003-07:00

The photo on the right will be 'splained momentarily.

Via email, I learned this very morning that I won yet another contest. This one for $485,000 AND a brand new Range Rover sports.

Details in this very brief email:

Dear winner
This is to immediate inform you that your email address with Micros ID (JMG-69841-DVC-T7UD-0WP) has won you $485,000 and a brand new range rover sports. Use the detail below to login and begin your claims.

website: www.shezhenyaxin.com

user: win2

password: kt85

email: jimdavidson555@hotmail.co.uk

Name: Dr. Jimmy Davidson

Phone: +44 704 578 0514

Regards, Jimmy Davidson

Simple, straight forward. I didn't bother with the website (nor would I recommend anyone else), but I did bother to take a little creative liberty with the email in the editing department, before returning it to the good doctor and 25 of his peers and colleagues:

Dear winner,

This is to immediately inform you that your email address with Micros ID (OMG-WTF-SNAFU-CLSTRFCK-BYTEME) has won you a Siberian yak herd worth 485,000 rubles, free vaccinations for a year for hoof and udder disease, a ton of fried borsht and a date with Olga Buttinski, Miss Siberia 1913, who with enough botox still looks her age.

I left the rest of the email intact, so the good doctor's peers and colleagues can login and collect...*wink nod snort*.

And that tends to explain the photo. Olga Buttinski, Miss Siberia 1913, did not like my botox comment, as you might guess..

A Turkey of a Recipe

2011-11-03T01:07:00.000-06:00

*Originally run in 2001; updated 2009 and again in '2011; probably on file with the Department of Homeland Security's WMD Search section since '03*

As the calendar turns, around again comes the holiday season. At months' end, Halloween; less than a month later, Thanksgiving, and the focus of this tortured expose.

Of course, it's not only the season of Thanksgiving that'll be coming soon to homes near you; it's football, hockey and basketball season. It's the beginning of the Christmas decorating and shopping season. Among certain animations, it's wabbit or duck season. And we have the benefit of a sucky economy and a couple of smoldering shooting wars, though the latter is good live-fire practice for anyone planning to engage in the combat of pre-post Christmas shopping, coming soon to a mall (maul) near many of us.

For my purposes, I'll stick with the Thanksgiving theme, and something near and kind of dear to my heart and gastrointestinals: bachelor recipes.

Being a bachelor, it's good that this year, I'll be able to partake in the family fare of the season, prepared by those with exceptional cooking skills, as opposed to my inept legerdemain (and no, I can't pull a spatula out of my mitt). But in past years, I have been left to my own devices, and from previous references to my acumen in the kitchen, you know that mine tends to resemble a terrorist not-so-stronghold in the wake of a US air attack.

But I am nothing if not self-deprecating and culinarily inept for this blog, so a few years back, I came up with a recipe for to get me into the festive spirit of Thanksgiving. It's my very own invention and unique 'turkey' recipe, created in my guise as bachelor chef and culinary barbarian implosionaire. It even wound up in a family tree cook book (as a warning to any future procreation with me and my particular genes, but I digress). And for your reading and culinary astonishment, I will share it with y'all here:

Culinary Barbarian Turkey Surprise

First, collect the following ingredients:

- 2 cans of Turkey Spam

- 2 chicken drumsticks

- 2 chicken wings

- 1 ample portion of stuffing

- 1 can of turkey broth

- 1 cup of diced onions

- 1 cup of diced turnip greens

- 1 cup of diced celery

- 1 egg

- 1 cup flour

- 1/2 cup milk

- one lemon wedge

- 1 tablespoon of Crisco oil or bacon grease

- assorted seasonings for specific taste

- one set thermal-imaging goggles

- one fire extinguisher

- one asbestos cooking apron

Next comes the preparation:

- scrape off the gelatin-like residue from the Spam and set it aside for gravy

- mix Spam, stuffing, diced items, egg, Crisco/bacon grease, can of broth and seasonings in mixing bowl, shaping eventually into the equivalent shape of a turkey (think cornish game hen on limited steroids)

- add drumsticks and wings (secure to turkey with toothpicks, staples, rivets, duct tape, whatever's handy)

- pre-heat oven to 352 degrees; because I said so, that's why

- cross yourself for luck; if atheist/agnostic, just run widdit*

- put into oven in teflon-coated roasting pan for 95 minutes

- suck on the lemon wedge to wipe that look off your face

For the gravy:

- disconnect smoke detectors

- mix gelatin, flour, milk in expendable sauce pan on low heat

- stir occasionally

- if it starts to smoke, stir more frequently

- if it really starts to smoke, don the thermal imaging goggles, so you can keep track of what you're stirring with increasing enthusiasm/urgency

- if on fire, beat it resoundingly; use the extinguisher as a last resort, as it will tend to degrade the gravy consistency a tad

- set it aside; keep the thermal imaging goggles on, so you can see where you put it, along with your way around the rest of your place

After removing turkey from the oven:

- pour gravy residue (that still in liquid form) over finished turkey

- place roasting pan, with gravy-ladled turkey, in hermetically-sealed bag

- toss the whole kit and kaboodle into a HAZMAT-approved biohazard container

- call the nearest Chinese delivery place, and thank Gawd they don't celebrate Thanksgiving

Disclaimer: the aforementioned recipe is not approved or recommended by Betty Crocker, Martha Stewart, Cheffie Mom Debbie Davis, the USDA, EPA, US Military's WMD Disposal Branch, or any recognized chef, living or petrified, after having read the above. If you do try this at home, you'll keep that to yourself if you have more than 3 working brain cells; then again, if you DID try this at home, you've already debunked the pre-semi-coloned part of this sentence, so never mind. Feeding residue to any living thing has potential creatures-from-The-Outer-Limits-morphability risks associated widdit, and this blog is not responsible for what might morph, and any unspeakable things it might do to your washing machine, sleeper sofa, blue flashlights, daschunds, Ford Pintos or toaster ovens.

* you can always undergo a pre-Apocalyptic conversion, if what morphs is about to attack you

Will You Accept A Collect Call From The Dead?

2011-10-31T01:37:00.004-06:00

*From the Out of (cyber) Thin Air website archives -- originally released 10/96*

Doesn't that sound like the kind of question fittingly asked on All Hallows' Eve? Or if you're into things like the paranormal and reincarnation, perhaps you're one of those who would love to receive such a call.

The afterworld. Life beyond the grave. The supernatural. Subjects that inspire 'spirited' debate among theologians, paranormal researchers, astrologists and cynics. From 'back from the dead' experiences to haunted houses, reports of encounters with supernatural entities tend to have their supporters and their detractors. Watered down, those who 'believe', versus those who demand undeniable, absolute proof.

Perhaps maybe we finally have some?

From the archives of the Denver Post (fittingly enough the Halloween edition in 1995) comes an article by Bill Briggs entitled, In Touch With The Great Beyond. The story centers on a group of crackpo...uh...remarkable researchers and their work in the field of communications with the spirit world.

And vice versa.

One researcher interviewed by Briggs -- Mark Macy -- even has a book out, Conversations Beyond The Light (Griffin Books). In the book and article, Macy tells an incredib(ul)le story of a Latvian psychologist, one Konstantin Raudive, and his research into contacting and communicating with the dead. Raudive insists that the dead had, in fact, found a way to communicate with the living, using electronic and communications and entertainment devices we take for granted today.

Using a standard tape recorder, Raudive would find a place of quiet solitude and speak to departed friends and loved ones, asking them various questions. Later, in his lab, he would play back the tape, monitoring it for several hours, finding answers to all of his questions recorded thereon.

Raudive's research revealed that spirits need "white noise" -- like radio static -- which the spirits are able to "modulate into voice patterns strong enough to be captured on audio tape". Allegedly, Raudive collected over 75,000 voices in his years of research.

Macy then relates a telephone call he received from Raudive in 1994. As Macy tells it, he answered the phone and heard the distinctive voice of Raudive (whom he'd heard on audiotape many times, studying Raudive's work). Raudive told him "This is Konstantin Raudive. This is the first contact you get from us. We have succeeded in establishing a new bridge to the States. You are the first to be contacted by this means".

And with that, Macy says, the phone line went dead.

Apparently, literally: Konstantin Raudive died in 1974.

Since 1991, Macy claims to have been investigating and researching what is referred to as ITC: instrumental transcommunication. Through this means, Macy claims that he and other researchers have had 'conversations' with spirit beings who have learned how to use technology "on the other side", and have it communicate with our own modern-day technology.

Among the things Macy claims to have learned from the other side, is the existence of a place called Marduk -- a place we might refer to as Heaven. Marduk is a planet with three suns that has nothing to do with Fred MacMurray, located in the Third Astral plane, another physical dimension that shares space with our own. And life on Marduk is better than any Club Med: residents of Marduk average the age of 30 (as we measure it here). Physical anomalies as we know them don't exist there; but all of the human pleasures do, including sex.

In short, Kevin Costner, it isn't Heaven or Iowa: it's Marduk.

To believers, it sounds awesome; to skeptics, "yeah, whatever".

As for me, I'm open to reasoned arguments about almost anything except for the viability of sauer kraut as edible and Bill Clinton being ethical; but I found the claims by Macy to be a bit much to accept at face value. So first, I attended an ITC event at a local hotel last November 1995; interesting, but not totally convincing.

So I followed up with a phone call to Mr. Macy (1-900-SPIRITD...not really the number, but it fit the theme) to get more information. The following is a transcript of the conversation I had with one of Mr. Macy's associates (herein referred to as PC, Person Contacted):

PC: Hello?

Me: I'm calling to speak to Mr. Macy. Is he available?

PC: I'm sorry, Bill is not available just now. Can I help you?

Me: Perhaps you can...you are who?

PC: Albert, but you can call me Al.

Me: Fine, Al. What exactly do you do for Mr. Macy?

PC: I occasionally do research work in conjunction with Bill and his associates.

Me: So...you're pretty familiar with the work Bill and his associates do. What are your thoughts on it?

PC: It's fascinating and very illuminating, I must say. I had often pondered such things myself years ago, but never got around to spending much quality time on it. Now I have the liberty to do so, and I am happy to say I'm learning more and more.

Me: So you're a scientist?

PC: *chuckle*..I've been known to dabble in a bit of assorted theories, relatively-speaking.

Me: Al, level with me: have you, Macy and the others actually found demonstratable evidence of the existence of the afterworld and a communications link to it?

PC: Indeed we have. Granted, what we refer to as 'demonstratable' evidence may not be so in the conventional sense to cynics, but to the open mind, we have found and compiled what we know to be not only evidence of the afterworld, but ways and means for that world and the physical world to communicate.

Me: You say your evidence is more definitive to the open mind, as opposed to that of a cynic. How so?

PC: The average man tends to believe only in what he can touch, feel, see, sense, and explain within the framework of his own established standards of reality and accepted sciences. His limited knowledge fails to comprehend or take into account the idea of other realms, or vastly differen and as yet undiscovered laws of Nature and physics that he can't as easily touch, feel, see or sense. Man is singularly naive in making assumptions that he knows what the laws of physics are, since he knows at this point only that which he has been able to see, test and prove, and explain in his terms of understanding. Believe me, the cosmos have bared but a fraction of it's complex nature and dynamics to Mankind. Even we are barely beginning to grasp a whole new reality-dynamic with the ITC project.

Me: So...you support the theory that Macy espouses, including the existence of this Marduk place on a parallel dimension with our own?

PC: Absolutely.

Me: Al, your positive assertions aside, nothing sells like tangible, "show me" proof.

PC: I was once of that mindset too. I know better now. Just as my friend Isaac has come to re-examine some of his own theories in the dawn of new enlightenment, opening the mind to possibilities beyond the horizon of what you see, and new dimensions of thought and rationale are potentially infinite.

Me: That's fine rhetoric for a sci-fi seminar Al, but it still doesn't get to the point that documented proof of what Macy, you and your associates are claiming, is at best debatable.

PC: The proof we have, as you refer to it, is in abundance. The openess of the mind to receive and assimilate it is the key to grasping that beyond the merely "I can pick this up and feel it, therefore it is" mentality that limits your grasp of the evidence. The open mind is prerequisite to being able to receive and understand communications between where you are and I am.

Me: I still am having an issue with...uh...what did you mean by "where you are?"

PC: That's just a figure of speech. I really must be going now. Thank you for the interesting conversation. Try Mark another time.

Me: Well thank you for your time, Al. For my column, can I have your last name?

PC: Einstein. Bye now.

Me: Thank yo....say WHO? Whoa, don't hang u...*click*

I tried to call the number back without success, so I tried having a US West operator connect me; she informed me that the number I gave her didn't exist.

*Theme music from whatever sci-fi show you choose*

So...believe or not what you want from this, but one thing's certain: if that number doesn't exist, the call to it hadn't better show up on my phone bill. Can you imagine the potential charge for a direct dial inter-dimensional long distance phone call?

Ewwwwwww.

A Little This A Little That

2011-10-26T03:25:00.006-06:00

So much to write about, so little motivation to do it.

It's snowing...predicted to be the first major storm of the season. Then again, the day before, we had record high temperatures near 80 degrees. So this storm will be akin to spit in the ocean. But the skiers are loving it. AlGore, not so much.

Occupy Wherever continues to generate brilliance and character from the left side of the aisle. Rock and bottle throwing in Oakland. An LA protester who wants to run all the Jews out of the US...another who thinks that if we were like North Korea (satellite photo above; repressive communist North Korea is the dark one, the booming capitalist South Korea is the lit-up one), we'd all have jobs and be happy and well-fed. Allegedly educated college students who want everything handed to them because they "deserve it" (proof that dumbed down education is alive and well on college campi). And the complaints from within various "Occupy" locations, of fellow travellers stealing from one another.

Heck, they're only taking socialist teachings of Marx, Lenin, Mao, Alinsky et al, to heart: to paraphrase it, "from those who have, to those who haven't". There should be no complaints about that from within; the Occupiers are supposed to be all about communal property and what not, right?

They are. Until their not the property pilferer, and the property pilfered is theirs. Ha.

Gaddafi is hosed, and some UN types have their panties in a wad over how he got dead. Hello...he got shot. That happens in violent overthrows. Any other questions? Appoint some more panels to study what's obvious to a second grade class in a charter school, and waste some more money, UN. That seems to be what you're best at.

Turkey had a major earthquake. It won't get much mention in the news -- a libtard local talk show host (David Sirota) would rather highlight a stupid study by a stupid college professor that stupidly claims that MLB umpires are racist against minority pitchers -- but the US Military and other volunteer groups will be there with money, materials and man power, doing what this great nation always does in times of disaster somewhere.

And yes, I can't help but notice the Republican candidates on debate after debate, doing a better job to chewing each other up than focusing on what really matters. Some interesting characters up there, but it has the feel that the 'establishment' that gave us Bob Dole and John McCain, will probably wind up giving us another "go along to get along" spineless dolt, rather than someone who's got some heart, conviction and courage to take a strong stand against the current hypocrisy. What hypocrisy is that, you might ask? The hypocrisy of campaigning against Wall Street and the rich, ginning up racial and economic class warfare, while going to the evil corporations, Wall Street and the rich with hat in hand for campaign cash, and giving them sweet taxpayer handouts under the guise of 'stimulus' that hasn't resulted in real job growth where it really matters.

Can you say "Solyndra"? PMSNBC and the White House would rather you didn't. Instead, they'd rather tell adoring crowds that Republicans, if elected, will dirty the air, water, starve children and throw old folks out into the streets.

And again, dumbed down education will let some sheeples buy into that.

A hotel in Nashville cancels a counterterrorism conference because of threats from -- sooprise, sooprise -- radical Islamists. Last time I looked, Nashville was in Tennessee. Not Iran. Unless Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac have arranged some kind of a funky land-for-debt swap between them, China and Iran, that PMSNBC purposely overlooked as well.

The US Constitution and Bill of Rights is not written in Sharia. At least, not yet.

But that's not important to the lame stream media. It's more important to explain racist MLB umpires applying unfair strike zones to minority pitchers. Without explaining how a racist MLB umpire handles his racism when the batter is ALSO a minority.

Details, details.

Yeah, I know...I sound like a heartless, mean-spirited conservative. Well, I hear that 92 year old Andy Rooney is in the hospital. I wish him well and a full recovery.

So there.

On top of that, an anonymous 'troll' has demanded that I shut down my blog.

If my pet rock, Seymour, were capable of it, he'd reply in a manner that the 'troll' would understand. But the poor pet rock hasn't yet figured out how to flip a bird.

I suggested to Seymour that it takes stealth, a quick branch tweak, and an unprepared, unsuspecting avian.

Seymour's still giving me "WTF?" looks for that.

Yeah, I know...this wasn't a funny blog entry. Not everything always is. Certainly not according to the 'troll'.

So I'll attempt to end it on a funny note: if a racist MLB umpire is behind the plate, Jibaldo Jimenez (hispanic) is pitching and Derek Jeter (black) is at bat, how does this racist MLB umpire work out the conundrum of a slider catching the outside edge of the plate?

He puts the game in rain delay, ejects both managers, and craps on the hood of the MLB commissioner's car, on his way to take up drum banging at Occupy Toledo.

Okay, so I didn't guarantee that you'd find it funny...

But you got your money's worth ;-)

Seymour "Writes" Again...

