Friday, November 28, 2008

To Cull A Mocking Herd -- II

Are you kidding me?
You remember a few episodes back, I -- er, "Curly" -- had decided to thin out, or "cull" my herd of Russian bride scammers, by letting "Irina Pryunova" know that she'd been trying to scam a 56 year corpse.
I'm sure you laughed, as I did, at her disgusted reply. Das ende, right?
*Buzzer* Wrong...wrong...wrong wrong WRONG!
Four days after what I assumed was *das ende*, receives this from Irina:
My sweet Jerome,
I am most eagerly wait for your wire send of the money to Western Union so that i may go to travel agency and complete to get my papers to travel to you! Please to let me know all detail when you send. I love you! I can't live without you! I wait you!
WTFski??? I mean, you read what I read, what she sent me after my 'true confession' to her, right? I reckon what we gots h'yar is either a case of pure *blonde* moment, or...I thinks I gots me anuddah scammer what's got one too many scams runnin' to keep 'em all straight.
Ohhhhhhkay...*knuckle crack*...let's pitch in again, Curly-style:
Sweet Irina,
Ooookay, since my last email to you apparently did a Peanut *hey Irina...YAHHHHH!*, I am game to take this to the next astral level. See what I just did there? No, of course you don't. Silly me. I am going to go, right now, to my Western Union, here on Marduk, and wire your money right away. I'm going to wire you $2,200 in USD astral script. I will wire it as we previously agreed. You will have to tell your Western Union office on the physical plane that they will have to recalibrate their receiver, in order to accept an astral wire transfer. You can do that, right? Tell them to tune to 401mhz. Love ya, my dense babe.
A day later, I get this:
My man kitten Jerome!
I so excite to see your email! But please, I need to have informations of western union to collect the money here. What is to me you send the money control number? I need also for western union your name and address. Hurry to tell me this so I can get papers and begin to journey to you! I love you!
I am such a stinker...ain't it great:
My sweet and dense Irina,
Darling, did you do as I asked, and tell the Western Union there how to recalibrate their receivers to get an astral wire transfer? Because if you didn't, none of the rest will matter. Do this, sweetums:
1. Print this email
2. Take it to your Western Union
3. Make sure the clerk can read English
4. Give this to your English-reading clerk
5. *English-reading clerk*: recalibrate your receiver to 401mhz, to receive an astral wire transfer.
With that done, you can collect what I have sent you. Look for it as:
From: Curly Howard
Address: Marduk, Third Astral Plane
c/o 4334 Whittier Blvd, Los Angeles CA 90023
To: Irina Pryunova, Moscow, Russia
Amount Sent: $2,200 USD astral script
MTCN #: 4357000911
Lovin' this,
A day later, it becomes evident that Irina isn't following instructions:
My Jerome!
I go to Western Union with wire numbers you send, but the clerk she say that there is no money on numbers. She say to me to have you send copy of receipt email for to see. I am disapointed in delay I want to be with you! Please, my man kitten please don't to fail me! I love you! Send me receipt!
*Sigh*...ya give 'em books, and they eat the teacher:
Your *blonde* is starting to show here, hon. I told you once already exactly how you must proceed. I'll tell you again:
1. PRINT THIS MESSAGE (that means press the *PRINT* button and take the paper that is created, out of the printer)
MTCN: 4357000911
Now, my steppes blossom of dubious intellect, make sure you follow those instructions very precisely, okay? Mwah (that's a kiss, snookums).
Another day and finally, the first signs of an awakening:
Western union clerk cant not to understand what she is to do. She say to me no such to adjust machine for wire transfer. she say no wire transfer to information you send. She say you are bad person to play a game on me, this make me mad to her. What is going on please! I miss on you so much to much more wait for you! What is happening!
It seems that the last time I got candid with her, I got denigrated and told to drop dead...*TOING* I guess I could have Curly try to 'splain the physics of the situation again, eh?
What's say he give it anuddah go:
Irina, Irina, Irina...*sigh*
I detect a lack of faith, baby. This is not good in the maintenance of good astral communications. Faith is a key in accessing the portal to the astral bridge, between the physical and spirit realms. A lack of faith clouds the links, and helps to muddle the portal.
Perhaps, though, it's just as well. You see, Irina, I tried to tell you before that I am not of your world. Not, that is, any more. I died in 1952. My physical self has been dead for 56 years. Much longer than you've been alive and doing naughty things with hamsters. Yet despite that, somehow your karma and my spirit were drawn to meet in cyberspace via the astral bridge, and we have evolved a lust that transcends the time-space continuum. But that bridging is fragile at best; and your lack of faith now -- exemplified by the English-speaking clerk you chose to act as our liasion -- is closing our link to one another, via that very fragile link in the astral bridge portal.
