Saturday, September 29, 2012

I Dream Of...Scam?

I had no thought of this old classic 60s TV show -- I Dream Of Jeannie -- until I saw who sent me my latest email scam.  An improbably-named scammer who called himself.....Anthony Nelson.


Here's a portion of his opening gambit, which he claimed was not the first time he'd tried to contact 'me':

Berkshires House
168-173 High Holborn,
London WCIV 7AA
United Kingdom.
On behalf of the Trustees and Executor of the estate of Late Engr. Phillip Randall; I once again try to notify you as my earlier letter returned undelivered. I hereby attempt to reach you again by this same email address on the WILL. I wish to notify you that late Engr. Phillip Randall made you a beneficiary to his WILL. He left the sum of Eight  Million One Hundred Thousand Dollars (USD$8,100.000.00) to you in the codicil and last testament to his WILL.
This may sound strange and unbelievable to you, but it is real and true. Being a widely traveled man, he must have been in contact with you in the past or simply you were recommended to him by one of his numerous friends abroad who wished you good. Until his death was a member of the Helicopter Society and the Institute of Electronic & Electrical Engineers. He had a very good heart and loved to give out.
Yada, yada...yada. 
Of course, "Major" Nelson -- after a five year run -- went on to become famous for being a very different character in another popular TV series, Dallas.  One that's been resurrected this year (and I have no idea how it's doing, but I digress).
Anyway, I doubted that the scammer -- or his peers and colleagues I copied in the rewrite -- would much fathom the TV show history I was referencing here.  Or, for that matter, some of the dubious political personages I managed to work in.  But it was fun to play with, anyway:
From: Anthony Nelson <>
Sent: Thursday, September 6, 2012 9:25 AM

c/o Berkshires House
168-173 (Very) High Holborn,
London WCIV 7AA
United Kingdom.
Okay, so you've recognized my name.  If you're old enough, you remember me from a TV show in the 60s, before I went on to be an asshole oil baron in Texas.  Which couldn't of happened if my 'genie' wife hadn't suddenly hit her PMS cycle and tried to send me where not even Captain Kirk had gone before...or since.
Damn, Babs, what was up with THAT?  You went Rachel Maddow on me and all I'd asked for was a little "kinky blinky".
But I digress, after I got back from where her "blinky" sent me.
Anyway, after her PMS-fueled snit, Babs packed up the bottle and now is gawd-only-knows-where.  And I'm technically no longer a major with NASA, though I rather liked the title and the chicks it got me when Babs wasn't turning them into Debbie Wasserputz-Schultz or Nancy 'Bela' Pelosi.
Anyway, when I'm not being an asshole oil baron in Texas, doing a remake of a show from more than 25 years ago, I am a practicing atturkey on behalf of the Trustees and Executor of the estate of Late Engr. Phillip Randall. 
What, you say, you haven't heard of Phillip Randall?  Frankly, neither had I until this endeavor was placed before me for processing.  I wish to notify you that the late Engr. Phillip Randall -- late, not because his Rolex ran slow, but late because he's DAID -- made you a beneficerary to his WILL.  He left you Eight Million One Hundred Thousand crotch crickets and the deed to his crotch cricket ranch, in the codicil and last testament to his WILL.
This may sound strange and unbelievable to you, but it is a massaged fact in Hollyweird that virgin goats are Sean Penn's best friend.  Returning from that aside, Mr. Randall apparently being a widely traveled man, he must have been in contact with you in the past or simply you were recommended to him by one of his simian friends who pointed out your picture from a line-up we had in Nigeria six months ago. Until his death he was a member of the Chris Matthews Leg Tingles Society and the Institute of Enema and Vaginal Cigar Humidor Engineers. He had a very perverse sexual interest in sodomy with animals and loved to give out.
His great philandering earned him numerous warrants for his arrest during his life time before he died on the 13th day of July, 2012 at the age of 80 years, and his WILL is now ready for execution, since he managed to escape it.
According to Major Healy -- perhaps you remember him as well -- this deeding of the crotch cricket ranch is to support the furtherance of the rights of crotch crickets to have homes with such inclined people like Sandra Fluke.  
Please if I reach you this time as I am hopeful, endeavor to get back to me as soon as possible to enable me conclude my job, so I can go back to being an asshole oil baron in Texas, before my conniving brother, Bobby, pulls some sh** on me.   I'd swear he's in cahoots with Babs, but that can't be, since I'm not suddenly standing in traffic, wearing only a jockstrap, in San Freakcisco.
I hope to hear from you in no distant time through the email address below.
Awaiting my chance to bend you over,
Bannister (Major) Anthony Eke-Nelson