2011-10-22T00:15:00.001-06:00

My pet rock, Seymour, is still on extended holiday in Loveland, Colorado. But that hasn't stopped him from making use of my sister's music system to continue his 'career' of hijacking and parodying song lyrics.

"Do NOT!"

You be the judge.

Seymour recently completed lyrics to two songs that he says are "sure fire HITS!". After perusing them, I find that Seymour is right.

And wrong.

"Am NOT!"

Seymour's first "sure fire HIT" is very, VERY reminiscent of the 1970s, and a song by Lynryd Skynyrd, one known the world over as "Free Bird". But not the way Seymour parodied it.

"Did NOT!"

Really, Seymour? You really think a song entitled Free Turd is going to climb the charts?

*Pet rock in petulant pout mode*

But it gets worse.

"Does NOT!!"

Seymour -- in his infinite wisdom -- created a song he says will sweep dance clubs the world over, "especially when they catch my unique lyrics!".

I carefully perused Seymour's "unique lyrics". And it didn't take me long to find where Seymour pirated the idea for this "chart topper": from the 1980s.

"Did NOT!!"

If you've ever heard of a group called the Romantics, recall a song from the 1980s, Talking In Your Sleep. Now that you've recalled it, prepare to have it forever after corrupted, Seymour-style.

"Will NOT!!!"

You be the judge:

From Seymour the Pet Rock Writes Again...

Farting In Your Sleep

When the day is done

and it's time to sleep..eep..eep

And it's down to the sound

of a floor creak

I can guess the things

that you've eaten to-day..ay..ay

When your tummy opens fire

and the gas goes weee-ayyyy...

You pass a chimi-changa

You pass a pas-ta sal-ad

and a bowl of onion so-up

and I know that I'm right

cuz I smell it every ni-ight..

I hear the flatulence you sneak

when you're farting in your sleep

I dread the methane that you seep

when you're farting in your sleep

I have tried to hold you close at ni-ight

It's kinda like sleeping in a...firefight...

And all the fuel that you put inside

You're generating flatus

that you just can't hide...

You pass a large bur-ri-to

and garlic rigo-toni

and don't forget the hot wings..

and I know that I'm right

cuz I'm pummeled every ni-ight...

I fear the flatulence you sneak

when you're farting in your sleep

I hear the methane that you seep

when you're farting in your sleep

I hear the flatulence you sneak

when you're farting in your sleep

I fear the methane that you seep

when you're farting in your sleep

When you close your eyes

and you cock a cheek

the coming night's miasma ain't a...mystery..

You pass a Hostess Twinkie

a double bacon bur-ger

a platter of lingui-ni

it'll be a long night

cuz I'm mired in it's bi-yte...

I fear the flatulence you sneak

when you're farting in your sleep

I hear the paint peelers you seep

when you're farting in your sleep

the dog can't stand the flatulence you sneak

when you're farting in your sleep

the neighbors, from their windows leap

when you're farting in your sleep..

"Pretty catchy, huh?"

Seymour, the EPA will be around to talk to you, after ASCAP and Weird Al...

"Will NOT!!! Uh...who?"

Tea Time

2011-10-19T00:30:00.002-06:00

There has always been a simmering disagreement across the "pond" regarding the Boston Tea Party of 1773, the eventual "defeat" of the British at Yorktown, and how it led to the colonists "winning their independence" from the Crown.

Now with 'Occupy Wall Street', the undefeated "Royalists" of the group "Yorktown Our Arse", are coming to reclaim that of the 13 colonies that they contend was never formally given up by the UK.

Leader of the group -- Brigadier Sir Willingham Torrence Falstaff Banger VIII -- contends that "the bloomin' Declaration of Independence was bloody misinterpreted", and that "the Crown reasserts it's sovereign control over the Colonies, so's we can collect overdue tariffs and taxes, retro-bloomin' active from 1776 to bloody date".

Brigadier Sir W.T.F. Banger VIII insists that "it's needed to pay off the bloomin' debts for the last royal wedding", among other costs.

"See here, Yank", the Brigadier told this blogger's pet rock, Seymour, in an exclusive interview, "besides owing us for your bloomin' Boston Tea Party, which was a whacking great sacrilegious waste of bloody good tea, you owe us for 235 years of the bloody misconception that you argued then, and haven't bloomin' proved whatsoever since".

Seymour: And what was this, uh, "bloody misconception" that you claim the 'colonies' hasn't proved since 1776?

Brigadier WTF Banger VIII: The bloody notion that "taxation without representation is tyranny". Great bloomin' crikey! Look what taxation WITH representation has bloody brought you to!

Seymour: uhhhhh.....*rock hit over the head look*

Brigadier W.T.F Banger VIII expects his troops -- clad in the uniforms of the day to reinforce the notion that they didn't lose the 'Revolution' after all -- to have no problems re-asserting control in New York City or Boston; "we'll just mix with those bloomin' wankers in the OWS cock up, and since we have guns that they don't bloody believe in having...it'll be a bleedin' snap!, by crikey!".

Developing*....

* in the mind of a very warped pet rock...I think..."am NOT!!!"

Oh Hell...

2011-10-16T00:45:00.002-06:00

Everyone else is in Denver, on this subject...so I might as well throw my 2 cents in, adjusted for inflation to squat.

Denver has an AFC West team. Y'all knowd that. Denver won two Super Bowls at the end of the John Elway era. Y'all knowd that.

Since then, Denver has muddled along with less than stellar QBs at the helm. Y'all would be wise to view that statement as subjective. My subjective.

Everyone thought that Mike Shanahan had drafted the next QB messiah, when he got Jay Cutler from Vanderbilt. Cutler showed flashes of brilliance. And immaturity.

So had Elway in his early years.

But the team's fortunes ebbed, and the fans demanded a change. Shanahan was fired. And a surprise blew into town: a 33 year old offensive coordinator for New England, Josh McDaniels.

His age and inexperience, versus his apparently productive tenure under Bill Belichek, were hot topics of discussion. To compound things (or not), he and Cutler were like mixing gas fumes and a lit match. Both behaved badly, and the pouting, immature-acting Cutler went to Chicago, with Kyle Orton coming to Denver.

Chicago was thrilled. Denver was dubious.

Until, in the 2009 season, Denver had a 6-0 start. Suddenly, it was King Josh, Prince Kyle and Jay who?

Denver went into their bye week 6-1. Then came out of it, and along with the 'bye' week went Denver's winning ways. They finished 8-8, after starting 6-0.

The "WTF?"s that had begun with McDaniels' hiring -- and were momentarily silenced after a 6-0 start -- began anew.

2010 began, and the good ship Broncos was further rocked by another quality-athlete-turned-petulant-child, aka Brandon Marshall, leaving for Miami. Eh. Receiver Brandon Lloyd was more than ready to step up. What was more, with a great opportunity in the draft, McDaniels surprised a lot of folks by picking, as Denver's number 1 choice, Florida QB Tim Tebow.

A Heisman winner. A national champion x2 winner. Another messiah according to some; vastly overrated and incapable of being an NFL QB according to others.

But the team had Kyle Orton, described as "adequate" by some analysts. And on top of that, Denver had acquired in the off season, another QB of unachieved (so far) promise and question, Brady Quinn, from Cleveland.

But Orton was the man going into the 2010 season.

And Denver went phffft. A spotty, sputtering offense, unspecial teams play, and a defense that was in name only, left Denver 3-13.

Even before the campaign had ended, poignant fan reaction led to the early departure of McDaniels, and the postseason acquisition of John Fox, formerly of the sputtering Carolina Panthers.

Thanks to the 2011 preseason lock out, lots of mysteries were left Fox & Co. But once training camp began, it became apparent that Fox was determined to go with the QB "who gives us the best chance to win": Kyle Orton.

Orton's two year record as a starter in Denver did not suggest this; but Fox is the coach, and that was that.

Now Denver -- in Orton's third season here -- is 1-4 going into the bye week. In the last game, with Denver's offense anemic and lifeless against San Diego, Fox bowed to whatever he chose to bow to (fan pressure, Orton's uninspired, lackluster play, a fortune cookie, a kick in the pants from above, a mystic pelican paperweight), and substituted Tim Tebow in the second half.

And Denver came within an incomplete pass (and some argue a missed pass interference penalty in the end zone) of winning an exciting, almost comeback game.

Denver returns after their bye week with a road game to another team having a woeful season, Miami. A team that almost traded for Orton before the season began. Fans and many analysts expect (and demand) that Tebow be the starter for the balance of the season, so the team can see just what he's got.

John Fox announced, during the bye week, that at least for now, the fans and analysts will get what they want: Tebow is the starter in Miami.

Meantime, with all the trials and tribulations -- and among those who are NOT rabid Tim Tebow fans -- there are eyes on Denver's record for the remaining 11 games, with an eye on next year's draft, and Stanford QB phenom Andrew Luck.

Anyway, that's the way of things here in Denver.

Now for my two cents: Orton is as inspiring as a porcupine enema. Adequate he may be as a QB, but not in the system here. Trade him to a team that has a sound offensive line that can hold a pocket for an immobile QB, has an established running game and a stout defense, and Kyle Orton will be "adequate".

Give the balance of the season to Tebow. Let him prove he is the "messiah" his fans claim and his critics deny. It's time to see what his draft choice was worth.

And Denver Broncos front office/coaching staff? Call it what it is: a rebuilding phase. To deny that is, to deny there's wind in a tornado or that a fart in an elevator is not gnarly.

If Tebow can show leadership and skills as a field general that the team and fans can gel around, then Fox 'n Company can begin to build a team around him (just as Shanahan did around Elway, resulting in two Super Bowl wins). If he can't, and the losses keep coming...(a) the fans will be answered (well, all but the most rabid pro-Tebow of them will), and (b) Denver can see if their woeful record is woeful enough for the....you knew this was coming....

Luck of the draft.

*ducking boos and throwd fantasy football QB ratings cards*

The Stand (Off)

2011-10-13T00:22:00.002-06:00

Night shift work has pluses and minuses.

The pluses I'll figure out another day, perhaps before I die.

It's what's happening on my homefront while I'm working that's now front and centah.

Y'all know my travails in the kitchen. I'm not nicknamed "Chef Boy-R-Deestructive" for nothing. My smoke detectors tremble and shriek if I get within 10 feet of the kitchen.

But now, they have sought and found allies against the 'evil' Chef Boy-R-Deestructive. Yeah, that's me. And I believe that the genesis of their growing alliance against and resistance to my culinary con carnage, is thanks to that youngster who stole my name to make bad movies that I'd get blamed for, along with my ambitious, plagiarizing pet
rock.

In the case of the former, I cite the example, Pearl Harbor. And more recently, Transformers I-III. I sure hope that the dingbat from Ohio that left me a series of "I want a part in your next movie" messages back a few years ago has since found his number, but I digress.

I came home from a particularly arduous night shift the other morning, to find a badly-scrawled note taped to my bedroom door. I knew it wasn't from my pet rock, Seymour, because he's still either riding horses in Loveland or stuck in a time travel loop in the Jurassic era. And it was posted higher on the door than Seymour could reach. Yet, it had a Seymour-esque aire to it.

The note read -- in stilted, dumbed-down education grammar -- "Wi r on 2 u -- thuh citchin".

I made a note to leave a testy message with the property maintenance folks about their sense of humor, and went to bed.

Hours later, I arose to find yet another note -- in similar dysyntax -- taped to my door. This one said "hour armee grose. u wil loos. thuh citchin".

I didn't think it possible for a flash mob from the District of Columbia school district to be invading my flat while I was comatose, to leave me their notion of a valedictorian address on my door. No, this was something else. And in the absence of my pet rock, it had the sense of something more ludicrously nefarious.

That's when I noticed my computer was on. And online. And I never leave it on when I go to bed.

*Horror movie organ salvo*

In checking my email, I found a new email that I hadn't yet read. But someone -- or thing -- else had. The email was from Seymour, under my sister's address. It was long. Verbose. It was an idea for a "never before thunk up" movie idea. Which means that Seymour has seen or heard something yet again, and is pirating the idea for his own silly aspirations.

"Am NOT!!!"

Seymour apparently saw one or more of the movies made by that director who stole my name, so he could shift some criticism for some of his bad movies to me. Namely, Seymour apparently saw something from the Transformer trilogy.

So he apparently wrote a badly-pirated version of one or more of them, and sent it to my computer email. And someone -- or thing -- read it.

It wasn't long for me to find out the who and/or what, simply by reading the email's theme: Transformers IV -- Last Stand Against The Culinary Barbarian.

Yes, you read that right, just as I did. Seymour has urged my kitchen to rise up against and defeat me. With me depicted as the "evil" Chef Boy-R-Deestructive. And "them" as a combining of farces previously known in Transformerdom as "Autobots" and "Decepticons", now to be knowd as The KitchenBot Alliance.

I may have to send Seymour to Califorlornia for his next junket, and suggest to Sandee that Seymour learn how to 'dive' off the back of her yacht. Well out to sea.

At any rate...a significant portion of my kitchen has taken Seymour's pirated script writing to heart, and has drawn a line in the linoleum. My smoke detectors are eagerly aboard. So is my oven. In the past couple of hours, my microwave and coffee pot have apparently aligned themselves with the KBA, with my lean mean grilling machine, toaster, crockpot and refrigerator are showing similar inclinations. Even my dishwasher is sympathetic to their cause.

Not that I've ever tried to cook anything in there; but it does have the oft-times gnarly task of trying to salvage what's left of my cookware from my culinary con carnage.

I know my computer has expressed some degree of passive support for the KBA, in so far as passing of messages between them and Seymour. On the other hand and so far, my washer and dryer are maintaining an air of neutrality since I've never tried to cook anything in either one of them. And I have the can opener on my side, though it's having to cower in the corner, sharing as it does counterspace with the microwave and coffee pot.

It doesn't like being called an "appliance traitor". I think the KBA is borrowing drivel points from Occupy Wall Street.

Of course, me being the "evil" Chef Boy-R-Deestructive, I'm not tipping my hand as to one of my two ultimate "doomsday" weapons that could quickly and effectively defeat the KBA. One of which the KBA knows of, but hasn't as yet figured out how to thwart or co-opt. The greatest kitchen implement that was ever invented: the telephone, to call for delivery.

But it's my other ultimate "doomsday" weapon that my rebellious foe(s) should fear, for they have no effective way to thwart or co-opt my "nuclear option".

One *pop* of the "citchin" breaker switch, and the Rebellion is ovah. Darth Chef Boy-R-Deestructive remains the Mastah of Culinary Disastah.

Seymour didn't think of that. And since I've seen how Seymour wields a golf putter, a jedi knight with a light saber not to be feared is he, hmmmm.

"Phffffftttt!!!!"

April Fools In October

2011-10-10T00:56:00.000-06:00

*Warning: Personal Opinion Upcoming*

The first time I saw televised images of "Occupied Wall Street", I was convinced that the South Park (Trey Parker 'n Matt Stone) duo had gone ahead and done a follow up to Team America: World Police.

The sound bytes from the news report sounded just like quotes from some of the Hollyweird marrionettes in the aforementioned movie ("Evil corporations are so...so...corporationy"). When one protester was asked why he was mad at corporations, his brilliant, MENSAesque response was "because they have all the money and won't give me any!"

Whether you view his opinion as a legitimate beef, or dependency/entitlement mentality run amok, well...wherever you fall on the spectrum, there are more than a few folks in today's society that agree with those protesting on Wall Street and in other locations around the country, including in Denver.

I won't argue that there are some things amiss in today's society. Our constitutional representative republic isn't perfect. No system is or ever can be, so long as Man has individuality, independence of spirit, and runs the gamut from allowing those traits to grow like flowers, to trying to control every last thought, word and action.

But I wouldn't trade our form of governance, with all its faults, for any other I'm aware of on this planet. Certainly not one that tries to beat, intimidate, or make illegal, individuality and independence of spirit ... like forms of socialism, communism and theocracy do. And I certainly wouldn't trade it for what some among these "Occupiers" are demanding.

Just so's you know: I am not rich. Never even been close. Never made more than a middle 5 figure income at any given time, and not making that much at present. Certainly not $20 an hour. But I can pay my bills as long as I keep them in check....(some pun kinda intended). And I don't own or run an "evil" corporation. I do work for a corporation...whether it's evil or not, I guess would depend on if you agree with the protesters about corporations in general, or at least try to sort them in some subjective way.

On a website supporting the Occupy Wall Street protests, a "Proposed List of Demands" is published from one of the protesters. The site itself cautions that this list "is not an official list of demands".

Which is good, because if it were....only the lamestream media and those affected by long term exposure to dumbed down education, would think to take demands like these seriously.

Among the things at least one Occupy Wall Street protester demands "right now":

- a minimum wage of $20 an hour
- a single payer health care system which outlaws all private insurance companies
- a guaranteed living wage, even for the unemployed
- free college education
- completely open borders and no citizenship requirements
- an end to the fossil fuel economy
- 1 trillion dollars -- "right now" -- spent on infrastructure
- 1 trillion dollars -- "right now" -- spent on ecology, to include removal of dams and
nuke power plants
- no restrictions on unionizing employers
- forgiveness of all debt -- "right now" -- regardless of from whenst it is owed.

Now, for those who have come to believe in "entitlements" and have grown dependent upon government assistance, I'm sure a lot of these things sound just peachy. Funnier still...while the website folks at Occupy Wall Street are quick to deny that these are an official "list of demands", there's no doubt that there are plenty of folks therein who agree in part -- possibly in large part -- with these demands, which is why they got a page of their own on the Occupy Wall Street webpage.