But, things happen for reasons. That your clerk couldn't make the simple adjustment to receive the astral funds, is probably best. Because, my misguided doll, you couldn't have travelled to me here. Not without dying. And what with your current activities and aspirations, had you chosen to expire to come to me, you would have gone via the southern route, through a place where a spit is jammed up your ass, and you're turning on a BBQ for a few generations, to ponder your bad choices on the physical realm.
And frankly, after Lucifer has rebushed you from behind a few thousand times, I don't think we'd have much in common. Yes, I'm shallow in my thinking when it comes to that.
Still...if you want to stay in touch, to learn more about how "the other side" lives on Marduk, I will be more than happy to share with you things spiritual and comedic, nyuk nyuk nyuk. It's what I do...hey Moe..*whack*..OW!
But as for the money? You stand a better chance of riding a porcupine bareback, than collecting funds from the Third Astral Plane. Ewww...what a vision.
Anything more, Irina? I need to go have my wings demolted.
A day later, the blonde highlights have finally fallen from the hair:
thanks for your severe joke about yours tranfers. I went to western union today. To me have told yours transfer not to exist. I am angry it is pity to me of my spent nerves, money and forces! You act severely with me. You have not right to me like this. I shall come back home tomorow in morning. You are untrue person.
LOL....I'm an "untrue person"; who'd know better than another one? Oh well...we can still be friends, right? Let's see:
Hey, I tried to tell you, hon. And I did send the money. I just can't say that you could have cashed USD in astral script, if your Western Union clerk there had had the technical expertise to figure out how to receive it.
Y'know, hereabouts when a relationship goes phfft like a fart in an elevator, sometimes the parting couple can still be friends. I know you're still crazy about me, even if I'm dead as a can of corn borscht. Whaddaya say? Write me when the spirit moves you (see what I just did there?). And keep sending me those photos of whomever you got them from. THAT woman is HOT. All my dead colleagues here were getting reactions we ain't had since they banned astral Viagra in the work coffee.
I'll look forward to your next letter from home, Irina.
A week later, and I reckon that *Irina* doesn't subscribe to the post-relationship "friends" thang...
Curly 14 Scammers 0 ;-)
Irina may be mad at me...but after a week of silence, her curiosity isn't quite willing to let this go just yet:
I have arrived home both mail has decided to look an has seen your letters. You have strongly offend me and why you continue to write me? YOu have borken mine and I do not know heart as to forgive you it, now I di not trust you even if you you will want that I have arrived to you, I have lost many my time, force, nerves and money, therefore I doubt you. How to me you say is dead and writing? Why is this so?
Hmmm...why is this so, ya think? Let's try to answer that 'un, as only Curly can:
Of corpse I am dead. This you must trust in, but a quick google search on Jerome "Curly" Howard of the Three Stooges will clarify things. I have previously explained to you how it is that I can write to you across the astral plane; it was your karmic connection, via an email, that made contact with mine. Karma can reach across the astral plane, just as yours did. My friends here at the TimeStream Astral Lab have been working hard on instrumental transcommunication (ITC) for decades now, and are able to regularly communicate via computer, fax, cell phone, text message, and other modes with certain receptive souls from the physical realm. That is how it's done, Irina.
Now, you may be mad at me for not sending you the money, but rest assured that I tried to. But even had the transferrence somehow managed to work, you couldn't have come to me. Not without taking some biologically abrupt steps of the terminal kind. And considering how you've spent some of your recent activities, were you so inclined to make such a change, it would have been to a clime where only a thong bikini would have done, and even then it probably would have come with a permanent megawedgie. Things aren't terribly fun down there, my friend. Trust me on that one; I've chatted briefly with a fellow there named Adolph, and he really thinks life sucks there. Funny, he still blames persons of the Jewish faith for his unhappy existence as Satan's sodomy partner; he just isn't up to learning the whyfer of his perpetually-extended reservations in a land of burnt biscuits. He has a new neighbor named Saddam, who is having the same problem with recognizing fact versus fiction (especially when it's char broiled to a deep crisp all the time), but I digress.
But hey...I'm still your friend, Irina. You can email me anytime. When I'm not helping out at the TimeStream Lab, I'm just laying around, encrypted. See what I just did there?
Any bets on a follow-up?