PS:  if you find a colorful, funny-shaped bottle lying on a beach, do NOT open it!!!
None of the scammer recipients responded to this rewrite.  It is possible that they were unfamiliar with the contents therein.
Or that 'Babs' sent them on a 'kinky blinky' of their own...someone might want to warn the sheep in the Falkland Islands...

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Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Colorado Me and The Last (Golf) Crusade

Let me say straight away, that I was never part of a foursome that looked like this.

On the other hand, being a member of a foursome who played like this looked, well...yes, I have been.  And more times than I care to admit.

Of late, I have been posting some of my more conspicuously bad moments in golf history on my Facebroke page.  There are some bad ones, indeed.

I haven't picked up a golf club since 2005.  Other than to take one away from my pet rock, Seymour, who was trying to use it to fend off a marauding leftover from my 'fridge. 

The last time that I did so -- picked up a club for purposes originally intended for one -- was memorable for many reasons.  It was the first and perhaps last time that I had and will probably ever play Homestead Golf Course, in Jefferson County, Colorado.

It was July, 2005.  The front nine that day was memorable, in that I tied my own personal best nine hole score:  41.  I did this not with creative score keeping or the use of Judge Smails' ball adjusting.  I did it with decent, trouble-free drives; amazing (for me) approach shots; and a putter that, from 6-8 feet away, didn't miss.

My golf partners for the round were impressed.  I was astonished.  I hadn't played a round since '03, in a company best-ball scramble format (noted some time ago in this blog).  And on that occasion, my game was better suited to a best-ball scramble format.  Most of my shots couldn't be held against me on a scorecard of law.

But this day was almost the crossing of a golf Rubicon, and the having of a great epiphany after my second beer.  I had come upon the i ching and the great Realization:  I suck at golf.  I always have.  And I've always known it.

But to accept it...this was something new.

And at that moment, in 2005, on a pace for my best 18 hole score ever, I had come to terms with just how much I sucked.  Acceptance appeared to be that great epiphany.  It didn't matter how much I sucked.  History had not been affected one whiff by how I sucked.  Current events were as they were intended to be, whether I sent a toupee-shaped divot skyward or not.

The future would be; the sun would set, the sun would rise, whales and swallows would migrate, the rains would fall, the crops would grow, and a cow would never fart in an office elevator, whether I sucked or not.  The great questions of Life, Death, and how a fruitcake can outlive a Galapagos Island tortoise, would always remain as they had from the dawn of time, regardless of how much I sucked at golf.

At that superlative moment -- which would have been a "WTF?" one for anyone else -- life was good.  Acceptance was the epiphany.  The i ching.  The great secret to a relaxed, enjoyable game, free of  post-stroke inquiries like "oh, what the f**k was that?" and "what the f**k am I doing over there?".

Then I made two simple epiphany-negating mistakes.  One, I thought about it.  Two, I began the back nine.

And just as suddenly as my game had seen a favorable glimpse and kindly nod from the Great Disposer of Golf caught a remindive glimpse of the Great Reality Returns...and I remembered that whatever the first nine holes had meant in the universe, I still sucked at the sport I was re-engaging.

And proved it on the 10th tee box.  And the 12th.  And on one hole that had a creek coursing across the fairway.  A creek you would just about jump across without effort.  A creek my golf ball sought succor and asylum in.  Twice.

As for my almost unconscious putting accuracy on the front putter had awakened, and returned to form.  A two putt was now a gift.  My putter seems to prefer helping my pet rock fend off marauding leftovers from my 'fridge, to helping me achieve a back nine best. 