How these things will be paid for and sustained, as demanded, isn't laid out by the submitter of the demands. Perhaps he thinks that the president can simply "take it from his stash". But more likely, the protester -- and others like him -- believe that "evil corporations" have all this money that's really ours, and they need to just "give it to us" to make things fair and equitable for all of society.

I seemed to have missed that part when I took economics some years ago. Musta not been paying attention when those things were being taught. Or maybe I was just spared exposure to a Marxist-oriented professor during my college days.

For those of you who've read much of this blog, you know I'm not very supportive of progressive tomfoolery, as so much of this choreographed, paid-for-by-unions-and-others "flash mob" nonsense, truly is. I don't buy into the 'class warfare' that our president is actively, shamelessly advocating. I know better than to think that soaking the rich of more and more taxes will alleviate all of society's ills; such a marxian dream will only lead to more economic downturn and misery, not less.

If the Left could attain what they claim they want, the rich elites therein will be perfectly content to tell the rest of us how to live, think, and depend upon them. A good number of the Left's "foot soldiers" -- on silly display in the news media -- would find that, in the words of a song by The Who -- "they just been fooled again". Lenin referred to them as "useful idiots".

And that's what Occupy Wall Street, and all of its offshoots, are.

Yo Ho Ho

2011-10-07T00:47:00.001-06:00

It's been a slow news week for Yahoo News. But they ran this, anyway:

Iranian Navy May Threaten U.S. East Coast

The US Navy has a new threat coming its way, and this time it will be right off the US Atlantic coast.

If that hasn't got you quaking...with laughter...wait until you read this bloviation: The head of the Iranian Navy, Rear Admiral Habibollah Sayyari, told official news agency IRNA that "Iran expects to deploy ships off the coast of the US".

The rest of the story -- after the 'grab you by the lapels' start -- pretty much dismisses the 'threat' as "baseless propaganda from the Islamic Republic".

Duh. Ya think?

But hey: after Ahmadinejad fell pretty much face-first into his cous cous with his empty UN bloviations, and even pissed off al-Qaeda in the process, someone there had to try to one-up him in making stupid, unsustainable threats that don't amount to a can of Spam.

So, Rear Admiral Habbibollah "Yosemite Sam" Sayyari, I say bring it on. The US Navy could use some live fire exercise practice in sinking something worth little more than an empty hulk.

Assuming, that is, that any of the Iranian Navy can find its way into the open sea, without foundering.

Whatever arrives, might be just enough to whet the appetite of the weapons crew of one US frigate.

Serious Funny

2011-10-04T00:03:00.000-06:00

The topic here today is serious.

And funny.

How much of each is subjective.

Iran is serious. It's president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, is funny. Iran is serious about what it wants in the Middle East. Europe. Here.

When Ahmadinejad speaks before the UN, he's funny. Albeit abysmally stupid. But funny.

Well, during Ahmadinejad's latest stand-up routine before the comedic UN on September 22, 2011, the usual countries walked out. Those countries could have chosen to heckle a bad routine, pelt the moron with old shoes or other appropriate-to-throw items, but they chose to walk out. They took his bad, factually dysfunctional routine, seriously.

After it was over -- with the same well-worn lies and hysterical distortions, repeated before by this abysmally bad political comedian on the world stage left -- Ahmadinejad had one more scathing critique of his stand up routine.

From al-Qaeda.

That's funny.

Seems that al-Qaeda doesn't like having credit for 9/11/01 being taken away from them, and given to George W. Bush. And giving credit to a politican that the Left always insisted was stupid -- for pulling off something diabolical for devious ends, something they claim he wasn't smart enough to do, yet the really whacked out amongst them insist that he did -- that's a hallmark of really bad political comedians on the world stage left, from Ahmadinejad and Hugo Chavez, to the real morons of Moron.org and the Daily Kos.

That's been Ahmadinejad's schtick for some time now. Ahmadinejad is apparently jealous of the comedic popularity of Achmed the Dead Terrorist, and his amusing creator, Jeff Dunham. Ahmadinejad, in his efforts to catch up, takes 9/11 conspiracy theorists -- too burnt out on meth and crack cocaine to have a grasp of reality -- as serious.

And al-Qaeda doesn't think that's funny.

But I do.

So while Ahmadinejad joins a drunken Mel Gibson in Holocaust denial -- which isn't funny to Holocaust survivors -- he is shredded by historians who know better. Which is funny, since Ahmadinejad is taken seriously by fewer and fewer folks, every day.

That's serious for him. It's funny to me.

And now he adds to his critics, a group who heretofore took serious some of his "Great Satan" rhetoric: al-Qaeda.

Ahmadinejad should take that condemnation serious.

And that's funny.

Nothing Sacred?

2011-09-30T05:09:00.004-06:00

Apparently not.

An online sports publication recently reported that the kicker for the Atlanta Falcons, Matt Ryan, got robbed when he ordered chinese food.

Dang. I do this all the time. The latter, not the former. More on that in a mo'.

Once you read the story, you find that it wasn't so much a robbery -- no at-gun-point-thingee -- as it was a stupid NFL kicker, and a stupider chinese delivery driver of dubious antecedence and worse ethical fiber.

Seems that Ryan left his garage door open, and therein -- apparently in plain view -- was a pricey golf bag with about $3,000 worth of golf clubs in it. Which the delivery driver hepped hisself to, BEFORE delivering the chinese food. 'Twas more a burglary, aided and abetted by a stupid homeowner.

Bastard driver probably got overtipped, too.

Anyway, the numbnuts delivery driver got caught when he tried to sell off the pricey and apparently name-brand clubs (a brand I and my brand of game never heard of) online, in exchange for 80 ecstacy pills.

There be no ecstacy in that foreplay...*ducking boos and throwd chinese delivery menus*.

At any rate, I was relieved to read the details of the matter; after all (a) I order delivery chinese and (b) I have a set of golf clubs. Granted, I don't have a garage to leave them in to *bait* a delivery driver into a life of crime. What's more, I'd hate to have to meet my deliverer with money and a shotgun everytime.

That might degrade the quality of my fried crab cheese wontons.

But even if I had a garage to leave my golf clubs in, I don't reckon they'd get up and walk on their own. Even with help.

For starters, the golf bag is probably a $9.95 Wal-mart special. I don't know, 'cuz it came with most of the clubs, which I bought second hand some 15 years back. And I guarantee you..while I didn't pay that much for them, I paid too much.

They're defective.

Oh yes...defective. I know this to be true. See, I have used them a few times. I have seen how they operate.

Deee-fective.

And the four clubs I've added to them were apparently just as defective. Even though I bought three of them on sale at Target, and was given the other one -- a putter. I wuz given the putter 'cuz the original putter that came with them was...you got it...deeefective.

And no, it has practically nothing to do with user error.

The last time my clubs saw the golf light of day was in 2005. Since then, my pet rock, Seymour, has only used the putter to try to fend off marauding food leftovers that have left the bounds of natural science, and set out on their own, seeking compost zombies to mate with.

My shotgun's more effective in dealing with those, too.

Anyway, if any chinese delivery driver wants to 'rob' me of my $9.95 golf bag full of Wilson, Northwestern, Dunlop, Spaulding and one club that's something Anemic clubs, just figure out which restaurant I use, and wait for me to call again. I promise I won't shoot you for demanding my golf clubs.

But I might if you don't take them AND still expect a tip...

Loan, Loan Is Deranged...

2011-09-27T01:54:00.001-06:00

Oh give me a loan,

where the defaults don't roam,

and the deer and the antelope pay 3%...

where seldom is heard

a "you're denied" word,

and the fiscal sky's clear the whole day...

No, I didn't find this in Wyoming, despite what the picture suggests.

BUT, I did get this online loan offer from Victory World Outreach Loans, located in...*drum roll*...Nigeria:

This is an offer from Victory World Outreach Loans contact us for any kind of loan offered at 3.7 interest rate with or without collateral. All interested clients should send an application to this email address (victoryoutreachloans@googlemail.com) and this info is needed from you (your name, address, country, direct phone, marital status, sex, loan amount needed, duration, date of birth and how you heard about them). Once we receive this above short farm filled from you. Your loan process will state immediate. Thanks as we wait your Swift respond to our offer.

Warmest regard,

Mr. Dan Miller Advert Manager

After a period of months of rewriting such emails, I decided to play this one instead, and responded thus:

Dude...like oh wow, you is da bomb! I am, like, so totally in for this, dude! Awesome! Like, my information is writ where you said to!

I used my scambaiting persona of Jack N. Ewehoff and related nonsense information, and requested a $250k loan for a period of 15 years.

Next day, I received this:

Attn: Jack N. Ewehoff

I am Mr. Victory, the loan department director for Victory World Outreach Loans. I have reviewed your loan informations provided on the application form and found you worthy of the loan you seek (even though under 'sex' I answered, "as often as I can"). Please to study the below terms properly and get back to me with the required informations needed to further your loan tranaction. Please respond in the next 24 hours to avoid termination of your loan (more on that in a mo').

The terms were laid out over a page and a half of meant-to-sound-official legal loanese. The essence of which was that I was now legally bound to, upon receipt of the loan, to repay it in 180 payments of $1726.45 for a $250k loan. I would be required to provide a passport photograph or "any form" of ID, and I would be required to pay "handling and process fees" to be "discuss later". And I would be held "legal liable" for all terms and conditions of the loan.

Fine. I waited two days -- that's 24 hours x 2 -- and responded thus:

Awesome, Mr. Vic Tree! I am so totally in on your terms and conditions! Lay one bad loan check on me, dude! Yowza!

As expected, it didn't dampen my chances at getting the business from Victory World Outreach Loans, as I received this:

Mr. Jack N. Ewehoff, we receive your email agreement to our term repayment plans. Be well informed that the loan render by VWOL carries an insurance seal. These loans are insure for gaurantee on delivery the loan protected by a hard cover insurance seal which stated that the loan amount must not be touched until it reaches the borrower to gaurantee safety on delivery. Seal charges are here (and it listed Verification fees, Administrative fees, processing fees, and Stamp/legal fees that totalled $1,280). They then gave me to option of paying these fees by bank-to-bank transfer or by money order, and instructions on how to do each.

It was now time to play:

Awesome, dude. Like, go ahead and include the fees into my loan amount, and like let's handle it that way. As for the seal, dude, like please include instructions for care, feeding, and such. I never owned a seal before. Can it like bark, slap its flippers and catch fish and sh**? That is so kewl.

They ignored that part, and repeated this in reply:

Be well informed that the loan render by VWOL carries an insurance seal. These loans are insured for gaurantee on delivery and protect by hard cover insurance Seal which stated that the loan amount must not be touched until it reaches the borrower.

I stick with my interpretation:

Hey, I'm kewl with the seal and all that sh**. As for the fees, like I said, so totally include them in the loan total. I mean, you yourself said you're gonna make over $60k during the life of the loan on the interest, dude. Make a few cents extra by including it in the loan itself, and we are so ready to rock and roll!

I give them credit for patience:

You have to understand this fee can not be added or remove from the loan...I will need you to reread my previous email to you.

Let's go for reciprocity:

Oh wow, dude. It's so totally like hey, I do understand this fee thing. But like I before said in my reply, you need to reread my previous email reply to you, dude. There's a good lad.

They appear to ignore my suggestion of reciprocity, but they do try another gambit:

it appears that you do not understand. However we are willing to work with you and reduce the necessary fees to $500. Please to reread our terms email on how you render this payment to us for your loan. Thanks.

Ain't that nice? Should I meet them halfway? I think not:

Awww, that's awfully nice of y'all to discount my fees like that. Go ahead and include them in the loan. You're, like, so totally kewl for doing that. Really.

you seem not to understand how this work. You must pay the fees before we can send the loan. This is the insurance seal we explain to you. Please do so at once.

Huh? First you're sending me a seal, then you're not? Dang, dudes. But that's okay. Just include the reduced fees in my loan check, and send it along. I gots sh** to take care of, dude.

The seal is an insurance seal. not a live seal. Please again read the instructions we send you to make the fee payment. time is not on your side.

Dude, okay, so I totally get that you're not sending me a live seal. That's kewl, 'cuz the only place I could keep it is in my bathtub, and I gotta use that once a month mahself. Just go ahead and put the fees into my loan, and you'll get your fees over the life of the loan. In fact, I will agree to increase my first payment by the amount of the fees, after I totally have the loan in the bank and sh**t. And time IS on my side, 'cuz I wear a pocket watch, my man, 'cept once a month when I get cleaned up.

I finally got 'em riled:

either you are stuped or you are not serious with us. you agree to our terms so pay the fee now or you will not get loan from us. do this u understand now dude?

Wahl now, dude, ya dun made the gopher sh** snake excrement. You callin' me 'stuped'?

are u want to do business or not if you want then pay fees now. If not then stop email us we are busy to waste more time on u.

Wow...just f**king wow, dude. First you wanna loan me money and give me a pet seal, then you take back the pet seal, then you insult me, and now you don't want to give me the business.

what is pet seal sh**? u want to get loan or not?

Dude, I never agreed to have you loan me a pet seal! WTF???

stop writing to us we are to busy for game

Ain't a seal considered 'game' in some venues, dude?

f*** u

Wow, dude. You trying to loan me a violated seal that you poked, and now you propositioning me? Waaaay too rad, dude. You're one sick seal sodomizer. No fee for you.

Don't look now, but I think I'm out of "getting the business".

Loan, loan, unarranged....

Yer Loanin' Wha...?

2011-09-24T00:28:00.001-06:00

Some of the shortest scam emails I've ever received concern online loan offers at "too good to be true" APRs and terms that Barney Fwank would love to force upon every lending institution in the US.
This one was no different:
Apply now & get your personal or bisness loan at @ 3% ARP. Apply Now for Intant Approval Contact lopezkristen62@yahoo.com.au for more info
-------------------------------------------
CONFIDENTALITY NOTE: This email and any files transmitted with are confidental and intend soley for the use of the individal or entity to which they are address. If you are not intended, you may not review, copy or distribut this message. If you have receved this email in error please notify the sender immediate and delete them. Neither the sender not the company for which he or she works accept liabilty for any damage cause by any virus transmit by this email.
The sender -- allegedly identified as Kristen Lopez -- apparently runs a pretty low-overhead operation, bereft of spell check (like I run a low-overhead operation bereft of punctuation check).
So, having time on my hands and email mayhem in my heart, I hepped her (and a few of her compatriots) out:
Hi! Remember me? Of course you don't. But by the end of this email, you will.
I used to be just like you. Scrimping by, budgeting and scratching for every penny to pay my bills. Then this totally entremaneurial idea came to me while I was orally servicing a client, and *POOF*, within months I am living life like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman!
And YOU CAN TOO!
But first: my business is vaginal loans. I loan out my vag when I'm not using it, at a 10% commission plus interest compounded interruptus at 3% APR*. The higher you set your sights for the use of my vag, the better return on our money! A night at the top end ho'tels in Washington, DC, is easily good for $1k an hour, plus! Especially when Congress is in session!
Do you catch my crotch crickets here?
Apply now & get your personal or business vag at 3% APR*. Apply Now for Instant Approval! Contact lopezkristen62@yahoo.com.au for more info. I have a yeast infection so I can't use my vag right now; no reason I shouldn't loan it out for a tidy profit!
* Adjustable Penile Rate
__________________________________
CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE: This email and any files transmitted with it are confidential and intended solely for the use of any ignorant dumbass who happens upon them, and is door-knob stupid enough to take it on face-vaginal value. If you are not the intended recipient, I don't care...read it and go ahead with it, 'cuz I need someone to fall for this sh**, and if that someone is you, woohoo *score*. If you have received this email in error, please adjust your email settings so you receive this message any time I re-send it. Neither the sender nor the company for which he or she works gives a platypus f**k about any liability for any damage caused by any virus transmitted by the sender's "worn like a four lane highway in LA" vagina.
I am sure that she'll not have time to thank me, what with the deluge of email this rewrite will net her, especially from the 20 some odd peers of hers it went to...

From An IRS Branch Office?

2011-09-21T00:28:00.003-06:00

The IRS has a *branch office* in Benin? Who knew?

That might make some kind of obfuscational sense, when the following is read without that first cup of morning caffeine:

Federal Inland Revenue Service wishes to inform you that your fund that was on hold is return to our office for final confiscation. Note, the total $1,800,000 USD is in ATM Card but was sent to us for confiscation. We therefore wish to know if you still want to receive the ATM Card of $1.8M USD or not. If you still wish to receive the fund kindly provide us with the information below.

Your Full Name

Telephone

Sex

Age

Country

Address To Deliver ATM Card To

Get back to us immediate to receive you ATM Card within 48 hours.

Dr. Amy Okah

+229 99 488 370

un.ofbenin00@gmail.com

Gee...MY local, regional, and national IRS NEVER did this for me.

What to do, what to do....*TOING*:

Federal Repugnant of Benin's Inland Revenue Service wishes to inform you that your sinus passage fungus that was on hold is return to our office for final confiscation. Please note that we are really NOT interested in confiscating your f***ing infected boogers.

Unless you want our ill-uniformed, ill-trained, ill-mannered agents to come audit your sock drawer, get off your fat capitalist ass THIS VERY MINUTE, put down the TV remote and bowl of Cheese Nips, and provide us with the following personal information at once.