Friday, November 21, 2008

Pirates of the Somalibbean

There are pirates. And then, there are pirates.

There are historical pirates, like the notorious, blood-thirsty Blackbeard. There are movie pirates, like the recent Captain Jack Sparrow, or the more classic Captain Blood and Captain Geoffrey Thorpe. There are cartoon pirates, like Captain Yosemite Sam, forever thwarted by a waskily wabbit. There are fantasy pirates, like Captain Hook, who fares ill against imaginative, scrappy boys, fairies, and alligators. And there are the Pittsburgh Pirates, who put the *suck* in the word suck, but there I think I digress. Arrrrrr.

Pirates, privateers, buccaneers, scaliwags,, a pirate by any other name is a pirate despite the name change, and despite what your definition of "is" is. Except, perhaps, to a small segment of the dissatisfied, the dispossessed, the anarchy-minded, and/or the terror-oriented. Pirates have been a thorn in the side of civilized society for a significant part of the human experience, though have proven to be opportunistically beneficial to different "civilized" societies at one time or another, not to mention at least one timeless children's story.

Pirates have been with us since perhaps the advent of human exploration, trade and migration via the sea. Pirates wrought havoc in the Aegean and Mediterranean throughout the eras of Homer's Iliad (the siege of Troy); in the time of Thermopylae; throughout the rise and fall of the Persians, Greeks, Spartans, Thebes, Athens, the Macedonian Alexander the Great, Carthage, Rhodes, Rome, et al. Pirates opportunistically negotiated with Spartacus during the great slave rebellion AND with Rome; at different times, different powers of the day alternatively found themselves allied with, and at odds with, the pirates. One Roman warlord -- Pompey the Great -- waged a successful land and sea campaign to largely stamp out piratical activities to the east and west of Rome, along critical trade routes from Italy to her eastern and western empire in 67 BC, only to see their resurgence at a later time, as Roman attentions were turned inward, aka Julius Caesar vs Pompey, etc., as well as to more landward threats, aka the various nomadic tribes of militaristic migratory inclinations. Pirates saw other rises and falls, such as with the advent of the fledgling US Navy in the early 1800s; a short time later, US privateers were used to advantage against the British during the War of 1812; they also had their day against the North by the South during the American Civil War, under the guise of "commerce raiders".

Throughout known chronology, pirates have ebbed and flowed on the human tide of Time. Pirates' fortunes have risen and fallen with the times, technology, and the aging of Peter Pan. Pirates have been demonized, blasphemized, romanticized, fantasized, lionized and supersized (on some of those honkin' big drink cups at various fast food restaurants).

Even as time advances, and technology takes incredible leaps forward, piracy remains in being, well into the advent of the 21st Century. While Captain Jack Sparrow garners millions on movie screens world-wide, real pirates garner millions, continuing to prey on commerce along sea lanes in southeast Asia; and more recently, they have enjoyed a resurgence of noteworthy success along the sea approaches to the Persian Gulf.

I give you the next Hollywood (un)extravaganza: Pirates of the Somalibbean.

On a political blog I visit (Right Truth), a post about the Somali pirates (aka, terrorists) and a couple of the subsequent comments from readers, drew a tart response from one reader, decrying what he saw as the lumping of all Somalis with the pirates, and the lumping of all Muslims, likewise, in what he referred to as "mindless bigotry".

Perhaps a fair complaint; not all Somalis are pirates; not all Muslims are pirates from Somalia. Fact is, it's not a lockstep certainty that all of the pirates operating from Somalia's east coast ARE Somalis. It's probably not a lockstep certainty that all of the aforementioned pirates are Muslims.

Then again, it appears -- from all intelligence accounts -- that fair portions of the substantial ransom sums being collected by these no-declared-nationality-or-religious-affiliation pirates, from the ships seized from countries and shipping companies that would rather pay than fight, is finding its way into the coffers of Muslim extremists, like Al Qaida.

So perhaps the shoe fits, eh?

There's something of an argument afoot in the world community as to just what should be done about this piratical activity off the coast of Somalia. Recently, an Indian warship engaged and destroyed a pirate "mother ship". Personally, I applaud India for taking a definitive stand. Not everyone else is so sure.

Some have suggested that it is the problem of the countries whose ships have been seized; many of these countries have a merchant marine, but no military navy of any practical consequence. Others suggest that it calls for a regional response, from countries with their own varying irons in the fire. Still others think that the substantial US Navy -- just as it did in the early 1800s -- should weigh anchors and kick some piratical ass, regardless of nationality and religious affiliation that gets waded into.

But, still others -- fearing to further tarnish our image abroad with terrorists and other countries that don't care a row of pins for our existence -- think we should steer clear of it entirely, and leave it up to the United Nations to mediate.


Yep...that'll put a skeer in them waskily piwates..hahahaha.

I reckon that after some serious committee meetings, general session debates, and plenty of festive dinners to celebrate having achieved next-to-nothing -- UN SOP -- a vaunted and earth-shaking resolution will be issued by the UN, and addressed to the Somali-et al-Muslim-et al pirates, that is sure to have an immediate impact on their activities.

I reckon it will read something akin to the following:

From: The UN
Date: Sometime in 2009, if they get to it
Subj: A Plea For Cessation Of Untoward, If Justified, Activities
Dear Persons with obvious grievances,

We of the UN have become aware of your rather untoward activities in the Indian Ocean area not far from the Persian Gulf, and we are most distressed by this. We are most distressed that you find it necessary to act in a manner not entirely consistent with "we are the world, we are the children". We deeply regret that you feel this way. Indeed, we feel a sense of responsibility for your untoward activities and negative view of some of our membership body. Truth be told, we tend to agree with some of that feeling, though we have to be a bit careful about speaking too loud, elsewise our landlords might kick our butts out of this very posh headquarters we enjoy at their taxpayers' expense. But we digress.