It should have been careful about what it wished for.

As I finally drained my last 4 putt on the 18th hole, I discovered that, despite my epiphany, I couldn't out-relax my sucking at golf.

I know that you're curious.  And no, I did not -- despite my suckage on the back nine -- make triple digits for the round.  I averted that.  Barely.  But my clubs have not ventured out since that day.  Other than to help a poor pet rock fend off marauding leftovers from my 'fridge. 

I should, of course, just shoot the leftovers in their maraudage.  But my clubs gotta have something to do.  And my putter earned this.

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Sunday, September 23, 2012

Tales From Beyond The Email Crypt

LOL...1969 has suddenly become a popular year for the email scammers to send emails from.

Neat trick, since no public-access email existed at that time.

But facts have never stopped email scammers.  Nor, in responding to them, me.

This is the first part of the email sent to me by a scammer claiming to be Mrs. Anne Ruth, a dying cancer patient, who wants to give away her fortune, via me.  From 1969, though she apparently doesn't realize that part of it:

From: Anne Ruth <>
To: moosefeathers
Sent: Wednesday, December 31, 1969 5:00 PM
Subject: Re:Charity Donation

Dear Friend,

My name is Mrs.Anne Ruth,I am a dying woman who has decided to donate what I have to charity through you.You may be wondering why I chose you. But someone has to be chosen.

I am 59 years old and was diagnosed for cancer about 2 years ago,after the death of my husband who had left me everything he worked for my husband dealt in Diamond & Gold Business.I have been touched by the Lord to donate from what I have inherited from my late husband to charity through you for the good work of humanity,rather than allow my relatives to use my husband's hard earned funds inappropriately.

I have asked the Lord to forgive me all my sins and I believe he has,because He is merciful. I will be going in for an operation,and I pray that I survive the operation. I have decided to WILL/Donate the sum of $7.5 million (Seven Million Five Hundred Thousand Dollars) & 133 Kilos of Gold.

1969 must a been a banner year for the tribe, I guess.  Anyway, I found another way to have a little afterlife fun with the email angle I’m sure the scammer hadn’t reckoned on: 

Sent: Wednesday, December 31, 1969 5:00 PM
Subject: Charity Donation

Esteemed and sauteed Sir/Ma'am,

My name is Mrs.Anne Ruth. I died in 1969. Can't you smell me? Probably not, that's right: I'm still buried.

I discovered that, after being dead all these years, I had access to email. I didn't even know what the f**k email was. But now that I do, I simply had to write to someone. You may be wondering why I chose you. But someone has to be chosen.

I have been dead for approaching 43 years. 43 f**king years. My vagina is so dry, a sneeze would blow it apart. The very thought of that really depresses me.

Before I died, I was a slut to every passing-thru yokel that had a penis. Hell, I'd let a camel sodomize me, if I could make a buck out of it. I have asked the Lord to forgive me all my sins and I believe that as long as He prevents me from sneezing, He has, because He is merciful.

If you are willing to assist me in helping to keep me from sneezing, and blowing my dusty dry vagina apart, please provide me your Full Name,Address,Telephone and Fax number. Oh wait...forget the telephone and fax number...I have email, not a f**king telecommunications system stuffed in here. I'm not even sure how I got this email sh**.

Anyway, just send me your name, address and email address. And I'll send you the name of someone you can contact, so you can send them vaginal lubricant, and they can dig me up and apply it in liberal quantities, so that if I ever do sneeze, I won't blow my snatch apart.

I might be dead, but I like the idea of always being ready for a future caller.

Lest I forget, these informations I gived you are confidential. I don't want someone to dig me up and disconnect my email. The dust of that might cause me to sneeze. And you know that I don't want that.

May Good God guide you and keep me from sneezing.  Hope to read from you soonest. 

Sincer..ah...ahhh..aaahhhhhhh...CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Gawddammit!!!!!
Anne Ruth .. with a now granulated vagina...f**k...let's amend my whole email to now I need the charity of a replacement vagina. Soonest, please.