Your Full Name

Telephone

Last Time You Had Sex With A Runny-Nosed Primate

Age

Country

Address You Want Your Infected Boogers Delivered To

Get back to us immediately or our aforementioned agents will arrive to place 1.8 million carnivorous crotch crickets in your sock drawer. We are the Federal Repugnant of Benin's IRS; yes, we can and will do this. We have carnivorous crotch crickets in herd abundance here.

Don't bait us; do as you're bade. NOW. That means right NOW. Not f***ing "when you get around to it"...NOW. THIS INSTANT. TODAY, ASSHOLE, TODAY! Don't piss me off; I have PMS and a breeding ground for carnivorous crotch crickets in my vagina, and I am not afraid to stampede them!

Dr. Amy Okah

+229 99 488 370

un.ofbenin00@gmail.com

And no, I'm not worried about an 'audit team' showing up. I have a can of Raid.

Damned Right I Am

2011-09-18T01:49:00.002-06:00

u are insensative asshole.

A Tort Named Sue

2011-09-15T00:54:00.003-06:00

With everything going on in the world, it's good to know that stupid people can still hire stupid lawyers and file stupid lawsuits.

From a recent Yahoo News posting came the story of an investment banker who is suing the White Castle restaurant chain because he can't fit his 290 pound ass into a booth in his local facility.

This fits -- see what I just did there? -- along with people who call 911 because their local McDonalds ran out of Chicken McNuggets when they wanted some.

Stories like this tend to make you think the world has gone McNuts. But truth be told, a segment of the world has always been so.

Some other lawsuit whoppers I've heard of down the years:

- a former NBA cheerleader and MENSA non-candidate sued a mom-pop grocery store, after she bought a container of contraceptive jelly there, and then had sex and got pregnant. The rest of that story: she sued the store because (a) the product was too close to the food section (b) she didn't read the directions for use of the product because she was sexually aroused at the time and "who has time to read the directions at a time like that?" and (c) she made toast and put the jelly on that, consuming it before having sex. *BUZZZZZZZZER*

I can see how this would cause the mom and pop grocery to have liability: they should have anticipated stupid customers like a former NBA cheerleader, and posted a gimongus sign over the product that said "THIS CONTRACEPTIVE JELLY SHOULD NOT BE PUT ON TOAST AND EATEN BEFORE HAVING SEX, SINCE BEING SEXUALLY AROUSED NEGATES TAKING THE TIME TO READ THE DIRECTIONS FOR USE ON THE PRODUCT".

- a man sued a Califorlornia marina because as he was proposing to his girlfriend there, a pelican flew over and crapped on him. Despite the fact that this was coastal Califorlornia, and pelicans are in ample abundance there, the man asserted that the marina should have posted warning signs about flying pelicans and rogue bathroom habits of same. *BUZZZZZZZZZZZZER*

Yeah, the marina probably should have posted a sign that warned of fowl bathroom habits by local aquatic birds. Nature isn't second nature to the dim-of-mind, and anyone working in and living in one of the nannyist of nanny states should have anticipated something like this....*gag*

- in Virginia, some real bright CFC bulb sued himself, claiming he'd violated his own civil rights and religious beliefs by getting drunk and winding up in jail. *BUZZZZZZZZZZZER*

I never figured out how he was going to seek redress from the court on this one...seek compensatory and punitive damages from himself?

- a woman sued a Hollyweird movie studio because their haunted house that she voluntarily went to see was "too scary".

You stupid Hollyweird movie studios. You should KNOW how scary you are, and have a 10 page waiver in legalese, granting you indemnification from being held harmless, if someone stupid enough to enter your house of horrors and not expect to get scared, gets scared.

- a rapist sued a hospital for failing to prevent him from raping a patient in the hospital. *BUZZZZZZZZZER*

Yeah, personal responsibility and accountability has no place in civil society today.

- a guy sued a famous basketball player AND a famous sports shoe maker because he resembled the basketball player. He claimed having people mistake him for the famous basketball player caused him "defamation, permanent injury, mental pain and suffering". *BUZZZZZZZZER*

Does that mean that I can sue the bad movie director who stole my name, and made the abomination of a movie Pearl Harbor? I mean, I get asked about that movie, and even had three phone messages from some dingbat in Ohio, who wanted me to cast her and her daughter in my next movie. I should have felt such mental anguish, defamation and personal injury over that.

Perhaps I'd get around to it, if it didn't make me laugh. *DOH*..I guess I should sue myself for violating my civil right to be offended by finding humor in the absurd, and not seek a legal remedy instead!

Or might my pet rock, Seymour, seek a stupid lawyer to represent him agin' me for having used him at one time as a door stop?

Since a lawyer once tried to represent the rights of sand in an ecological lawsuit, I reckon I shouldn't laugh too loud about that notion...*slowly losing the battle not to laugh h'yar*

Subscribe This

2011-09-12T00:17:00.001-06:00

Online contest scams. In some respects, not a great deal different from offline contest scams.

I never did hear how this one played out, but pictured at the right is one contest 'winner' who found there to be a big difference between a Camry/Corolla she thought she'd won, and a little stuffed green muppet that she was presented with.

"Always with you is it the glass half-empty, hmmm?"

Lately, I haven't been featuring much in the way of my duels with scammers here. I've been saving most of them for a book idea that may or may not eventually become one, but I digress.

But today, since a well-recognized icon from TV and junk mail past has re-emerged in my email, I reckon I can spare the book this one.

Most, if not all of you, remember the world renowned 'clearing house' that allegedly still sells dozens upon dozens of magazine subscriptions, and hosted a contest that advertised all kinds of winners freaking out when their 'Prize Patrol' showed up.

Meantime, millions of others wound up with paper cuts and ill-tasting tongues, from sorting through the laborious mailing, trying to find all the stickers and emblems one had to find to lick and stick to the friggin' entry form, to enter the contest that never went away.

One that I never won squat in, regardless of what I did or didn't subscribe to.

Well, this particular outfit long ago found its way online, with the same kind of drivel. And now, the scammers have signed on to it, since the late Johnny Carson's late sidekick isn't around any more to pitch for it.

Granted, the scammers aren't as eloquent as Ed; I doubt any of them could spell, let alone explain "hiyoooooooooo". But this latest incarnation of the world renowned contestuary gives you as much chance of winning, as you have of winning a 100 yard dash with a mama grizzly, with no head start allowed.

Anyway, I received another one from the alleged 'clearing house'. A rather badly-written one at that, for anyone outside of the DC public school system. So I had some fun widdit. I don't suppose the "real" clearing house will find the humor in what I did; perhaps the scammer(s) will like my rewrite so much, they'll use and re-use it, until someone a tad brighter than the level of education in the DC public school system manages to explain it to them.

But here it is for your reading enjoyment -- with all of the original typos -- with my rewrite worked in around them:

Good day, we are the Publisher Foreclosing (on the) Clearing House (PFotCH), purveyor of sh**loads of unwanted magazine subscriptions, second hand junk, and a totally bogus cash drawing! You know us from our years of annoying TV ads and junk mailings, of course.

Well, with increasing costs associated with TV ads and labor, we couldn't afford to keep running a dubious contest on TV, simply by supporting ourselves and that pricey Prize Patrol on what we managed to milk out of you dumb bastards from magazine subscriptions, you bunch of cheap zipperheads. So here we are online, saving a f**kload of money and pedaling the same brand of crap as ever!

Of course, we operate the same way here, except (a) you don't have to spend hours sorting through one of those f**king mailings, just to find all the sh** you need to lick and stick on an entry form that won't win you anything, and (b) we tell you that you've won something substantive, but will never have to produce it! AND..after we get some money out of you for processing your faux 'winnings', we'll share your email with every f**king scammer this side of Uranus!

Ain't online just awesome?

But forget that last paragraph -- which for us passes as one of those pesky, required-by-law disclaimers -- and just imagine that you've won ONE MILLION US DOLLARS in our PFotCH lotery! Now read this next part carefully, because no educated person wrote it.."winer you are to contrat our fiucary, please not, if you are not the ritefull owner of this email respond to this mail anyway".

With writing like that, we still expect to receive a boatload of entries from DC, Califorlornia, and any place else that dumbed down education is in vogue.

Oh, here is your totally bogus winning numbers: 47-14-34-85-67-32

And here is your totally bogus Email Ticket #: FL 754/22/76

Now, here's who you are to contact to help us f**k you over:

AGENT: James "Constipated" Bowels

EMAIL: pchclaimsdept1@gmail.com

You are require to send the informatons bellow to process you clam:

Full Name:

Address:

Last Time You Had Sex With An Invertebrate Fruit Preserve:

Nationality:

Age:

Occupation:

Phone Number:

Most Insincerely,

Mrs. Mary Cruz

Online Co-ordinator and part time ostrich inseminator

Having shared the re-write with the originating scammer and a couple dozen of his peers, I will be interested to see if any of them try to enter the CONtest. Perhaps the last laugh will be on me, if I see an overpriced TV ad with the Prize Patrol, delivering balloons and an oversized check to someone at the door of a fly-infested internet cafe overseas.

Uh huh.

No Shortage Of Memory

2011-09-08T06:39:00.003-06:00

*5/1/11 Update: the mastermind of 9/11/01 is DEAD. God Bless the US Navy SEALs who put paid to Osama bin Laden. Rot in Hawg Hell, Osama*

September 11, 2001, prior to 7am, Mountain Daylight Savings Time. I was sitting at home, enjoying a day off, sipping coffee and listening to the news.

I heard it as it happened, and was reported. I didn't need to see the images as they happened; hearing it come across the radio gave me a feeling -- a deathly chill -- that I believe listeners felt on the afternoon of December 7, 1941, as they sat riveted to their radios, and learned of Pearl Harbor.

Perhaps some folks hereabouts have forgotten that day, and what they were doing when they heard the awful news of September 11, 2001. I have not. Not the 2996 who were murdered. Not the joy expressed amongst Islamofascists across the Middle East at the news of those murdered. Not the words of horror, disbelief, denial and finally anger, as the facts became known.

Nor have I forgotten the words I wrote about it, a day later. I repeat the gist of them here, now.

I wasn't wrong in what I wrote then. I'm not wrong today. No pundit alive has changed my mind or opinion about September 11, 2001. Where I briefly worked earlier this year -- at a terrorism awareness museum -- hasn't changed my mind an iota about 9/11/01.

Sure, you can argue whatever point of view you want to about 9/11. That's what this country is about. But when you argue that we deserved 9/11/01 -- like the abysmally hate-filled Ward Churchills of the world do -- you are tuned out of my attention span. You are in my view, at best Neville Chamberlainesque, or worse, in unholy alliance with the enemy. Chamberlain was willing to sell out a valiant ally, to appease a German dictator to try to avoid war. Instead, Chamberlain's sellout of Czechoslovakia, and his appeasement of Adolph Hitler at Munich in September, 1938, guaranteed the onset of the most costly war in human history.

I don't need bleeding hearts on MSNBC or CNN to tell me who's responsible for 9/11: the sons of bitches who did it are. Some of the same odious persons who have tried, and continue to try, to replicate September 11, 2001, to this day, along with some 'lone wolves' here and there.

Some Americans choose to forget, and hide in the verbiage of appeasement and "blame America first". "Mommy make them stop" might work with a nightmare, but it doesn't work in the real world, against real boogey men, kiddies.

I will never join the appeasement crowd.

George W. Bush was not my first choice for president in 2000; but he was, and proved to be, a better choice than AlGore's fraudulent visions of vast climate and economic scams. And in the wake of September 11, 2001, President Bush stood tall enough for me, whatever his mistakes prior to, or since.

Make no mistake: the war by Islamofascism was declared on us well before 9/11/01. The failed attack on the WTC in 1993 should have been more than enough to wake up Americans. But it wasn't. It always seems to take a 'Pearl Harbor' moment to get our collective attention. And the love of "quick gratification" in a spoiled society, doesn't allow the attention to remain long-viewed by some. The war -- radical Islamofascism vs the rest of the world -- goes on. And will, as long as much of the world remains apathetic, blind, or intimidated, to and by the threat.

A couple paraphrased thoughts from a warrior-historian, T. R. Fehrenbach*, are appropriate to close this post:

1. "Any kind of war short of jihad was, is, and will be unpopular with the people. Because such wars are fought with legions, and Americans, even when they are proud of them, do not like their legions. They do not like to serve in them, nor even to allow them to be what they must. For legions have no ideological or spiritual home in the liberal society. The liberal society has no use or need for legions -- as its prophets have long proclaimed. Except that in this world are tigers".

2. "If free nations want a certain kind of world, they will have to fight for it, with courage, money, diplomacy -- and legions. It is time for free, decent societies to continue to control their military forces, but to quit demanding from them impossible acquiescence in the liberal view toward life. A "modern" infantry may ride sky vehicles into combat, fire and sense its weapons through instrumentation, employ devices of frightening lethality in the future -- but it must also be old-fashioned enough to be iron-hard, poised for instant obedience, and prepared to die in the mud. If liberal, decent societies cannot discipline themselves to do these things, they may have nothing to offer the world. They may not last long enough".

Fehrenbach concluded with this: Aristotle wrote, "Almost all things have been found out, but some have been forgotten".

Aristotle was right.

That's how I saw it ten years ago. That's how I see it today.

God bless the US Military, and those of our civilian leaders who are smart enough to see the broader picture in the war on terror. Or, as I referred to it on 9/12/01, the War of the Shadows. If or when we, as a society, lose the long view...we stand to lose what it is we believe our way of life, and our society, has to offer the world, if not that way of life entirely.

* from This Kind of War -- The Classic Korean War History, by T. R. Fehrenbach

Tanks For The Memories

2011-09-05T00:00:00.003-06:00

What do you get when you mix Maricopa County law enforcement, A&E, armor, Steven Seagal, and an allegation of cockfighting?

I don't think anyone knows the answer to that yet, but I can't wait to see what South Park might do with it.

Let's start with the picture at the right: I don't remember the official designation of this particular vehicle, but I do know that it's technically a "self-propelled gun" that mounts a 155mm cannon. And it sits in the back lot of the Maricopa County Sheriff's Department. I saw it there -- as here -- in September, 2006.

The story itself begins in March of this year. And from that point, the story gets....strange. Which, in my book, makes it a natural for South Park, but I digress.

Not being a cable TV watcher (again), I have never seen the A&E series, Steven Seagal: Lawman. Being an action movie watcher, I have seen an assortment of implausible action movies that feature the occasionally-stretched martial arts acumen of Steven Seagal (Out For Justice, Under Siege I & II, Above The Law, etc..). And who hasn't heard of "Sheriff Joe" Arpaio, the hard-handed sheriff of Maricopa County, Arizona?

Well apparently, some of Seagal's A&E "reality" show is being filmed with the Maricopa County Sheriff's Department. Including a "raid" by MCSD Swat & other units this past March, on a home in or near Laveen, Arizona.

Which also included the use of at least one tank. I don't know if it was the one pictured above or not.

But what makes the story more interesting is what the raid was staged for: to take down an alleged "fighting rooster operation".

Yeah, that was my first thought, too: a resounding "WTFFF*???"

The raid took place on March 9, 2011. Now according to Maricopa County, the raid was staged as it was -- with SWAT and armor support -- because the alleged mastermind behind the "fighting rooster operation" was reportedly armed. Seagal (and a film crew for his A&E show) just happened to be along. One person was arrested, and there were 116 casualties of the raid: 115 roosters, and one family puppy. The arrested person -- the alleged mastermind -- was found unarmed, and offered no resistance.

I reckon not, when a 30 ton tank introduces itself rather abruptly to one's home. The family can-opener is a bit overmatched here. Don't even think of deploying a Salad Shooter against a tank.

Now at the end of August, the alleged mastermind is now preparing to sue Maricopa County and Seagal for physical damages, emotional damages, a dead puppy, and the loss of what he claims were 115 "show roosters".

It's apparent that something here went afowl. How that something will be played out remains to be seen, literally: on Steven Seagal: Lawman, or on Court TV. Or maybe even Dancing With The Stars. So-called "reality" TV is anything but.

On the surface of it, it sounds to me like Maricopa County went overboard to help out celebrity Seagal. A whole SWAT team and a tank to take down 115 roosters?

Then again...what if the original allegations about the real purpose of so many roosters in one place were justified. What if they were being bred for cockfighting?

Still doesn't justify a full SWAT team and a tank, you say? Well, I would tend to agree.

Until I throw in this, once I allowed my thrice-concussed mind to kick in: what if those 115 roosters were being bred for cockfighting, based on watching the plethora of Steven Seagal action movies? SEAL team-quality training to produce the foulest of fowl-trained cockfighters? Perhaps the owner had in mind his own odious "ultimate crime" plan in mind, with him in the role of Tommy Lee Jones/Eric Bogosian of Under Siege I & II notoriety. Remember that Tommy Lee Jones character in the first movie was a renegade CIA agent, intent on stealing a US Navy battleship and stealing (for sale) the nuke-tipped Tomahawk missiles aboard her. And Bogosian? He was another CIA rogue, who hijacked a passenger train from which he took over a satellite that could trigger massive earthquakes from space.