We realize that your activities, untoward as they appear, are probably a reaction to the injustice, greed and mean-spiritedness you see in the world, especially from one sphere of it. We realize that your current actions -- kind of technically violations of maritime and world law, at least in one very strict sense of the word, a sense that we don't completely agree with in your case, may we add -- are just the most effective way you can voice your grievances to the injustice, greed and mean-spiritedness that you have had to endure for generations, since it's been too much to ask you to turn to, act responsibly, pull yourselves up by your bootstraps and build yourselves a better life through hard work, innovation, education and peaceful cooperation. Rest assured that we won't do that to you.

We are nonetheless required by a petty segment of world opinion -- and we apologize for having to do this in advance of doing it -- to ask you, pretty please, stop this understandable, if not altogether proper activity of yours, as it regards seizing ships on the open sea, and holding them for multi-million dollar ransoms. Again, we want you to understand that we completely sympathize with your situation and worldview. But because we are required by the aforementioned petty segment of world opinion -- those capitalist dogs -- to take action, we simply must notify you in writing that if you don't stop misbehaving, we will be forced to pass another one of those countless resolutions we are so good at passing. And while it won't amount to spit in the ocean, and will have little umph behind it to enforce or impose any meaningful sanctions whatsoever, we cannot rule out the possibility that one or more nations from that petty segment of world opinion, might take a different view of this resolution, and take advantage of it to resort to...*gasp*...rather harsh, unwarranted and totally uncalled-for military action against your righteous selves.

Of course, we'll do all in our lack of power to try to prevent that, but if you could see your way clear to helping us by at least mitigating some of your activities -- at least until some of the media has a good American-based political or entertainment scandal to get themselves into a dither over, losing focus on this issue entirely, easily-distracted as the infidels in the American media are -- we of the UN General Assembly would very greatly appreciate it, and we'll work quietly behind the scenes to make it up to you, soon as possible.

Thank you for any assistance and cooperation you deem to provide us.

Most humbly and sincerely yours,

Secretary General
United Nations

Yawp...that's, I reckon, what the UN would send to those Somali Muslim pirates. DOH...did I just make a politically incorrect gaffe there? I do hate when that happens. Just as I'll tend to hate when or if a US Navy warship has the occasion to send a few boatloads of these Somali Muslim pirates to meet their 72 virgins in Davy Jones' Locker, only for the just martyred to find out that the virgins are sharks.


Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Scam Shorts

*Reposted from June 2007*

Sometimes, they don't come back.

Instead of boring you with a current and ongoing saga of yet another email scammer -- I have them coming out of my ears hyar -- here's a series of four scammers who, when receiving my cordial reply, elected to seek more clement scamming grounds.

For the life of me, I can't imagine why. Maybe you can, when you read what passes for cordiality with me.

Take for example, Mrs. Linna Marshall (, who titled her email plea to me "Thanks So Much and God Bell You". I don't even remember her scam angle; I just couldn't get over that header. Bet she does, though:

Madam Linna: "God Bell Me"? What the flying fish f*** do I look like, a cow or a cat? A f***ing railroad crossing? Do you suggest my ass is so big, I have to sit down in shifts, and need an OSHA mandated back-up alarm? Awaiting precise clarification, you nippleheaded dingbat!

Danged if that wasn't the end of communications from Madam Linna Marshall.

Next up was Barrister Ken Moore (, with the usual pitch for me to be a next-of-kin stand in for another of those deceased engineers who died in a plane crash in Nigeria. Surprise, surprise. But this wasn't your ordinary made-up dead engineer: he wanted me to be a next-0f-kin fill-in for Philip Wang. I'm surprised that he didn't write back after this reply:

Dear Bannister: let me get this straight. You have contacted me for the sole purpose of having me stand in as a substitute next of kin for a dead wang? That's pretty lame, Bannister. You wish me to be a substitute for a dead wang? You realize that a dead wang is a limp wang that nobody wants, right? Unless, of course, they're into necrophilia. Ack. And you're asking me to step down to be a stand-in for a dead wang? I find this hard to get ahold of, Bannister. That you'd actually ask me, a total stranger, to become your substitute dead wang. Are you really sure I'd fit your kneads on this? I suggest, Bannister, that you look elsewhere for your fill-in wang. PS: you might think you knead me, but try it and I'll clock your pervert arse into the next country code.

Some peoples' perverted kids, I'm tellin' ya.

And there was a new one: Mr. and Mrs. Nelly Oshea ( wrote to me and asked if I would be kind-hearted and adopt their pet Yorkie puppy, as "she was not adapting well to the rigours of weather in Africa". And that they would take care of all expenses, save for some licensing fee of $350 US dollars, which they were sure I'd be happy to pay, in exchange for knowing that their "cherished Yorkie puppy" was in a happy home.

If my pet rock Seymour had been here, I'd of let him answer this one, what with his getting his share of peed on by various and sundry hounds before I liberated him from the apartment complex landscaping. But since he's still in Japan, I made short work of the 'adopt a Yorkie' scam:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Whoa Nelly: I would be most interested in adapting your Yorki. They are superb when prepared like cornish game hens, baked or broiled, and garnished with parsley and a side of hash browns. Don't you agree? When can I expect dinner?

Apparently, never from them.