The email must have messed with the head of at least one scammer I copied and sent it to, because I got a reply from a previous scammer who've I've fenced with in the past, Esther Warlord Couliby (  But all she did was send back a copy of my email, with only a "!!??" as a reply.  I responded with a repeat of the message, concluded with "Really!!!".

I guess the mental image of a sneeze-destroyed vagina was too much...

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Thursday, September 20, 2012

Time Warp Scam

I still haven't seen everything from email scammers.  But a recent email had me double-taking.

It was another alleged-to-be US military personage, located in Iraq, who had money he'd found there and "needed my help" to get back here.

Uh huh.

But in a quick perusal of the original email, the date stamp on it is what jumped out at me.

Take a look and see what you see:

To: moosefeathers
Sent: Wednesday, December 31, 1969 5:00 PM

I am Mark Wellington.One of the Retained Military Intelligent Attached to the President of Iraq,Jalal Talabani. I am wriing to seek your Urgent Assistant. I have some Couple of Million of US Dollars which I wanted out of here immediately to United States for Investment Purpose. I am not Prepared to leave Iraq now because I wouldnt deceive you, I am making good Money here.

I will need your Assistance to Keep or Invest this Money Pending my Arrival in United States. I do hope you can keep this Transaction very Confidential.Awaiting your urgent Reply.

Mark Wellington.

Did the date stamp cause you a *WTF* as well?  It certainly did me:  December 31, 1969.

*Whiskey Tango Foxtrot???*

Email didn't exist then.  Computers were still the size of refrigerators.  Telephones were hard-wired and rotary dial.  And we were still 21 years away from our first military tussle with Iraq.

This letter most certainly called for an edited reply.  And my edited reply simply HAD to make use of the date gaffe. And – along with a lot of WTF-style verbiage – did:

Sent: Wednesday, December 31, 1969 5:00 PM

I am Mark Wellington. And I am motherf**king TRAPPED in the TWILIGHT ZONE!!!

Just look at the date of my email: December 31, 1969. F**KING EMAIL DIDN'T EXIST IN 1969!!!

F**k, I am so confused...I don't even remember what this scam was supposed to be about any more. None of what I originally had written for me works, because it's all in the future, and how the f**k can I scam you on the future when I'm writing in a mode of communication that didn't EXIST in 1969??? You KNOW the future because YOU’RE THERE, and I’m stuck in 19-f**king -69, with a mode of communication I don’t yet have!!!

I'm going to have a bowel vaporlock just thinking about it!!!

I was SUPPOSED to claim to be one of the Retained Military Intelligent Attached to the President of Iraq, Jalal Talabani. Which doesn't make a lick of sense, because I'm writing from 19-f**king-69, and there WAS NO PRESIDENT Jalal Talabani then!!

Sh**...I don’t have cell phones, microwave ovens, DVDs, kindles, blackberries, ipads, PCs...what f**king MORON drafted this stupid f**king scam letter???

I’ll get back to you, after I figure out how the f**k I’m supposed to work a sh** deal like this.

Note to my handlers: you f**king morons!!! How am I supposed to pull off a f**king email scam, from an era that didn't f**king have EMAIL??? F**k you people...I'm going to work for the Nigerians in 31 years. Unless you ARE the Nigerians...then I’ll f**king work for the Romanians!!!

I didn't get a reply from Mr. Mark Wellington, to my edit of his scam.  Perhaps his time portal *WTF*ed along with his *self head bonk* "oh damn" realization.

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Monday, September 17, 2012


Divorce can bring out the worst in uncouplings. 

Sometimes, it can bring out the worst in the uncoupling's pets.

I happened to catch a little AP ditty about a lawsuit in Rhode Island.  It comes as no surprise that the lawsuit has been filed by the ex-husband and his new girlfriend, against his ex-wife.

Who are neighbors.

Cute:  divorce her and move in next door with her replacement.  Takes 'nads.  No brains, but 'nads.

Anyway, it seems the ex-wife has a pet.  A pet cockatoo named Willy.  Willy can 'talk'.  Or at least, he can 'parrot' what he's heard, over and over again.  And disgorge it at random.  With volume and resonance, apparently.