SO...here we have a mild-mannered, non-descript person, who perhaps was actually the leader of 115 highly-trained, baddest of the bad-attituded fowl of dubious eggecedence, and primed with the best training Seagal was ever portrayed to have? We'll never know if the dude was ever a rogue member of the CIA, 'cuz we all know the CIA denies everything, regardless of the profitability of the storyline in Hollyweird. And we'll probably never know against which part of the USA he planned to launch his elite commando cocks...I'm tending to lean toward one or more restaurant chains serving chicken. He was (or is) probably being funded by a super secret and very very militant branch of PETAA (Persons for the Elite Training of Attack Animals).

If that scenario is remotely possible -- and in this day and age of alleged "reality" TV, what ain't? -- but for the quick and decisive work of Seagal and Sheriff Joe's 'elite', backed by armor and a reality show film crew, we could have been subjected to Under Siege III -- Fowl Territory.

Whatever the truth of the matter, I for one cannot wait to see when and/or what South Park does with this. I'll bet you it's almost weirder than my take...

* What The Fighting Fowl F***...

The Price of Culinary Barbarism?

2011-09-01T03:00:00.001-06:00

FaceBook is a funny place.

In a surprisingly spirited thread, one person posted a politically-oriented comment about how some states had "food disparagement" laws, and one such state -- Colorado -- had criminal penalties attached to their law.

More than a few commenters responded with incredulous "WT-fried Twinkies-F?".

Perhaps I should take careful note of this alleged fact. After all, I do live in Colorado. And am a self-professed "culinary barbarian".

So I looked up the law. And yes, there is one: Colorado Revised Statutes, Section 35-31-101, Destruction Of Food Prohibited.

Therein, it says in fully syntaxed legalese: It is unlawful for any person, firm, partnership, association, or corporation or any servant, agent, employee, or officer thereof to destroy or cause to be destroyed, or to permit to decay or to become unfit for use or consumption, or to take, send or cause to be transported out of this state so to be destroyed or permitted to decay, or knowingly to make any materially false statement, for the purpose of maintaining prices or establishing higher prices for the same, or for the purpose of limiting or diminishing the quantity thereof available for market, or for the purpose of procuring, or aiding in procuring, or establishing, or maintaining a monopoly in such articles or products, or for the purpose of in any manner restraining trade, any fruits, vegetables, grain, meats, or other articles or products ordinarily grown, raised, produced, or used in any manner or to any extent as food for human beings or for domestic animals.

In my first read of the statute, I found this to be one of the longest run-on sentences I've not written myself. In my second read, it was hard for me to fathom that they'd ever get to what was the subject of note that has all the prohibitions for/agin it.

But eventually the multiplicity of re-readings persevered, and I was able to get the gist of the law.

Next came the effort to narrow down any and all parts of the law that might just apply to me, and the regular bouts of "food disparagement" that takes place in my kitchen. Granted, one would have to work hard to parse down the verbiage, to get to what might just make me liable for criminal charges specifically. But I think I was finally able to do so:

It is unlawful for any person (and legally, I is 'any person') to destroy or cause to be destroyed, or to permit to decay or to become unfit for use or consumption (between what I ignite and what is allowed to further decay as my leftovers), any fruits, vegetables, grain, meats or other articles or products ordinarily grown, raised, produced, or used in any manner or to any extent as food for human beings or for domestic animals.

Now, I knowwwww what you're thinking, punk: I omitted the part about "knowingly to make any materially false statement". Not at all; all the fun I've made of fruitcakes is borne out by history, and by how many of you keep regifting the things, year after year. So neener neener phfffft on that part. Y'wanna try and make an issue of that? Go ahead...make my day...

And I am indemnified and held harmless on the part referring to "domestic animals"; my pet rock, Seymour, doesn't qualify. And even he runs from whatever my few leftovers morph into.

Now, do I expect the State of Colorado to show up on my doorstep and try to apply criminal penalties to me, based on what I've written in my blog about my culinary barbarity?

Nawp. The state will be dealing with the tons upon tons of toxic coleslaw a former employer's restaurant used to throw out, for years. Even now, the toxic slaw is ravaging through state landfills, attacking scavengers, small pets and tofu zombies that frequent the landfills as meal time buffets.

Compared to that and carnivorous fruitcakes, I am a less-than-bit-player in CRS Section 35-31-101.

You see, as a culinary barbarian, I am a man who knows his limitations. And Clint Eastwood character quotes.

From The Anals Of Military Justice

2011-08-29T00:54:00.002-06:00

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT FARTING, YOU SORRY BIG-ASSED JACKWAGON???"

For at least one theatre of operations, a biological necessity is allegedly NOT TO BE ALLOWED any more.

From the online publication Digital Journal, comes this gem:

The United States Marine Corps has banned audible farting in Afghanistan because it is culturally offensive to civilians working with the military and members of of the Afghan National Army.

Really?

That's interesting. I am given to believe that, in the Middle East, no one audibly farts in public. No one but infidels.

Alrighty then.

I'm not thinking that USMC legend Louis "Chesty" Puller would understand.

He wouldn't be alone, either.

One commenter to this story noted that "So now we understand that Muslims in Afghanistan are offended by the sound of anal gas explosions but are quite comfortable with beheading, stoning, female genital mutilation, pedophilia, amputations, and hanging or burning homosexuals".

Perhaps so...long as no one audibly farts during the commission of any of those aforementioned actions.

Another commenter noted that "Is this perfectly normal human function offensive only when it escapes from the body of an American? Are the natural born Afghanistan people immune from this digestive dilemma?".

Sadly, I can't answer that question personally; according to this article, it is best that I not venture to Afghanistan to make inquiries. 'Nuff said there.

The article concluded with this snippet: The ban on farting has not been confirmed by the military and no mention of flatulence could be found in the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

Confirmation from the former will, if confirmed, no doubt make for an interesting read. Perhaps the former is awaiting an addendum on the subject to the latter, before issuing a statement?

How might that read, one muses? Well, anyone who thinks they know me can imagine the *TOING* that went off in my thrice-concussed head.

Here's one idea:

Uniform Code Of Military Justice

Subchapter X -- Punitive Articles

Subparagraph (b) As Amended 08/2011 -- Afghanistan Exclusionary Clause

935.135 Discharge Of Anal Discharge As Dishonorable Discharge Of Same

It is unlawful for any member of the US Military, inclusive of civilian contractors directly/indirectly attached thereby, within the confines of the theatre of operations aforementioned, to knowingly or unknowingly discharge an audible flatulent episode for the purposes of biology or other odious purposes, within the discernible auditory range of Afghan military and/or civilian personnel.

It is further unlawful for any aforementioned member to, having inadvertently attempted an SBD* that failed the first third of the acronym, to attempt to blame the episode on local culinary fare, or on a camel or goat.

It is further unlawful for any aforementioned member to, having overlooked the provisions herein, to turn to a nearby associate and exclaim "Osama bin WHO?", in the wake of an audible episode that violates the aforementioned provisions herein stated.

I anticipate that, pending official authentication of the Digital Journal article, all JAG offices throughout the US Military will have had their Uniform Code Of Military Justices properly amended, as noted above.

Personally, but for the influence of the prissy politically correct crowd, I just can't see this as anything other than as a joke. But, if true, little will change for the DI pictured above, and her peers; but factoring in human nature, biology and the chow, one can assume that if this proceeds, the JAGs are gonna be kept REAL busy...

* Silent But Deadly

How Many Carats?

2011-08-25T18:09:00.003-06:00

*Blogger's note: sorry for the inconsistent posting of late; learning a new job that's eating my brain. Once that stabilizes -- for the eaten brain never will -- I will be back on a more consistent basis. And no, that doesn't mean for you to contact my new employer and bury them under "keep him BUSY!" emails*

In a world where, amongst the elite, "biggest is bestest", I would love to see how this one will play out.

Sky watchers in Australia believe that they have found an alien planet that is a true "diamond in the rough". Literally. Aussie sky watchers located what they call a millisecond pulsar -- a neutron star that was born of a supernova, the space version of large sections of Detroit ("okay, nothing more to see here, let's blow it ALLLL UP and start over") -- that has been officially named PSRJ1719-1438.

Since astronomers use up all of their brainiac-ity on complex physics and cosmic algebraicgeotrig, they apparently have nothing left over for coming up with creative names for new stuff.

Anyway, as I understand it -- and being a tad behind on my physics-algebraicgeotrig, like to the tune of 100 to the terrabyte power -- certain cosmic forces have combined to blow up a supernova, sucking the life out of a white dwarf neutron star thingee, which has become through trial and cosmic error a very compact, rapidly-rotating millisecond pulsar, that is an exceptionally dense 12 miles across. Almost as dense as Ed "Sgt" Schultz.

And in the process of this deep space cosmic renewal and geometric trigonometric physics sh**, PSRJ1719-1438 is now allegedly being orbited by a 37,300 mile-diametered alien planet...that astronomers believe to be...a diamond.

I'm sure someone out there can calculate the carats of something like that. I can't, not being an algebraicgeotrig physics wonk.

Belatedly -- and to avoid a gemologist stampede to the stars -- scientists are referring to it as an "alien planet". But the assumed fact of the matter/antimatter is -- if the algebraicgeotrig physics geeks are right -- orbiting a millisecond pulsar, is the universe's biggest knowd diamond.

And while I'm sure that Paris Hilton's people have been in contact with Richard Branson's people (Virgin Air/Spaceways), perhaps they might want to consider -- really hard -- not ONLY the logistics of bringing a 37,300 mile diametered diamond back to some celebrity gemologist to make into a polished gem bar none; they'll have to overcome one other slight little logistical hurdle: it's 4,000 light years from Earth.

Last time I checked, connecting flight schedules are few and far between us, h'yah, and that constellation Serpens, th'yah.

Meantime, since brainiac-ity fails to do christening justice to millisecond pulsar PB&J1719'n7/8ths, I think we ought to help them at least name the alien planet diamond. A contest started now, has all the demonstrated human talents and abilities of coming up with a truly fitting name, when Richard Branson's millenia-from-now descendants, manage to return with the largest diamond the world might ever see.

Unless they get there in 4,000 light years, to find it's a cosmic email scam.

Meantime, I vote that we name the diamond planet....Jill St. John.

Just sayin'...

Politics Anyone?

2011-08-18T09:57:00.003-06:00

2012 does seem unavoidable, doesn't it?

If November 2012 doesn't get us, the Mayan calendar's end, just might.

Iowa recently held a GOP presidential candidate straw poll, one of the first tottering steps toward Decision 2012. Iowa's a good place to do that: they cultivate straw aplenty.

What we learned from that first, very VERY preliminary straw vote, was that it's hard to read straw ballots, and that guinea pigs like to use straw to nest and poop in.

We also learned that at least one politician decided, on the basis of the straw poll, to pick up his campaign bumper stickers and go back to Minnesota.

Despite my pet rock's current time travel travails, Seymour wished to text me his thoughts on the current political cycle that's started the long pull up a longer hill, before the downhill race to Decision 2012. Being as how Seymour is politically unaffiliated and unbiasedly geologic -- whatever THAT means -- he feels he has some genuine insights into the current field of candidates, and wants to share them, even from his current juxtaposition in Time.

With no further adieu -- a french word that Seymour hates:

Michelle Bachmann: she won the Iowa straw poll. Maybe she'll find a place for it in her home office, though if she has cats, they'll wreck it. She's a nice lady, but in the words knowd world over from countless failed dates, "not this election cycle, she has a headache". Old stick-in-the-mud Republicans aren't ready for a hot chick to run their party.

Seymour, you're going to be accused of sexism with that analogy.

Oh phffffffft. Michelle's a chick, and a hot one at that. Now, on to my further analysis...

Mitt Romney: who wants to elect a guy named for a glove? Republicans didn't pick him in '08; why would they now? PUH-leease!

Newt Gingrich: the Geico gecko is one thing, but a politician named for another lizard that usually winds up in various blackmagic spells isn't gonna get elected. Especially when he verbally self destructs the same weekend he announces his candidacy. *BUZZZZZER*

Tim Pawlenty: *BUZZZZZER* Lost to the hot chick. Smart enough to quit thereafter. 'Nuff said.

Ron Paul: The guy with two first names came in second, but really? He's got a better chance of being elected to Congress from Texas...*TOING*

Howard Cain: successful businessman and one of those minorities that the Left says is a race traitor. I thought the Left was supposed to be all about compassion and tolerance? Oh well...I guess they only are when the minorities know that their place is supposed to be beholden to the Left, and not agin' it. Won't get the nomination, but will annoy the Left by not being a flunky to them.

John Huntsman: who??? That seems to be the universal response outside of Utah.

Sarah Palin: her bus tour was there, but she ain't in. Prolly ain't gonna be: life's more fun and lucrative being a force on the Right, rather than a target of the Left (and of some of the establishment on the Right that don't like hot chicks in politics).

Rick Santorum: he sounds more like a mental health facility ad, than a serious presidential candidate.

Rick Perry: a Texican governor. This guy -- perhaps coupled with the hot chick as his running mate -- might just look to be a force to be reckoned with. The 'glove' will not likely be able to get the nomination now that this particular Texican is in.

Me (as in Seymour): I was gonna run, but Skunk's got me mired in time travel, and it's kinda hard to keep up with what's going on in 2011, when I'm stuck 65 million years in the past.

And what about Seymour's unique view of the incumbent in 2012:

Barack Obama: been voting 'present' since first elected to anything. Guy sure loves to play golf and spend other peoples' money. Funny how he gets a Nobel Peace Prize for having done nothing, and nothing bad during his watch is his fault, according to him and that Ploofe fella who rhymes with 'goof' and that makes things up for the prez. Against the 'glove', the lizard, a couple of "who?"s and the Texican that has a better chance of being elected to Congress..*TOING*...he could probably be a two-term prez, despite himself. Against the other Texican and hot chick...maybe not...*click*.

As I was about to ask Seymour to amplify on that prediction, his cell connection through the Time Portal went phfffft. Seymour's political observations and commentary developing, pending a cell phone recharge, and time warps.

Transitions

2011-08-15T08:33:00.002-06:00

Life transitions suck sometimes. In my case, they're certainly wreaking havoc with whatever ability I have to consistently entertain readers here, such as I've deluded myself to believe I've done since '05.

The past two months mark what I hope will be a gradual easing off of 'transitioning', and return to a bit more stability. Since I don't live in Califorlornia, I don't have to worry about geologic instability, on top of the rest.

Anyway, this will be something of an abbreviated 'Randomosity' post, as I seek to throw something against the Blogger wall...since the 'something' passed through my kitchen, it should stick to whatever it touches:

- it might be time to dust: I just sneezed, and room visibility dropped to zero. Better still, it might be time to move...

- I'll have to wait for the dust cloud to settle, before I know in which direction to move...

- I have a sneaking suspicion, but it farted and got caught. Bad suspicion...vewy vewy bad suspicion.

- insanity doesn't run in my family: it walks through rather leisurely, looking for anyone it might have missed.

- We are all God's children. Some are just more disownable than others.

- What is flushed with success? A turd.

- definition of suspended animation: a misbehaving cartoon character on a cancelled show.

- a malfunctioning robot is better off.

- Charlie Sheen and Lindsay Lohan should get married; they'd save 50% just by sharing their substance abuse.

Adda blee adda blee, that's all, folks!

Phonecalls From The Ledge

2011-08-09T01:03:00.002-06:00

*This is a recent republish from late '08, and again from mid '10, but what with the stock market gyrations of late over US debt and credit downgrading, it seems fitting to repost right about now...*

Like many of you, my 401k feels like it's been riding a porcupine bareback for the past five quarters. Especially this last one, as the statement I received indicated (imagine a nice, big, fat, RED ARROW POINTING SOUTH).

I was originally planning to retire in 15 years. I may have to recalculate that in Galapagos Tortoise years, but I digress.

Anyway, when I perused the statement and the resulting dry heaves subsided, I decided to call my 401k funds management company, to make some temporary changes that the current market suggests need making, before my 401k -- now a 100.25 c- -- had further help from market 'speculators'.

*Ringing phone followed by a recorded voice*"...Hello, you have reached Howard, Fine and Howard Financial Clusterflocks UnInc...for English, please press 1...for Spanish, press dos...for Islamofascist, press Kaboom...for all others, press "0"...all of our representatives are standing on ledges right now, but your call is very important to us, so please continue to hold, and the first representative we can talk down will take your call in the order received...by the way, the Dow is down 384 points...have a nice day...nyuk nyuk nyuk *BONK*..ow!".

I knowd this was gonna be a long phone call. After a few minutes of "elevator music" -- Queen bellowing their Another One Bites The Dust -- the recording continued..."We appreciate your patience and giving you the business at Howard, Fine and Howard Financial Clusterflocks, UnInc...all representatives continue to be on the ledge...oops, we just had another vacancy...please continue to hold as giving you the business is very important to us. Negotiators will keep trying to get a representative off the ledge in working condition, and your call will be answered in the order received, sometime after that...*how many?...I see two...EYE POKE*...ow".

Now the "elevator music" in between messages was of a 60s vintage, with Blood Sweat and Tears doing Spinning Wheel: "What goes up...must come down...splat..."

With that, I knowd why I was doing business with this 401k service...my kinda sense of humor. I've always laughed in the face of poverty, having been there three times in my life, equal to my concussion count. Wonder which is gonna hit four first?