And finally, I get some really interesting scam artists writing to me. Some, because of what they write; some, because of how they write. But this one scored a reply because of who he wrote as: Wada Dada.

My reply to him had nothing to do with his scam (the ATM card ploy) or anything related; I simply made elementary school playground baaaaaad skunk with his name:

You're "Wada Dada"? "Wada Dada"? Mwhahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahaha!*snort* Yer killing me hyar, Wada! Mwhahahahahahhahahahahahahaha....stop it, stop it!

*ah hem* "Wada Dada"?

whahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Yo' daddy musta been the Don Rickles of Scamland, to name you that 'un! "Wada Dada"?

Mwhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha...*gasp*....*chortle snort*.

Just how the hell does anyone take you serious, Wada? "With a name like Wada Dada, you know it's .... whwhahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahhahahahahahaha...*gasp*..I can't breathe!

Oh well...I don't even know why you wrote. And I don't care. Thanks for the moments of pure mirth, "Wada Dadamwhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahaha!" *pounding the table*

The lack of reply suggests I mighta hurt his feelings hyar. In keeping with my mean-spirited conservative streak, I sure hope so.

"Wada Dada"? Mwhahahahahhahahahahahahahaha.....

Saturday, November 15, 2008

To Cull A Mocking Herd

Easy come, even easier go. And all it took was one email.
It took about 21 exchanges that went from getting acquainted, to an accepted proposal of marriage, between the scamstress depicted to the right (aka, Irina, Katya, Olga, et al), and me, to get to where one email brought it to a screeching halt.
With me, again as Jerome, "Curly" Howard, of the former Three Stooges (in complete Curly form in the smaller photo to the right).
It began with an unsolicited email from a "Beulah Fordice" to an account I don't use, asking in very rudimentary English " that we maybe can commune to me in email for to make a relationship?", and included a different email address than the one it was allegedly sent from. Typical opening gambit from a Russian bride scamstress.
So replied with a simple "You have awakened my interest in furthering this discussion, seeing as how you've dug me up via this means. Please tell me more and enlighten me with a photo".

The photo above is the first of about a dozen she sent me, as "Irina". From Gorky, Russia. 26 years old. Single, never married, no kids. Lives with her parents, brother and sister in a four room flat. Works in the health care industry. Communicates via an internet cafe. Finds Russian men are rude, rough, frequently drunk, and treat their women like "bad dogs" (her words). Irina wants a better life, and knows she can have one, in America. She knows this because her girl friend Nataliya met a nice American man on the internet, and now "they are happy to be joined in married matamony in Florida". And thus, she has written to me, hoping to "begin a start to new life with dream man".

*cracking knuckles* is so there, and with all of my favorite "dead" puns, used to excess.

Of course, the photo of "Irina" -- and all those that followed -- had previously come to me as Katya, Olga, Ekat, and at least one other that's slipping my mind just now (a few blog entries back, when as Jack N. Ewehoff, I was "her Jack") over the past year or so.

And as most of you know well, the real "Curly" is buried at the Home of Peace Memorial Park in Los Angeles, California, and has been so for the past 56 years. But that doesn't stop "Curly" from cultivating a very amiable -- and quickly, a very passionate -- relationship, that after 20 email exchanges, results in "Curly" asking "Irina" to marry him, and "Irina" gleefully agreeing.

Provided, of course, that "Curly" will send "Irina" money enough to bring her over to the USA -- via Gorky to Moscow, and onward -- and include in there money for her papers, etc.

About $2200 US dollars, in total.


At this time, "Curly" is also fencing with "Anastasia" and "Olga" (using different sets of photos, but both sets I have received and seen before, from and with other scammers), while "Jack" is fencing with "Anastasiya" and "Yuliya" on another email address. And this doesn't count another scam project that was underway during some of this (earlier noted in a joint effort with Bob McCarty Writes), along with yet another scambait project I'm working on.

In short, it was getting high time to cull down the herd a bit. And Irina won the first cull.

So after "Irina" sent "Curly" instructions on where he was to send the $2200 US dollars via Western Union (to an address purported to be in Moscow, and a Vladimir Potempkin, purported to be a travel agent), and "Curly" didn't respond within 48 hours, a worried "Irina" sent this:

Hello my Curly! I did not recieve news from you! the travel agent get no news from you! you are perfectly in order? With you happens nothing? I anxious to wait your letter my man kitten (what is this with the pet nickname, "man kitten"?; she's about the sixth or so that's dubbed me that). I love to you, Irina.

I reckoned that this was as good a place and time to get with the culling. And here, in one email, is one pretty guaranteed way a guy can go from a head-over-heels love relationship, to absolute squat*:

My darling Irina,

I get caught up in the moment sometimes, and forget about the science of my reality. Love can do that in this realm, just as it does in yours, as I still remember. Truth is, I sent your travel agent the money. And the transfer 'bounced' back. It was then that I realized the hurdle that we face in our life together.

And as currently constituted, we can't have one, unless it is an affair of interdimensional emails. Kinda like Eleanor Roosevelt and Hillary Clinton via a medium (or in Hillary's case, a large...nyuk nyuk).