Well, seems the ex-wife has taught Willy a great deal about her views of the ex-husband and his new gal pal.  And then places Willy in a position to express those views.  Out an open window.  At her ex-husband's place.

The lawsuit alleges that Willy is violating local 'loud pet' ordinances by..."cussing" at the ex-husband and his gal pal.

Anyway, as I chuckled about the story -- it's one of those 'slow news day' stories -- I imagined a bit of 'fun' with it:

RI neighbors: Cussing cockatoo violates noise and other laws of nature and nicety

 WARWICK, R.I. (AP) — A Rhode Island woman has been accused by her neighbors of teaching her cockatoo to violate an animal-noise ordinance by being a real loud-beeked prick. 

By cussing at them.  Repeatedly.
The Providence Journal, not worried the least about garnering a Pulitzer for this story, reports that the accused woman -- the ex-wife of the man and his girlfriend who live next door to the woman -- trained the bird, Willy, to say things of dubious nature about her ex and his new gal pal.

After the first three municipal judges asked to hear the case couldn't stop laughing, a fourth denied the defendant's request to dismiss the case, after her bird threatened to violate him.

The neighbors, as stated, are the ex-husband and his new girl friend.  Yes, you read that right. 

Nobody ever said that divorce brings out the intellect in people.

The somewhat naive plaintiffs in the case complained that they have been subjected to repeated curses from the bird, at one point for 15 minutes at a time.  Things like " does your b***h ho make due with your sad f***ing little winkee?  Ahhh!"

Worse, according to the plaintiffs:  Willy is teaching local crows and magpies how to cuss at them, too.  In English, Spanish, German, French, and Azerbijani.

The animal noise ordinance -- originally intended for barking dogs, fighting cats, and GEICO pigs shrieking "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" -- imposes a small fine on any pet owner whose animal creates habitual noise.  Objectionable language directed by a pet at a human is "new legal ground" under this ordinance.

"Frankly, we're not sure that we're not potentially treading on the bird's First Amendment rights to call someone a "penile dysfunctional jackwagon", said a legal representative from the ASPCA.  "Once the bird knows the word, and everybody knows about the bird, well...we're on tricky First Amendment and ASCAP grounds here".

The judge willing to hear the case has issued restraining orders telling both women to not speak, the ex-husband to stop waving a frozen turkey at Willy, and Willy to stay away from the judge, after Willy threatened the judge to "sh** all over you and make you look like a dung dalmatian...ahhhh!".

An impromptu internet and Facebook campaign had started to urge replacement of White House press secretary Jay Carney with Willy, until it was learned that Willy calls the potus "Barry Fraud Soetero".

I'm not sure the FCC would know how to handle that press conference...

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Saturday, September 15, 2012

Wooly Bull...

Yeah, I know...this picture is so wrong.

I assure you as you read on, you'll see why this picture fits what follows here so sorta wrongly well.

A recent news item in Yahoo News caught my 'just finished abusing email scammers' attention, and being thus distracted by what I'd dun to their email scams, I saw an opportunity to have a little fun with the news as well.

Here 'tis:

Mammoth Cells Found
by Yahooz In Da Gnuz

Dateline MOSCOW (AP) — Scientists have discovered well-preserved frozen mammoth cells deep in Siberia that may explain why some people get so fat.

Russia's North-Eastern Gulag University said an international team of researchers had discovered mammoth cells some 328 feet (100 meters) underground during a summer expedition in the northeastern province of Yakutia.

Expedition chief Semyon Grigoryev said "Finally, we have explanation, yes, for Rosie O’Donnell, Michael Moore, Chris Christy and my ex-wife Babushka Buttinski".

Grigoryev told the online newspaper Borscht it would take months of research to determine whether they could reverse how the cells make people so mammoth.

"There were no McDonalds restaurants back then, so only after thorough laboratory research will it be known whether these are THE mammoth cells responsible for making asses so big that they have to sit down in shifts," he said, adding that would take until the end of the year at the earliest.

It had been long believed that mammoth cells were inherent, indemnic, even ingrown in couch potatoes, eating Cheese Nips, canned cake frosting, and watching Oprah and The Kardashians.