The hold messages continue: We continue to depreciate your patience and assets...here at Howard, Fine and Howard Financial Clusterflock, UnInc, where the customer is always somewhere on our priority list. Negotiators still haven't talked any representatives down, though we are going to be holding a job fair for some openings in about a week. Got a resume? Financial experience is helpful but isn't necessary here at Howard, Fine and Howard, a Fannie Mae/Freddie Mac fan and protege...please continue to hold, and the first available representative that leaves the ledge in working condition will answer your call in the order received....see that...*SLAP..BONK*...ow".

Now the "elevator music" is playing something 70s-ish...the group I don't recall, but the song is something akin to Our Fund's In Jeopardy, Baby...yep...I like how these guys think, if not invest.

35 minutes later, I get this: "your continued patience is astonishing. Really. We here at Howard, Fine and Howard Financial Clusterflocks, UnInc, would have thought you'd have given up by now. We really like your style. And just as soon as we get one representative to leave the ledge in working condition, we promise he or she's going to come talk to you. Really".

I begin to wonder about that, when Loudan Wainwright III comes on the "elevator music" with Dead Skunk In The Middle of the Road. Now holding for 45 minutes, and this is the message: "Still holding? Damn, you're a trouper. They say that patience is a virtue and money is a vice, so it's good you're blessed with the former, since you don't have much of the latter left. Our negotiators thought they had a representative talked down, until the Dow fell another 250 points, so please continue to exercise that reservoir of virtue that you have, and the next or perhaps only remaining representative to leave the ledge in working condition will take your call in the order received...nyuk nyuk nyuk".

It was then that I took a close look at my statement, and realized I'd called the wrong number, just as Bruce Springsteen completed bellowing his earthly Goin' Down Down Down and the recording came back yet again: "Your patience is greatly appreciated here at Howard, Fine and Howard Financial Clusterflock, UnInc, a party animal with AIG Insurance..our negotiators have finally talked one of two remaining representatives down from the ledge, and she is answering calls while on a Valium IV drip, in the order received...you are caller number 995, please wait to be connected...".

*Click*

So I called the right company, and salvaged what little was left in about 10 minutes.

Meantime, any unemployed out there? There's at least one funds firm that's looking for financial representatives. A fear of heights is probably an asset, I reckon...

Quantum Horsefeathers -- II

2011-08-03T00:09:00.001-06:00

An explanation is upcoming. Really.

A couple posts back, I related to y'all how some Hong Kongian scientists determined that time travel was a physical impossibility.

Right after, that is, that I had finished my 'observe 'n don't interfere' time machine, and used as my first test time travel subject, Seymour the pet rock.

When he disappeared in a *puff* of smoke -- since the Hong Kongians said that what I saw I couldn't a seed -- I figured he'd be pissed, 'cuz now he was as charred as any meal I've ever attempted to prepare.

'Cept that he was no longer in the machine.

Whoa. Bite me, Hong Kongians.

No, my time machine is not like The Time Tunnel, where you can pick up readings and see what the time traveller is experiencing; but Seymour was given a very cheap cell phone, with which he could text about what he was observing and such.

Ask me later how he -- a pet rock -- is able to text on a cheap cell phone.

Anyway, after a couple days, I got the following text that I deduced HAD to be from Seymour:

W...T...F!

I assumed he meant what most folks take for WTF:

I dont know...WTF are you WTFing?

Not WHAT TF...WHEN TF?

How the hell am I sposed to know?

U built the f***ing thing. When am I?

According to u, from the beginning. What do you see to help figger out when you are?

I see big animals. REALLY BIG animals.

What kind of really BIG animals?

The kind in the movie Jurassic Park.

Kewl...Seymour is back more than 65,000,000 years! This could be educational:

So...what's the terrain like where you are?

Hot...damp...swampy. Remind me to tell u how many ways ur an asshole.

How's that, Seymour?

U said i couldnt interact in Time. Well, those animals can interact with ME! I got peed on by a triciploplotz!

Well, I did tell you that this was a test run.

I got ur test run...uh...oh-oh...

Whaddaya mean, oh-oh?

1 of those big 1s with legs and teeth is coming aftr me! GET ME OUTTA HERE!

As I said, this isn't the Time Tunnel. What's more, in order to make this particular test time machine economical for my very austere budget, I had to make use of a common kitchen appliance. My oven.

Forgetting that I had put something in there to do some further testing with, I did a quick time retrieval calculation, hit the 'on' button....and heard some of the most primal banging and growling noises from therein I hadn't heard since my last attempt at actually baking something. I decided that I had missed retrieving Seymour, and caught perhaps...what was chasing him.

So, forgetting what I had first put in there to try sending, I just reversed my retrieval function, and sent back whatever I had retrieved. Along with what I was going to test-send. After a moment, I tried texting Seymour:

Seymour? What's going on?

LMRRAO*...i cant believe what u just did!

What did I just did?

I will send u a pic (Seymour's cheap cell phone did have a very basic digital camera).

Oh, for...

Uh huh...u still suck in the kitchen. But the other animals are not afraid of it anymor.

I think I see why.

Now how about getting me outta here?

Workin on it.

After some tinkering, I managed to transport Seymour out of Jurassic Park. I'm still waiting to hear from him as to where he wound up. Or, should I say, when he wound up, since he didn't return here.

Meantime...that t-rex that was coming after Seymour, somehow got mixed up with the rubber chicken I was going to test send next...the picture above was the rather improbable result.

I'm not sure if I hope paleontologists find that fossil or not...

* laughing my round rock ass off

Depression 'n Sex

2011-07-30T00:10:00.004-06:00

A Facebook friend recently posted the following, and invited comments: When women are depressed, they eat or go shopping. Men invade another country. It's a whole different way of thinking" -- Elayne Boosler

Not what you were expecting after the title, eh? And I further muddied the waters with the photo. Nyuk.

Okay, so if we take the comedic thesis on its face, the average depressed woman is shopping or eating. If she's depressed during post-Christmas sales, she's downright dangerous, which leads back to the photo.

As for a depressed man, one in a position of power is certainly able to -- with a command and control mechanism firmly in place -- invade another country. He (or his PR handlers) can come up with any spun-til-its-plausible reason to justify the invasion, and never have to admit to the masses that they are at war because he had a bad hair day or he didn't get any after a night of barhopping.

But what about the rest of us average dudes? Can chess, Risk, or Battleship, serve to cure what ails us?

I've been depressed, and overrunning Asia with a horde of colored plastic simulated 'armies', didn't serve to make me feel any better.

But I can see her point: invading something -- anything -- tends to minimize depression by focusing on a whole new series of needs and priorities. I mean, the depressed man seeking to escape the darkness of depression, has a helluva lot to focus on, for to plan a successful invasion. There's the strategic and tactical considerations. Military force build up and deployment. Logistics. Intelligence of, and psy-ops against, the intended invadee. Offensive and defensive strategms. Economic support of logistics. Maintenance of lines of communication and supply. Medical logistics. Managing of news and public relations.

And, of course -- what the late Charlie Wilson knew all too well -- having a well-crafted 'end game' for victory and consolidation.

Alas, only the depressed man in a position of power over a country, or perhaps a global corporation, will have the wherewithal to properly assume the role as deemed natural by Boosler.

For us average schleps...our goals to relieve the tedium of depression, must be adjusted accordingly.

I don't know about you, but the next time I am depressed, I am going to craft an invasion of my own. One geographically feasible. One that is long overdue for execution. And one that I do believe that I am capable of masterminding.

After all, I have won the board game Risk more than once. Anyone who can overrun Irkutsk, can't be any more there than the person that named a country Irkutsk. Even if only on a board game.

Yes, the next time I am depressed, and must fulfill the Boosler Depression Relief Syndrome, I will launch an invasion of Kansas. And after successfully defeating a state that one can see from end-to-end of, by merely mounting an 8' step ladder, I will announce my peace terms: Kansas must take all of Colorado, from Limon eastward. 'Cuz it all looks like Kansas, and like-contiguous geography should be joined as one.

If that doesn't lift my depression, well...I might try stealing a woman's gallon of chocolate ice cream. Yeah, I know: that could get me killed.

I think I begin to understand why depressed guys opt for invasion...

Quantum Horsefeathers

2011-07-25T00:52:00.003-06:00

I suspect that science -- or at least, some scientists -- just lurve peeing in Hollyweird's tofu.
And not just Hollyweirds.

From the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology, comes the revelation that Albert Einstein was right: you can't make a bagel travel back in time.

Claiming to have proved that time travel is impossible, a team of researchers at the aforementioned university -- whose credibility is lacking amongst scholars who hale from universities where binge drinking took up all their free time -- say that they have proved Einstein's theory that nothing can travel faster than the speed of light.

Using a single photon -- because a married one has too much baggage -- they claim to have proved that this unit of light "obeys the traffic law of the universe", and cannot exceed the speed of light.

This means, according to the Hong Kongians, that time travel is a scientific impossibility.

I mean...WTF?

No Quantum Leaping; no warp speed whiplashes around the Sun; no 88 mph back 'n forths in a 1.21 jiggawatted DeLorean; no Time Tunnel, no magnetic storms at sea hijacking aircraft carriers, Guardians perpetually awaiting "a question", or cyborgs from the future, open to learning hip phrases and wrecking about everything else.

Not even a chance to send Grandma's oft-regifted fruitcake back to the Stone Age, only to find it as one of the foundation blocks in one of the Egyptian pyramids.

Only in Hollyweird or literature, can time travel "be".

Man, this sucks.

I was all set to unveil to the world my newest invention: a time machine that allowed one to travel back in time to observe actual events as they really happened, but not interact with them and screw up history or today.

And dang it all, them darn fool Hong Kongians claim it doesn't work.

Eh...they're way better educated than me, so they're probably right. I'm sure that my first test case 'time traveller' -- my pet rock, Seymour -- didn't really go anywhere in that cloud of smoke.
On the other hand, he ain't back yet...

Pawdon Me Boyz

2011-07-21T00:15:00.003-06:00

It was a day of firsts. I got trained. And trained. And detrained.

As my pet rock, Seymour is knowd to s(pr)ay, "phffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffftttttt!"

My current locale of employment is closed for a few weeks of renovation. So, my employer moved me to another location in the Metro area. One that, with one day's particular schedule, gave me an opportunity.

So I decided to try me out Denver's Regional Transportation District's overpriced pride and joy: Light Rail. Existing lines ran from downtown to south of the Denver Tech Center, and conveniently right past my temporary new location.

I caught the early bus from the park 'n ride knowd metrolly as 'Cold Springs'. With temperatures projected to hit near 100 degrees, there ain't a danged thing cold there. Not even at 6am. It was the earliest bus I've caught there. It was so early, I had a snorer two seats back wake me up, so's I could wake up the driver, when it was time to make with the vehicular throng, into the bowels of the big city.

25 minutes later, we arrived at the RTD park 'n ride at I-25 and Broadway, home to bus and the 'celebrated' Light Rail. After watching one four-car 'doodlebug' go by north-bound, I followed the thundering herd across the tracks, to await a southbound 'doodlebug'.

With a bell that sounded reminiscent of something from the Carol Burnett Show (whereon Tim Conway spoiled the skit after Harvey Korman rang the 'service' bell, and Conway responded "you tinkled, sir?"), the 'H' Line -- running from Union Station to Lincoln -- arrived, and we scattered for any available seats.

Of which, at that hour, there were many.

So here I was, on my first RTD 'doodlebug'. And it didn't take me long to decide on that name for it: it bucked, jumped, doodled, bobbed, weaved, and ran like...a really bad carnival ride.

Without the lines, overpriced popcorn and sodas.

Despite the ride, the 'H' Line performed better than advertised. It deposited me at the Dry Creek Station terminus a few minutes ahead of schedule, and within 2 walking blocks of my destination.

After a long, arduous day of being trained for a new facility, it was time to take the 'doodlebug' back to catch a west-bound express bus to Fried Springs. I expected an equally trouble-free experience.

*BUZZZZZZZZZZZZER*

The 'doodlebug' that next came along was a tad late. Eh...I had plenty of time to catch my connecting bus at I-25 and Broadway.

*BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZER*

As we approached the terminus at Colorado Boulevard, the 'doodlebug' started to unexpectedly slow...rapidly. It's a good thing I can make an unbraced, undignified fall look graceless. Lookin' out the winders of the now stopped-dead 'doodlebug', I was confronted with high walls and no forward view. And the terminus was nary in sight.

And there we sat, a speculatin' away, us passengers in various forms of dishevel.

Then the 'doodlebug' jerked forward. And jerked to a stop. Jerked forward. Jerked to a stop. It was like being caught on I-25 northbound at 6th Avenue during rush hour -- jerk, move, jerk stop, jerk, flip off, repeat -- 'cept we wuz on da 'celebrated' Light Rail. It tweren't 'sposed to feel like rush hour traffic.

But that's how we arrived at the Colorado Boulevard terminus.

It was then that we heard an announcement from the squeaky bugger who was drivin' the 'doodlebug': train was experiencing mechanical difficulties.

Duh.

We finally 'doodlebug'ged ala jerk to the University of Denver terminus, where we was all chased from the 'doodlebug' by the squeaky bugger who was drivin' the broked 'doodlebug'. He assured us that "there's another one a minute behind us".

*BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZER*

Make it 5 minutes. And make that one full 'doodlebug'.

We finally arrived at I-25 and Broadway...just in time for me to see the bus I needed, driving off into the solar flare of a sunset.

Bad twain. Vewy, vewy bad twain.

Of course, I should have seen this coming...especially when you hear the name of the twain that bwoke in the middle of da twacks: it was...the 'F' Line.

One guess what the 'F' stood for....

Is-Ain't

2011-07-19T02:04:00.004-06:00

It's all Bill Clinton's fault, y'know.

In the mid 1990s, Slick Willie asserted that oral sex wasn't really 'sex', and that it all depends on what your definition of 'is' is.

The aftershocks didn't reverberate merely around intern apartments in DC and Merriam-Webster; they had cosmic repercussions.

In 2006, Pluto -- our 9th solar systemly planet -- was suddenly demoted by *some* astronomers, as not being a 'real' planet, for some silly classificational reasons. When discovered in 1930, Pluto -- named for an animated Disney pet -- was deemed worthy of inclusion into our solar systemly family.

Then came the same kinda thinking that turned 'is' into 'is-ain't', and *BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZER*, we boot out the 9th planet named for a cute animated dog. All the while, keeping the 7th one named for a below the belt orifice.

Well, move over, 'is', 'oral sex', and Pluto: you have company.

North Dakota.

In brief, the poor silly void between NE Montana and NW Minnesota, achieved a degree of respectability with statehood in 1889. And retained it, despite all the geographical and meteorological jokes, until some nosy North Dakota history buff found his version of redefining 'is': the omission of one word in the North Dakota state constitution -- "executive" -- put it at odds with the US Constitution. And thus, this historian asserts, North Dakota really ain't a state.
One faction within the void is preparing for the worst case scenario, and prepping border signs to read "Welcome To No Dakota..Kidding Y'all Since 1889".

The state legislature is preparing to address the issue with the voters, tentatively in November, 2012, to decide whether to fix the one-word omission or not.

'Is', 'oral sex', and Pluto, never got that chance.

So we have to wait until November, 2012, to find out if it's Minot, or Mightnot.

But don't worry about replacing your flags just yet: Califorlornia is thinking of splitting into two states. That star for the possibly former North Dakota-turned-Not Really Dakota, may have a need yet.

Depending on what their definition of 'state' is.

SeaQuest -- The Musical

2011-07-15T08:18:00.004-06:00

A few days ago, it was the idea that some theatre group had for a musical about Middle Eastern terrorism.

I can see Broadway on opening night: tuxedos and bomb-sniffing dogs, all waiting for the fat lady to blow up.

Silly or revolting as that idea sounds, news of late gets better: now some sea-going treasure hunter -- Bill Warren -- wants to find and retrieve the buried-at-sea corpse of Osama Bin Laden.

His stated purpose (in my paraphrasing): to confirm it really is Bin Laden (for the benefit of the conspiracy buffs, which is a complete waste of time: a true conspiracy buff would believe the retrieved sample was a set up, and that Bin Laden is still living in luxury in Dearborn, funded by Dubya and supplied through secret corporation agreements by Walmart). And -- better still -- to sell him back to his relatives, of corpse.

*Ducking boos and throwd whatever was handy*

So Warren's going to prowl the Arabian Sea, intent on finding and retrieving the body of Osama Bin Laden.

It must be nice to be both of those kind of means, and a moron by choice.

But why let it stop there...*TOING*...note to theatrics, looking for a musical begging to be writ: Saving Osama's Privates -- The Musical.

What with musical adaptations of such songs as Ahab The Arab, Midnight At the Oasis (take your camel to bed, perv), Orinoco Flow, Dragging The Line, Farewell and Adieu, Sea Cruise, Rubber Ducky, Sail On Sailor, Ride Captain Ride...and so much more, something like this could revive defunct paid programming giants like K-Tel, Ronco and Time-Warner! Who needs The Clapper or Pocket Fisherman, when you can market the greatest musical hits from Saving Bin Laden's Privates -- The Musical?

Don't even get me started on lyrics...

Whatever -- The Musical

2011-07-09T11:57:00.014-06:00

At an unnamed location, I recently learned that a local theatre group was doing research and working on a potential musical about Middle East terrorism.

I know where I could go with that, but why end this post on that note? Let's play a little, first.

I'm not much for musicals, I must admit. About as far as I ever got into musicals was a local dinner theatre that always slanted to the side of improvisational funny.