I attach, for your edification, a picture of my current residential address here in Los Angeles, CA (it's a picture of Curly's gravestone). This is where I "live", so to speak. Or at least, where what's left of my corpse reposes.

You see, I'm biologically expired. In the Ozarks part of the USA -- a rather rustic, laid back kinda place -- that means "ah'm daid as a cain o' corned beef". Irina, I died in January of 1952. And each morning since, my spirit arises here, in this realm. But my corpse refuses to, and is less likely to by each passing decade. There's a technical term for it: some folks call "death, rot and decay". A bit of a nuisance, but as in any untoward situation, as one door closes, others open. Opportunity knows no dead-ends -- sorry for the pun, which I intended, nyuk nyuk -- and in my case, a "door into summer" opportunity opened. And here, on the Third Astral Plane, on the dimension of Marduk, life IS perpetual summer, and I am as I was, in my prime back in your reality.

Just the rest of me remains where remains usually do, once buried, of corpse. *rimshot*

Now I'm sure you're asking yourself, "WTFski?" Let me 'splain it. You emailed me. Somehow, a psychic connection was established, and your karma was led across the astral bridge to mine, where your email arrived to me at the TimeStream Lab, here on the Third Astral Plane. It is here that the best crossed-over brains in the spirit world labor to promote and expand instrumental transcommunication, allowing the spirit world to communicate with the physical realm of Earth. It's pretty technical, but I can tell you that I don't understand one f***ing bit of it. I just know you found me. And we struck up an interdimensional love. One we can't consummate.

Unless you want to travel to Los Angeles, dig up my bones, and go for it there. And I don't think either of us will get much pleasure from that. Especially you, on some of my bone spurs. Ewww.

But don't despair, my eternal love. Whenever your time comes, and you cross over -- if you don't go by way of Satan's Big BBQ Pit And Suds Saloon, one helluva place, I'm told -- we'll be able to tie the knot here on Marduk, and live happily ever after, except when these friggin' wings do their annual molt. Kinda like your time of the month now, but just once a year, thankfully. The cramps keep one clouded (the physical realm equivalent of grounded).

But if you're as open-minded as I reckon you could be, perhaps, we can stay in touch, yes?

You eternal love, Curly

It took one day, and "Curly" was left with no doubt as to the viability of his last question:

You sick person! Waste my time with big story! Leave to me never write again you sick assperson!

Of course, my ex-fiancee knew it was this easy for me to lose a 'love', just as I know it was as easy for her to sink the Titanic in passing *wink*. But I digress...

* I'm sure there are lots of other ways as well, like one I've heard of called 'rodeo sex': once atop her, tell her that "you're almost as good as your sister", and then try to stay on for 8 seconds. No sister, you say? Then use her best friend, her mom...whatever...

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Lists Suck

That includes when I make them.

Perusing the 'net, I came across a column by a Benjamin Radford, The Five Most Scientifically Plausible Sci-Fi Movies ( Taking what he considered plausible application of today's science and combining it with sci-fi movies of the past 50 or so years, the top five movies Radford determined to be the most plausible to make the stretch from sci-fi to reality (within, perhaps, a few years or decades) were:

5. Jurassic Park

4. Iron Man

3. Gattaca

2. The Truman Show

1. 2001: A Space Odyssey

Having seen only two of those movies myself (#1 and 5), I shudder to think of #5 achieving anything akin to reality: 'cuz with any really good science, the government is bound to horn in and get involved. And before you know it, instead of a genetically-reconstituted T-rex that alleviates our glut of ambulance-chasing attorneys, we wind up with a CGI Barney.

Though, if he could be trained to eat Hollywood liberals, I might just learn to put up with those silly songs. But I digress.

As few of you might realize, I've tinkered a bit with advanced technology*. Yep; really. I do so occasionally through an ongoing association with my faux company Bonco, UnInc., maker of such gems as The BugaBOOM!, EZ-NAV One, Phfffft! Asure, The Cyclonic Harvester, and other gadgets that will eventually do something useful, once the less-than-useful side affects have been ironed out.

Thus, I think I have something of a notion of when a sci-fi movie is reasonably plausible.

For instance, I think I can say without hesitation or reservation, that Star Trek II, The Wrath of Khan, doesn't have a chance in a parsec of being plausible in this or 20 lifetimes. A starship captain from Iowa? C'mawn...I'm from Iowa. 'Nuff said.

On the other hand, Mars Attacks! is, by any rational standard of reasoned and alcohol-fortified logic, very plausible in a scientific sense. After all, what do we really know about life on Mars? What might they know about life here? Oh sure, they can make some intuitive judgements, based on the toys we leave scattered on their planet, and some of the radio and other signals they can receive from our noisy, trying-to-be-noticed orb.

And were they to come and visit us, as in that movie, how are we to know their real intentions? How are they to understand ours? What, for example, would they make of our recently-concluded political ads? Perhaps to them, a flock of white peace doves is akin to getting 'the bird'. Perhaps our name for their planet is, in their language, a four-letter word, denoting denigrating self-gratification. And who here is prepared to say they know exactly what a peculiar-looking alien means, when it says "rack ack ack!"?