And unlike their musical operatic counterparts, they never looked like disheveled Vikings from Nordland, or Capital One ads.

More classical music operas would probably bore me to tears, if not see me going over like a fart in a diver's suit when I laughed during the fat lady singing.

I'm not called a cultural barbarian for nothing.

As this subject got discussed at work -- and as frequently happens to any conversation I'm a part of, there or anywhere else -- it devolved into musicals made out of movies. Titanic The Musical came out on Broadway before Titanic the movie (and I had my own fun with the musical version about 15 years ago, but I digress). The bomb of a movie Little Shop Of Horrors went on to become, in the minds of some, a much more widely heralded musical.

I've always wondered why some movie ideas never wound up as Broadway fodder. For example, Jaws -- The Musical. Just imagine a moving, poignant duet of Quint and Jaws, singing Saying Something Stupid Like I Bite You.

I've had three concussions, so this crap isn't hard for me to imagine. And I don't have to worry about how Frank Sinatra might not like it.

Why didn't Rambo ever go Broadway? Imagine the town sheriff, doing a heartful rendition of the Doors Light My (Town On) Fire.

As I said...I've had three concussions, so this crap comes easy for me.

I suppose that anything Broadway wants to adapt from Hollyweird, could be constrained by what can be fit on a stage. *BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZER* It didn't stop them from doing Titanic The Musical.

So why not Star Wars -- The Musical? Why not Indiana Jones And The Last Musical? Why not Pearl Harbor -- The Badly Written Musical by the same director that trashed the subject in a movie?

I'll bet Gremlins would make one helluva musical, right? A little tweaking, and I'll bet a rewrite of the bubble gum hit Yummy Yummy Yummy I've Got You In My Tummy, sung by the entire Stripe Gremlins Choir, would bring the house down, just like it did the movie theater in the movie.

Think of what kind of musical mileage you could get out of Meg Ryan's faked orgasm with the musical When Harry Met Sally. That one would be tailor made for the fat lady to beller.

At any rate, Broadway doesn't need my help to come up with musicals. Nor would the theater group with their notion of a musical based on terrorists. They don't need me to suggest that their musical can't end until the fat lady blows up.

Given To The Sky

2011-07-05T13:43:00.003-06:00

If you've read much of this blog, you'll know that one of my sci-fi fascinations has always been with time travel.

In many an adventure in time travel, the time travellers go back in time, flirting with the possibility of forever altering the future, by an action -- or an inaction -- that changes not only the past, but the future outcome as well.

Though -- Hollywood being what it is -- sometimes the future, the present, and the past, can all be jacked with at once, and things turn out okay despite the time tampering.

Even if a Delorean, or a transparent aluminum formula, get respectively screwed up and revealed in the process.

At least we think we know that there'll be humpback whales in the 23rd Century. At least in the hopes of someone in Hollywood.

I -- and most of you -- are familiar with The Twilight Zone (TOS). There were approximately 163 episodes of it, from 1959-1964. As with another sci-fi series that would come along later -- The Outer Limits -- the show packed a great deal of science fiction, theory, and current science, into a wealth of possibilities for humankind, from the absolutely worst case, to the absolutely amusing.

In many of the episodes, with an underlying 'human life lesson' theme woven in, and remarked about in the show's closing narration.

I haven't seen all of The Twilight Zone episodes, but I saw one for the first time this weekend. A classic on the conundrums of time travel and humans wrestling with inner fears, from Season 1, Episode 18: The Last Flight.

It begins with Flight Lt. William Decker, Royal Flying Corps (UK), flying his Nieuport biplane fighter over France, totally lost in a mysterious white cloud. Suddenly, Lt. Decker sees beneath him an airfield, and he goes in at once to land.

But it is like no airfield he as ever seen before, with aircraft parked upon it, completely alien to him, save for the national markings of the aircraft: US.

Lt. Decker has arrived at a US airbase in Reims, France. With a casual remark to a US Air Force major about "I didn't realize how advanced you chaps are", Flight Lt. Decker is slow to realize that he is more lost than he knew.

For Flight Lt. Decker, and his missing wingman, Flight Lt. Alexander "Leadbottom" Mackaye, took off on a mission on March 5, 1917. And Lt. Decker has arrived at the airbase in Reims on March 5...1959.

For a while, it's not clear who is more confused: Flight Lt. Decker, or the USAF brigadier general and major, who aren't convinced that Decker is some kind of prank...or worse.

Perhaps, they think, Decker's arrival is some kind of salute or stunt regarding the pending arrival of an Royal Air Force Air Vice Marshal at Reims: Air Vice Marshal Alexander Mackaye.

Impossible, insists a disbelieving Lt. Decker: when Decker had last seen Mackaye, his Nieuport was surrounded and under attack by at least seven German Fokker fighters. No, the Americans insist: Air Vice Marshal Mackaye had survived not only World War I, but had been a hero during the aerial Battle of Britain, during World War II, and in so being, having saved hundreds of lives with his heroics.

Decker is at once both stunned and confused. Confused enough to reveal a little known story to the American major about how Flight Lt. Mackaye had obtained the nickname of "Leadbottom".

Shortly it becomes a concern to the Americans that Mackaye's arrival at Reims is unaccountably delayed. And Decker -- under minimum security 'confinement' because the Americans remain skeptical of his story -- confesses to the American major, not only had he become separated from Flight Lt. Mackaye because Decker "was scared and running away"...but now, learning what he had of Mackaye, Decker has come to realize that if he doesn't overcome his own personal cowardice, and take off back into that mysterious white cloud to assist Flight Lt. Mackaye, hundreds of lives saved by Mackaye will be lost, and there will BE no Air Vice Marshal Mackaye. Suddenly, Decker's own fear of dying is overcome by a greater fear of what Decker's desire for self-preservation will mean to not only Flight Lt. -- and future Air Vice Marshal -- Mackaye, but to those hundreds of lives Mackaye saved in a future Decker would, himself, never see.

When Lt. Decker's efforts to convince the Americans to let him go come to naught, Lt. Decker breaks himself out, gets to his plane, and takes off again, finding and disappearing into the mysterious white cloud, never to be seen again.

A short time later, Air Vice Marshal Mackaye arrives at the airbase, and once with the American officers, is asked if he ever heard of a Flight Lt. Decker. Mackaye relates how Decker had been his wingman back in 1917, and had "run off" during a tangle with a group of German fighters...and just when Mackaye thought he was a goner, Decker suddenly returned, and shot down three of the German planes before being shot down himself, saving Mackaye's life while losing his own.

When Air Vice Marshal Mackaye becomes irritated and demands to know exactly what this is all about, the Americans hand him the personal ID and other items Decker had left behind, and suggest to "Leadbottom" that he be sitting down, to hear the rest of the story.

Imaginative, romanticized science fiction? Perhaps.

But, as we've seen many a time in real life, some of the most unselfish acts by Man on behalf of his fellow Man, come at a knowing cost to the former.

The overcoming of one's own fear, of self-sacrificial heroism in behalf of others, time and again, is not merely a lesson of -- or in -- The Twilight Zone.

Thoughts On Defensive Dating

2011-06-30T00:45:00.003-06:00

To be sure, this photo is from a science fiction episode of The Twilight Zone.

But it could just as easily be an example of the revelation of dating in barlighting. A tad more on that momentarily.

Some feller with the amusingly ironic last name of Dave Singleton, recently posted an article for Match.com on the subject of defensive dating, and how to recognize some of the signs that you might have lots of bad dates because you are a 'defensive' dater.

For example, one of the general indicators of a "defensive dater" is under the category of "the uncomfortable topic cringe". Which appears to be clearly displayed in the photo, as if the creature on the other side of the window just asked William Shatner that classic uncomfortable question, "new in town, sailor?". In the voice of Yoda.

I know a thing or two I've met in barlighting, but I digress.

Anyway, the article addresses tips that let one know that they might be a "defensive dater", and gives a series of tips to help one change their defensive dating behavior.

Well, the article writer did NOT interview the ultimate defensive dater for this article, so I reckon his information is, at best, incomplete. At worst, it's...incomplete.

The writer should have interviewed me.

I reckon that I am the ultimate "defensive dater": I haven't been on an actual 'date' since 2002. Now I ax ya...how much more defensive can one get?

It's on accounta cuz I'm a gentleman. And boring as watching paint dry. Why would I subject a woman I like to an evening of that? The reason I wouldn't subject a woman I don't like to it is just as rational: if I don't like her, why be around or spend money on her?

Ya gotta admit...I'm practical in a sorta thoughtful way.

And thanks to my even more pathetic pet rock, Seymour, I have more tips to help you be a better "defensive dater":

- a good first impression for the defensive dater is at a fast food restaurant. And when you're looking over the menu, pull out a calculator and tally the bill to the penny, letting her know that's all you can afford.

- show up wearing body armor. The helmet with the closeable face shield adds clarity to any "WTF?" thoughts a date might have at being so met. You don't need to include a battle ax, especially if her mother is around.

- upon arrival, don't bring her flowers, candy, etc...give her a list of 'talking points' for the evening. What's okay to bring up, and what ain't. Food, sex, and football are okay. Most everything else...*BUZZZZZZZZZER*. Any violation of the list, and she pays her own tab.

- don't be witty, funny, charismatic or any other kind of verbal firearm. A dull, thousand yard stare, with occasional drool out one side of the mouth, has never failed me in getting a totally bogus phone number, if I get that much.

- look repeatedly at your cell phone, and tell your 'date' that your mom expects you home early to clean the catbox.

- by all means, fart at the first embarrassing opportunity, and blame her.

Seymour had more stuff on the list, but offering your date as a human sacrifice to a volcano was more fitting 2,000 years ago; it's not always easy to keep a timeless rock thinking contemporarily.

BTW...this is what happens when your blog author has a night of 'writer's block' on his hands: crappy posts.

Told ya I wuz boring...

IRS r Scammed

2011-06-27T00:27:00.003-06:00

You'll pardon the acronym, but WTF: I have received the very same scam letter now a total of four times this week.

One that purports to be from...*drum roll*..the IRS.

Which it could be, I suppose, what with dumbed-down educational substandards in the DC area schools, which is also where the HQ of the IRS resides.

What, you say? I'm daring to call the IRS "dumbed down"? Well, certainly whoever is sending out the very same email, is.

Anyway, I won't go to the work to show you the whole format as I keep receiving it; but here's what it says, in it's own syntax and grammar:

Department of Treasury Internal Revenue Source (and there's an authentic-looking IRS icon to go widdit). Important information about your tax return

We are unable to process your tax return (mine was processed months ago, but who's counting?)

We recived your tax return. However, we are unable to process the return as field. Our records indicated that the person identifiedas the primary taxpayer or spouse on the tax return did not provided all the required documents shown on the tax form. Our records are based on information received from the Social Security Administration. Based on this information, the tax account for the individual has been locked

What you need to do

Print out the attached notification and list of missing documents (which is attached to the email as a zip.file, which I steadfastly refuse to open, in case of any virus crap therein), fill it in, add the documents and send the following information to the adress shown in the attached notification.

List of required documents:

1. A copy of this letter

2. Notification letter (again, the unexamined zip.file)

3. A photocopy of valid U.S. Federal or State Government issued identification.

Keep this notice for your records. If you need assistance, please don't hesitate to contact us

Alrighty then. If this WERE an authentic email from the IRS -- *chortle snort guffaw* -- the proofers are morons. But since this email -- in three out of the four times I've received it thus far -- isn't addressed specifically to me, *BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZER*.

And it's fair game for rewriting and sending back to the source and an assortment of other scammers whose addresses still accept abuse from my counterattacking address.

The following example is not my best of the four; but I reckon it'll get the point across to you readers, if not to the moronic scammers:

Department Of Treasury Infernal Revenue Sots

Irrelevant information about your tax return

We are unable to process your tax return

We received your tax return. However, we are unable to process the return because you filled the f***ing thing out in a foreign language and, gawdammit, this America, not some Third World craphole. A valid 1040 form is filled out in f***ing ENGLISH, you moron. Our records indicate that the person identified as the primary taxpayer or spouse on the tax return has the intellect of a termite-infested tree stump, and may be named Kelvin from Senegal (one of the copied email scammers you've read about recently), also known in scam circles as Faith Jama, a chick widda dick. And the forms provided did not clarify this fact, let alone provide authentication of dual sexuality. Our records are based on information received from the Senegal Ministry of Revenue and Gender Oddities in the Species Cross-Mating Department. Based on this information, the tax account for the individual has been locked.

What you need to do

Pull your head out of your Third World unwiped ass, print out the attached notification and list of missing documents, fill it in, add the documents and send the following information to the Senegal Ministry of Revenue.

List of required documents:

1. A copy of this letter

2. Notification letter

3. A photocopy of valid Senegal Government issued identification

4. Proof of gender

5. Proof of species

6. Proof of vertebrate mammal

7. Proof that Registrant has three working brain cells

8. Proof that Uranus is not your home planet

9. Proof that you don't have penile-eating crotch crickets from sex with three peckered goats

10. Proof that you can f***ing understand one word of this sh**11. Proof that Dr. Samuel Okoronji (another copied scammer who I abuse regularly) doesn't have vaginal warts in his sinus passages

12. Proof that all the scammers this is sent to can actually read one word of this sh**

13. Proof that anyone noticed #10 and #12 are redundant

14. Proof that any recipient knows what redundant means

Keep this notice for your records. If you need assistance..oh, WTF..it's obvious from reading this that your sorry ass needed assistance from the f***ing day you were hatched. Don't call us, call Dr. f***ing Ruth or Dr. f***ing Phil, since your ass is well beyond help of normal folks. Contact someone who f***ing cares at kelvin_isi@yahoo.com (one of my regularly abused scammers who you've read about, and learned what death threats get one who makes them).

Perhaps this is some kind of a scammer-a-thon: keep sending me the same scam email, and see how long I'll keep rewriting it differently and sending it back.

I have only just begun to rewrite h'yar...

How "Coud" I -- Part II

2011-06-24T00:41:00.003-06:00

No, this is not a post that is picking on the Clintons.

But the particular photo shop h'yar fits what's to come. In my last installment, I introduced you to Faith Jama, alleged 'refugee' in Senegal, whose daddy left millions in a bank somewhere, that she needed a foreigner -- aka, me -- to help her get to, after which she'd come to me and we'd live happily ever after.

*BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZER* And then along came my scam letter re-writes, and I was told to not communicate with Faith any more, as we ended the last blog post. And you and I both thought that that was the end of the story...

As y'all know, after I've rewritten a scam email, I retain that scammer's address and send other rewrites to it until it goes bad. And most of them eventually are disabled, closed, or abandoned (they fill up to the point it can accept no more mail). So jama.faith@yahoo.com began to receive the rewrites of those who followed her.

This went on for two days after I last heard from Faith. Until the other morning, when I got this from Faith Jama, alleged female refugee in Senegal:

Email Title: BLOOD DAYS

WHO IS THIS DEATH MAN THAT WANT TO F*** WITH THE PRINCE OF DAKAR WELL YOU CAN CALL ME AND LET ME KNOW YOU, F*** TAKE CARE OF YOUR SELF.

Faith Jama is the 'Prince of Dakar'??? Faith -- the alleged chick -- is a 'prince'?

Even those of you thousands of miles away, had to have heard the *TOING* that I did.

Never one to miss an opportunity to further a bait when a 'blood days gauntlet' is thrown down, I did indeed want to f*** with whomever:

Oooooh, ebu mama gi gi (an African insult of some kind), beeyotch. Ukulele unga bunga bunga! I invite you, prince of f***ing Dakar, to try me. You hapless Third World moron! Go ahead...try your worst, Poodle Lips.

And with that, the email 'fight' was on, as "Faith" responded back with an exact duplicate of the email I had just received. So I changed up the reply:

You are going to be an absolute PLEASURE to f*** with, Prince/Princess Wanker. Prepare to be f***ed with like you never dun been afore, cretin!

"Faith" responds by calling me "Jew Man" in the title, and:

let me tell you this life and next will can never be type, you are f***ing with the wrong? well go and look for you type, do not f*** with me, do u have money Big JEW

I'm sure you followed that like I did. Now it was time to give my inner four year old crayons and a nice big white wall to play wid:

Whatever money I have, you're too f***ing backward and childishly INEPT to ever get it. I will F*** with you because there is NOT ONE THING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT. You are totally incapable of carrying out any threat you can make or manage to spell. You are a child, a wuss, you are absolutely less than nothing. Is someone reading this to you that understands English? I don't want you to miss a syllable here. At any rate, keep making threats, Punky Brewster. Soggy toilet paper would have no worries from you.

The gauntlet's down...what will "Faith" come up with next? What he -- yes, I said HE -- comes up with next, has me laughing my ass off:

Jew man can you come online do you have cam let us reason, add me kelvin_isi@yahoo.com

So, "Faith" is actually a "Kelvin", eh? I know where this is headed, in the mind of my inner four year old:

Hope you know what you're letting yourself in for, pussy mama. You're a guy who played being a woman? MWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!!!

Faith/Kelvin has a thin skin:

stop talking like a fool and dont call me pussy just add me

What Faith/Kelvin wanted was to 'chat' with me using the Yahoo Chat feature in the email. So I "added" him, and from there it really went downhill, as Faith/Kelvin alternated between (a) threats (b) asking me to work with 'it' (c) admitting his job was as a scammer for a group (d) begging me for money and (e) getting mad because I kept referring to him as "pussy".