Besides, I've heard Slim Whitman music...and I'll bet most aliens aren't ready for it.

So Mars Attacks! makes my Top Ten Most Plausible Sci-Fi Movies To Become Real At Some Point In The Future.

Along with the rest of my list:

#10: Mars Attacks!
#9: Hardware Wars (I've addressed the issue of flying toasters, waffle irons, et al, with demonic possession in another recent blog entry; 'nuff said there).
#8: Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (that genetic engineering crap is gonna backfire on us at some point, just like beans do in the gastronomic sense).
#7: Predator (it would take a team of SEAL-trained military types to subdue a rampaging Rosie O'Donnell-like morph; fortunately, they exist. But it will take at least that much firepower and skill; The View couldn't handle 'it'...).
#6: Strange Brew (beer-drinking dogs flying? Why not? Enough beer makes anything seem possible).
#5: Salem's Lot (vampires creating more vampires? Totally plausible; we just re-elected a Congress full of blood suckers, who'll be after our wallets next).
#4: Back To The Future (a DeLorean, gigawatts, space-time continuums...want more proof? Michael J. Fox didn't age a day through a three movie trilogy).
#3: Spacejam (we already know cartoon characters can vote, according to ACORN; but we have proof that when they seek help against alien cartoon characters, they seek the best: Michael Jordan. And did Michael Jordan ever deny that those events actually happened? CGI, my ass).
#2: War of the Worlds (though, you can forget choice #10, let alone the 1938 radio broadcast by Orson Welles that sent a nation into panic, or a more recent movie that was poorly acted by Tom Cruise, who was busy being pissed at the creators of South Park; a Ph.D candidate at the Robotics Institute of Carnegie Mellon University, Daniel H. Wilson, has already laid out how currently existing AI -- not Allen Iversen -- will bring us to an eventual robot rebellion in his book, How To Survive A Robot Uprising, sure to be a scientifically very plausible movie before long).
#1: Science Fiction Theatre 3000 (watch it, dammit...the damned alien gumball machine is talking! It's real, and IT'S HERE, NOW!).
Of course, this list is highly subjective, hastily researched and of dubious antecedence. But until a starship-looking thing actually appears in the skies over San Francisco, picks up two humpbacked whales, and takes them to the 23rd Century to tell an alien metallic trashcan with energy-draining proclivities to off....and it's commanded by a toupe-ed Canadian who claims to be from Iowa, then I reckon my list is as good as anyone's.
A starship commander from Iowa. I'm from Iowa. Puh-lease...
* like the time I had to gingerly disassemble my TV remote, after my pet rock Seymour -- freaked out by an Outer Limits (TOS) marathon -- had reconfigured it into a home defense device, without first telling me. I only vaporized a stack of phone books, a refrigerator, and the vacant apartment next door before I rendered it inoperable...

Saturday, November 8, 2008


Long since so much of the magic of youth has gone the way of adulthood, I'm still lucky enough to get random reminders.
Reading a recent blog entry about the first snow to our west, and a mom's pleasure of watching her two young 'uns bury themselves in the magic of that first seasonal snow, reminded me of my own anticipation and enjoyment of the first snows of the season, back when I was knee-high to...about anything. I grew up in snow country (South Dakota and Iowa), so anticipation never had too long to wait, even though time seemed to stand still in those days (and now seems to accelerate with each passing year).
There was a definitive magic in that first snow. Especially if it amounted to enough to make a snowman, throw snowballs, make a snowfort, or just grab the sled and zip merrily down whatever incline was readily available, until every last vestige of my outerwear was soaked and I was cold as an ice cube.
Of course, I had a lot to learn about snow: like when I began to get impatient for spring, because the heavy snows of winter were still hanging around, and I was getting impatient for the days when I didn't need multiple layers of clothes, and could be warm again. I once reckoned that because the sun was out, I could warm things up merely by shovelling off the snow from the yard.
A task beyond my ambition, and a futile gesture had I been that ambitious. But it was a nice thought. I had such simple thoughts then.
But by October, there'd be that anticipation once more. There was just something magical about that first snow.
I've learned much about snow since then, alot of it not all that magical. How it can (and frequently has) put a crip in my adult life with how disruptive and occasionally destructive it can be. My love of the outdoors in winter was long ago tempered by chronology, injuries and exposure to extremes during work (traffic control and rescue efforts during a blizzard in '79 that awarded me frostbite). And it's caused me some epic moments of being stranded at work (the Blizzards of 1982 and 2003), let alone having me wonder a couple times if I'd even get there at all (same referenced blizzards, and multiple getting stucks in the midst of almost nowhere, and having to dig out, hoping one could).
As a child, I saw it all so differently. Life and experience tends to change perspective. Especially when I slip and fall on my more than ample backside (then, it was called fun; now, it's called chiropractic visits in the wake of a call from the Seismic Institute in Golden, asking me "was that YOU again?"), and have to move more snow with a shovel than I ever even imagined was possible as a five year old.
Even visit to a blog, written by a mom taken back in her own memories of that first seasonal snow while watching her two young ones revel in the magic of the moment...and I can remember the magic of that moment myself.
Fact is...the magic isn't entirely dead: even now, I still remember fondly, and still enjoy that first snow of the season, all these years later.
Even as I have to drive in it, dodging all the fair-weather yutzes. And even as I gear up to shovel the stuff, including a backbrace and a coat that weighs more than I did when I first found the magic of a first season snowfall.
Thanks, c jane enjoy it, for the reminder. May Stephanie be there to share the next round of magic, too.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