One of the short, funny moments in the chat (his in bold, mine in italics):

where is iowa (he pestered me about where I was, so I told him where my character's profile was listed)

You don't know where Iowa is?

no where is iowa

You've got a computer, pussy, look it up!

stop call me pussy no time to look up

You pussy moron, you have time to chat, you have time to look up where Iowa is.

*after a couple minutes*

iowa in US?

Well, DUH..yeah. Why? You gonna come?

i can fly iowa and make you sry

You imbecilic pussy moron, you can't even find your way out of Senegal!

why you call me pussy stop

You don't like pussy but you're okay with moron?

what is moron

It's you, pussy

STOP!!

I can't stop you from being a pussy moron..it's too late.

And another short thread that left Faith/Kelvin sputtering:

why can i no see u (my Yahoo Chat icon was set to 'invisible', and obviously this twit doesn't know how to do that)

Who cares? I see you. You see me when I reply. What the f*** is the matter with you, pussy moron?

i tell u no call me pussy

Yeah, and you told me you were Faith Jama, too, pussy.

stop b4 u get in touble

Me? Get in touble with you, pussy? BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA....dang, you should be a f***ing comedian, Pussy Moron.

STOP

What are you, a f***ing stop sign?

u talk not sence to me..i want do busness with u

I don't do business with pussy morons.

i no pussy

You pussy moron.

why u insut me

because you're a pussy moron, and a lying scamming sack of sh**.

i have frends u know who can make u sry

All you do is make me laugh, pussy moron.

stop pls not pussy

You're a pussy moron to me, Pussy Moron. That's your name I gave you on Yahoo Chat (and when he comes on line, that's what shows up on my end LOL).

u r big Jew Man f*** u

Is that the best you can do, Pussy Moron?

i no pussy

And on, and on...for about 20 minutes, before he finally got exasperated enough to log out of Yahoo Chat.

The next morning, who's icon is displayed in Yahoo Chat when I log in? Uh huh: Pussy Moron.

So I sent him a solid page-worth of "pussy moron" to let him know I was in the Yahoo Chat house.

And he promptly logged off. I have that affect on scammers.

Yeah, I know: my inner four year old is mean. And has a lot of crayoned wall to be washed off. But I don't mind ;-)

How "Coud" I?

2011-06-20T06:26:00.004-06:00

It's about a week in time from the beginning to the conclusion of this series of correspondence. And as exemplified in the post title, the end question posed to me by the scammer is easy, for anyone who reads this blog somewhat regularly.

About a week and a half ago, I received a short email entitled Beloved, and it went like this:

i have asked God to guide me in my times and to me he has sended me you email address. so it is with no fear that i write to you because God fills my heart with love and he guides me to you so i know you are the one who will lift me from the present. i await your respond. With love, Faith Jama

Included was the email address of jama.faith@yahoo.com. Fine.

But just who was God referring her to? My name isn't "undisclosed recipients". Unless God knows something that I don't. Actually, He knows a few hundred thousand terrabyte drives of stuff I don't, and I digress.

Anyway, it wasn't much to work with, but I sent her back -- from my rewrite scam emails account -- a short reply, and shared it with 20 of her colleagues. It went like this:

Hi. My name is Faith Jama, and I have a vaginal yeast infection. That's probably TMI, but I don't care. I say what I feel, and I feel really itchy and bitchy right now. Send me emails and tell me how to relieve this sh**. Someone, ANYONE. And that's the last time I mix a night out on the town, alcohol, and three peckered goats on a dare. Sheesh.

That garnered me a reply from Faith. One with her picture attached. And a reply that proved she didn't read what I wrote; she only cared that I replied:

Email Title: Sweetie

It warm my heart to hear you, my heart accept you from the very first time i don't know what you have done to me to make me feel like this (I suggested you had a vaginal yeast infection, that's what I dun). God send me to you and just to you and you are now my frend i can trust and talk to. i need to open my hearte to you as my helper and for your help i will give you more when we are join (she can keep her yeast infection).

To spare you all of the syrupy in-error syntax, here's the gist of her reply: i am in refugee camp in Senegal and you are my hope to be free and find love my life is not having. i have inhertance from dead parents but cant not get to it without your help now and as two who are join by God i pleadg you my inhertance and my love for your help. i like to sing cook walk on beach and live for love. i send you picture of me hope it plese you yes?

And she included this phone number for me to call right away -- 221-772093435 -- and ask for Faith when "the Rev answer".

I'll get right on that. Or actually, I'll see if I can get one of 25 of her colleagues to get right on that, as I again donned my 'rewrite hat', removed her photo, replaced it with the unspeakable one above, and sent back to her and her peers:

Email Title: OMG Is This What I Look Like?

OMG, I never knew I could look so bad in a picture like this!!! My big fat ass looks even bigger than any photoshop program could enhance! What the f*** did you do to me, Dr. Samuel Okoronji (another of the scammers copied on this email who has threatened me three times now for what I did to his emails, and the dozens of others I pour into his scam box)? You were supposed to liposuction it, not ENLARGE IT!!!

And why are you 'riding' me (refer to obvious replacement picture)? I don't know what you done to make me feel this way, but I am very upset that you have posted this picture of me for everyone in fly-infested internet cafe to look at and laugh. Granted, I am one skanky-lookin beeyotch. But still. How am I supposed to dupe someone into falling for my 'need a foreign man' scam, and get money from them, when you make me look like Goodyear Blimp?

I need real and sincere friend that I can trust and talk to, because I have kept secret for too long that I eat 20 lbs of ham three times a day. You'd never know it to see me, I know.

Did you know I once had a boyfriend? I accidentally misplaced him, and thought he had run out on me. Come to find, two months later, that he was trapped in the crack of my ass. He was pretty ripe and flat by then. My bad.

Sometimes the world seems to be upside down. Then I meet someone and sit on them, and I get the strangest sensations when they try to wriggle out of there. It's weird, in a kinky sort of way.

I have so much of me to tell you, as you can see. About how I was originally violated by a Great Dane, and I have not been the same ever since, that is why in picture I am on all fours. Ask me, and I'll bark like a dog for you. Woof woof. Me good dog. Just don't get too close when I wag my ample tail.

I like to lay on beach, but lately, these long-haired weirdos from some group called Greenpeace, go into a frenzy when they see me, and try to push me into the water. What is that about?

Please call me at the number I gave you before and tell the pedophile who answers that you want to talk to Faith the petite. He won't believe it, but he'll let me know and I'll get to the phone as long as I'm not noshing on one of my 20 lbs of ham meals. Priorities, you know.

Would she, or her handlers, read THIS response, and draw the proper conclusion from the attached photo?

As her reply indicated, nawp. Here again is the gist of it: my great love you have make my heart sing to know you respond to me. God gave me you and i am so happy to know that we will soon be together once you have retreve my inhertance and will send for me to your country.

Yada, yada...yada. Four paragraphs worth.

Okay, so (a) she isn't reading my replies and rewrites (b) her handlers aren't either and (c) none of the other receiving scammers are tipping her off. Might be afraid that, after seeing that photo, tipping her could cause an earthquake and tsunami somewhere.

No biggie (see what I just did there?). I am many things, including flatulent, but that's for later. I take her latest syrupy reply, and revamp the snarf out of it, returning it to her and the very same 25 other colleagues of hers:

As I read all you write to me, I am remembered to think about the time I was assigned, as a still-virgin, to read all the comments on the bathroom walls in the soldier's barracks. This led me to do a paper on "2591 Reasons I Should Have Stayed In Oshkosh", since most of the comments were badly written, poorly spelled, and referred to unspeakable sex acts with emus.

Sucks to be an emu in these parts when the regiment is on maneuvers, but I digress.

I don't know why I trust you, since I heard that you spread crotch crickets to goat herds in nearby villages, but I have to trust someone, so I pick you.

My life in this email is like a tourists' guide to Toledo: I am from Zimbabwe but I live in Senegal now, and I have plans to spread my ample self out to Nigeria, Cote D'Ivore, Uganda, Kenya, Chad, maybe even Libya. Lots of soldiers there right now, and I can have a blast, figuratively and literally.

I don't believe in the biblical God, otherwise I wouldn't be trying to scam people who're stupid enough to respond to my bogus emails. But last night, I prayed to the 12" long rubber emu doll in my tent, that doubles for a dildo when I get bored, and I have prayed for a new emu doll, because this one's getting pretty sticky.

Life is not too good for me here, since I'm over 500 lbs and my emu dildo is sticky. Please...is it true that in your country, you have stores that sell battery operated dildos tht don't have the shape of emus? That is so like...wow. I want one. F***, I want a dozen. But I need batteries, too. A sh**load of them.

Please try all your possible best to send me money for me, and use some more of your money to buy me some battery-powered dildos. I am not alright here, I walk funny because of my shape and because that emu beak on the dildo catches all the time and I am really sore there.

You are my hero forever, you send me non-emu-shaped, battery operated dildos.

After that, a whole day elapsed with nothing. Then, evidence that someone FINALLY read what I had been rewriting on Faith's behalf, and bothered to tell Faith:

how coud you do this? i put trust in you and you write things as me that i not say and send them to who??? you are not nice mans. dont not contact me more ok.

Naturally -- because I respect the fairer sex, except when 'she' is trying to scam me -- I respected her wishes and replied to her and her 25 colleagues:

Thank you for letting me know my dildo and battery order is on the way. Just thinking about getting them sends chills up my spine that shake the ground for a mile in every direction. Keep in touch with me and tell me all about myself, and please, share it with everyone online you can find. I want them to see me. Sh**, please send my information and photo to America's Got Talent and American Idol!! I am all for exposure...and is there ever a load of me to expose!!!

Nothing further from Faith Jama, any of her colleagues, or the Emu Dildo Defense Fund. Yet.

Who's Who Meets WTF -- II

2011-06-17T00:45:00.005-06:00

In the last installment, I had been contacted by Who's Who Among Executives and Professionals, as a candidate to be included in their 2011 publication. Granted, the date I was to have responded by for inclusion, was May 25, 2001; I received the email from them on June 8.

Details, details. Scammers don't tend to sweat them, so I didn't reckon that I would, either.

Anyway -- as I did with another comparable publication in 2007 -- I filled out their candidate's questionnaire, only this time using one of my scambaiting characters, and making up a business wherein I "fixed business correspondence for clients".

In other words, my current tactic of re-writing scammer emails, and sending them back to the scammers, for fun and death threats.

In 2007, I was astonished (at first) when I heard back from that publication, after what I'd written in the questionnaire. I was even more astonished after I was interviewed on the phone, and the 'researcher' didn't question anything about my job as a crustacean research analyst for the International Crustacean Obedience Training Institute. All they cared about was getting me to commit paying them for my being included in their publication.

*BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZER* I didn't wind up getting included. Sore heads.

In 2011, I was therefore NOT astonished when a few days after I filled out the similar questionnaire, using the name of Jack N. Ewehoff, to receive a call from what claimed to be a woman, but sounded like a man, and went by the name of "Mahgahret" -- Margaret, I 'spose, pronounced New Yawk style -- purporting to represent the "Research Department" of Who's Who Among Executives And Professionals. A call that I answered in my pseudo-redneck voice. The following is as best as I can recall the conversation, which I hurriedly scribbled down at the conclusion:

Me: Hidy...Fixit Form Letters h'yar. How kin ah hep yew?

Mahgahret: Ahh, hello. My name is Mahgahret (couldn't catch the last name) representing the Research Department for Who's Who Among Executives and Professionals. Is this Mr. Jack Ewehoff (she's pronouncing it "weehoff", so it's going waaaaaaaaay over her head)?

Me: Who're yew tryin' ta reach h'yar?

Mahgahret: I'm trying to reach, uh, Mr. Jack...Weehoff (her mispronounciation)?

Me: Ah dunno no Jack Weehoff. But ah'm knowd as Jack Ewehoff, iffen ah'll do fer ye.

Mahgahret: My apologies, Mr...uhh, did you say "Ewehoff"?

Me: Yawp, ma'am, ah shore did. What kin ah do fer yew?

Mahgahret: Uh...perhaps I..uh...is this (and she asks me to verify the number she called).

Me: Yawp, y'all got me h'yar 'cuz y'all called me h'yar. Nawh, what kin ah do fer yew?

Mahgahret: Well...I was calling you, Mr. Ewehoff, because I wanted to congratulate you on being accepted in the 2011 edition of Who's Who Among Executives and Professionals.

Me: Wahl, that's right neighborly of y'all. Thank ye.

Mahgahret: I've got just a few additional questions about your profile to verify that we have your information correct for the publication. Do you have a few minutes?

Me: Ma'am, ah hope ah gots more'n a few minutes h'yar...go righ' ahaid an' ask wha'evah yore lil' ol' heart desires...

Mahgahret: uh...sir, you're kind of hard to understand..

Me: Danged if mah four ex-wives didn' think th' same danged thang. But horsefeathers, us fellers is easy ta unnerstand, once y'all figger that we like football, sex, 'n gittin' fed..

Mahgahret: Mr. Ewehoff, that's not what I meant...(talking to someone in background)

Me: Wazzdat Missy? Didn' h'yar wha' y'all said thar...

Mahgahret: Uh..(again sounds like she's talking to someone in the background)..uh, how do you pronounce your name again?

Me: How ah always pro-nownce mah name...ah'm Jack N. Ewehoff. Same way ah always sez it an' been knowd as.

Mahgahret: Uh...and you say you're the editor of Fixit Form Letters, located in Central City, Colorado?

Me: Y'all got that cooo-rect. Ah be hisself.

*Mahgahret and someone else in background talking; couldn't make out what was being said*

Mahgahret: Uh, sir, are you..uh...is this a...are you serious?

Me: Ahm ah seryous 'bout what, Ma'am?

Mahgahret: Well, uh...sir, your name..

Me: Wha' bout mah name, Ma'am? Y'all gots a problem widdit?

Mahgahret: Is this some kind of joke?

Me: *fake sounding annoyed* Ma'am, y'all tryin' ta make lihwt a wha' mah folks named me h'yar?

Mahgahret: Sir, this is a serious business here, and I don't have time...

Me: Ah'll tell yew wha'...y'all starts ta makin' fuhn o' mah auntie-ceedence, an' ah'm apt ta fergit yore a ma'am h'yar. (Mahgahret starts to try to interrupt, but ah'm onna roll h'yar).. Looky h'yar, ah'm proud a mah name an' ain't gonna put up wid no danged Yankee nonsense ta makin' fuhn a it, y'all got that? Taint ladee-like of y'all.

*Mahgahret and someone else having a muffled conversation in the background, then I get hung up on*

I reckoned that'd be that. But about a minute later, my phone rings again with a tell-tale long distance ring. I answer it:

Me: Hidy...wha' kin ah do fer yew?

*Voices in background*

Me: Hallllooooooo? Y'all thar, 'cuz ah'm h'yar an' ah kin h'yar y'all thar!

*phone disconnects*

Now I reckon that's that. But no....once more, after about a minute or so, again the phone rings with that distinctive long distance ring:

Me: Hidy...ah'm still h'yar iffen y'all still thar?

*disconnects*

And not another call from "Mahgahret", or anyone else from Who's Who Among Executives and Professionals.

Dagnabbit...ah wuz lookin' forewort ta askin' how ah'd git inclooded in thar book thang. Guess widda name like Jack N. Ewehoff, y'all knowd it's gotta be....that sumpin's up ;-)

PS: If they didn't like the phone call, wait 'til they get around to reading their email that I rewrote and sent back to them, and 25 scammers... ;-)

Skunkfeathers

Punxsutawney Scam

The Ol' Scam Mail Just Ain't What It Used Ta Wuz

Milestones Unrelated to Seymour

Tofu is Evil

Seymour On The Roman Empire

Believe What You Will

Seymour on Sucks

Veg Amore

Mayan Calendar Conundrums

Crop Dusted

War and Remembrance: Wake

Bonco's Unusual Holiday Gift Ideas

A Small Medium At Large

Santa Claus Re-writing Your Scams

I Did NOT Write Anuddah Crispmoose Lettah

70 Years Ago

Secret Shopping For Scams

Short, Sweet and Huh?

It Blew By One Night

Secret Powers...For Sale

No Contest

A Turkey of a Recipe

Will You Accept A Collect Call From The Dead?

A Little This A Little That

Seymour "Writes" Again...

Tea Time

Oh Hell...

The Stand (Off)

April Fools In October

Yo Ho Ho

Serious Funny

Nothing Sacred?

Loan, Loan Is Deranged...

Yer Loanin' Wha...?

From An IRS *Branch Office*?

Damned Right I Am

A Tort Named Sue

Subscribe This

No Shortage Of Memory

Tanks For The Memories

The Price of Culinary Barbarism?

From The Anals Of Military Justice

How Many Carats?

Politics Anyone?

Transitions

Phonecalls From The Ledge

Quantum Horsefeathers -- II

Depression 'n Sex

Quantum Horsefeathers

Pawdon Me Boyz

Is-Ain't

SeaQuest -- The Musical

Whatever -- The Musical

Given To The Sky

Thoughts On Defensive Dating

IRS r Scammed

How "Coud" I -- Part II

How "Coud" I?

Who's Who Meets WTF -- II

From An IRS Branch Office?