The Nairobi Scambillies

Come an' lissen to a story
bout a dude named Sam,
with a lotta other names
cuz the turkey's on the lam
and then one day when he tried to score a hit,
he ran into a Skunk, and Sam was left in sh**...
Okay, so I won't quit my day job ;-)
The inept scammer(s) who tried to play Bob McCarty and ol' Skunk (see the past two posts here and here), is upset.
His imagined-elaborate scam of trying to dupe a wily blogger into buying non-existent crap with a political spin to it, went phfffft, when the wily blogger teamed with an ornery scambaiter, to make "Sam Ooko" look like he and his associates were covered in the what's represented in the cartoon above.

Of course, the name "Sam Ooko", originally given by the scammer(s), may not be his own. Or it may. In Scamland, the only truth is as fleeting as finding a flushing toilet, let alone someone there who knows what it's for.
Since his scam went the way of pet rocks*, ol' Sam has evolved a few extree personalities: he's become Nancy DeMille, an attorney of dubious credentials and worse teeth; John Smythe, a part-time meerkat inseminator by birth; and DamiLOLa Kayode, an imagined Sopranosesque cartoon character, who plays the heavy (poorly). My intelligence sources are working on acquiring photos of this collection of characters, and I'll post them when received and vetted.
With the demonstrated intellect of tree stumps -- I was going to say door knobs, but I need to use something contextual that Sam & Friends have a working knowledge of -- they are shaping up to be the Third World 419 version of The Beverly Hillbillies Meets Dumb 'n Dumber.
Late in '08, I think I've found my Stupidest Scammer of the Year finalist(s). Go back to March of '08, when I thought I'd found my winner then....but this one is surging in the polls (note: since these polls are not AP-based, they actually have some credibility to them).

As scammers who've resorted to threats before -- an imagined face-saving step before truly conceding defeat and disappearing into the cybervoid -- Sam/Nancy/John/DamiLOLa threw what I guess were their best shots.
I tried to prod them into one more *gasp* with this:

Is everything okay there? I mean, you're late this morning; no new empty threats or childish insults (second graders have better one-liners than these morons). I grew concerned that you had an accident at the meerkat insemination facility, and one clawed the crap out of your mug when you forgot why you were there or something. I mean, in all genuine insincerity, I wish you no ill, beyond raging dysentery. A little intestinal rinse is good for the soul, and we all know your souls are overdue. When it's done, may I suggest toilet paper? Yes, they really make that stuff. And it's so much more user-friendly than tree bark.
Now some personal messages:
"Sam": find another second job. You ain't good at this one.
Nancy: uh...your 24 hour deadline is 96 hours ago...a new clock may be in order.
John: how do you look at Nancy without vomiting? Oh, inseminate meerkats for a living...never mind. Dumb question on my part.
DamiLOLa: the posts stay up.

Have a splendiferous day.
Sadly, no reply from 'any' of them (aka, him).

*Sigh*... it was fun while it lasted. Any votes for this one as Stupidest Scammers of '08? Polls close December 30, 2008.

* with apologies to my pet rock, Seymour

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

That's A Whap

Election '08 is over. It didn't go the way I voted.
That's life. Even in a constitutional representative republic, you don't always get what you want.
But at least you have the freedom to vote and try again in the next cycle.
There'll be plenty of folks on the Republican side to do the analyzing, finger-pointing, et al. I'll leave it to them. The candidate that carried the party flag didn't carry the day. That's the end result, period. An honorable man, to be sure, but not the best standard bearer they could have picked. Not that I know who would have been better. Perhaps no one would have, this time out.
But none of that matters today. Yesterday, the nation spoke at the polls. Today, we have President-elect Obama. That's reality.
Whoever won this time, faced a table full of challenges, few of them pleasant or easy to solve let alone fully understand. I wouldn't trade places with 'em.
In 1992, the nation chose to go with the "new" Democrat, Bill Clinton (with a little help from a maniacal midget, and an inept GHWB campaign). In '94, voters evaluated Clinton's first two years by giving control of both houses of Congress to the Republicans. Quite an editorial comment.
Voters made another editorial comment on their opinion of a president's performance -- Dubya's -- in '06, when the Democrats got control of both houses of Congress.
Now it's President-elect Obama's turn to fish or cut bait. In '10, the voters will make a two year assessment again.
However it goes, let's collectively hope for the best.
Said the zen master, "we'll see...".
Indeed, we will.
God Bless America.