 At this point a frantically-gesturing assistant stopped the press conference and after an intense, whispered conversation, Grigoryev slunk from the room red-faced while the assistant – Boris Badenov – said that the cells found in Siberia were those of wooly mammoths, and weren’t "mammoth" cells that made people fat.

With that, media interest in the subject went the way of pmsNBC’s Chris Matthews actually doing some legitimate journalism for once in his miserable life:  nowhere.

As an aside to how screwed up this article was from the outset of this edit, wooly mammoths are thought to have died out around 10,000 years ago, although AlGore thinks small groups of them lived longer in Alaska and on Russia's Wrangel Island off the Siberian coast, despite the effects of AGW on the climate and Sarah Palin hunting them.

In a perverse turn, it was revealed that scientists already have deciphered much of the genetic code of the woolly mammoth from their balls found frozen in the Siberian permafrost. Some believe it's possible to either (a) recreate the prehistoric animal if they find living cells in the permafrost, or (b) come up with the biggest plate of Ural Mountain Oysters, ever.

Those who succeed in recreating an extinct animal could claim a "Jurassic Park prize,", either for the recreated species, or the biggest culinary hors d'oeuvre to ever grace the Home Cooking Network.

The latest incarnation of Dr. Ian Malcolm – Jeff Goldblum was not available for comment – warned of "chaos theory" and urged folks in Siberia to "leave sleeping permafrosted balls lay", since he in any guise was NOT interested in living Jurassic Park IV – Mammoth Nuts Gone Wild.

One plus – according to unnamed sources inside the failing Barry Soetero re-election campai(g)n – was that if the recreated mammoth run wild, as depicted in Jurassic Park II in Los Angeles, the scientists are confident that they can blame George W. Bush for any of the resulting damages.

See?  Told ya the picture wasn't so wrong for this post...

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Wednesday, September 12, 2012

One More Time?

I've always been fascinated by time.  Especially time travel.  Most notably during my commutes to and from work.  But I sorta digress.

There was a series on TV in 1966-67, called The Time Tunnel.  It was Irwin Allen at his imaginative best, although some of the script writing and details were a bit hokey.

Though, not so much to a 9-10 year old at the time.

The show only had about 30 or so episodes made before it was discontinued (you can see those episodes via Hulu, online).  Some of which were rather painful to watch, even then.  Like a couple involving the mid 60s idea of space aliens. 

Lost In Space and Star Trek did not have a corner on the market for really hokey space aliens.  Especially the former series.

Some of the more glaring script gaffes -- when seen again, almost 50 years later -- were pretty bad, even for then-Hollywood.  For example:  in Episode 1, Dr. Tony Newman (James Darren) tells Capt. Smith of the RMS Titanic that he was born in 1938.

Which went over with the Captain like a fart in a divers' suit, until the Captain could have used one while the Titanic sank.

But just three episodes later, Drs. Newman and Phillips (Robert Colbert) wind up in Pearl Harbor on December 6, 1941, where Dr. Newman had been a kid at the time of the Japanese attack, losing his Navy father under mysterious circumstances.  So Dr. Newman winds up meeting both his father AND himself on December 6, 1941.

Except that young Tony Newman in 1941, is about 6 or 7.  Which doesn't work, if he was born in 1938.

Eh...details.  Hollyweird falls short early and often there.

Still...the show was imaginative and entertaining in 1966-67.  And it even brought up rather interesting possibilities -- and moral dilemmas --  for time travel.

For example:  how does one change history, when no one from the time believes a story being told them by a stranger claiming to be from the future?  That's kinda like being told by a Nigerian about a large inheritance and his need for your help to get it.

Aside from that, there's the very complex question about whether a time traveller would be wise TO change history?  Let's say Drs Newman and Phillips had convinced Captain Smith to steer a more southerly course -- as they tried -- avoiding the iceberg collision.  How might history have turned out, without the loss of the Titanic and over 1,500 souls?

Could the saving of just one person of consequence on that ship, had a positive OR negative affect on the future?


In a both funny and poignant Star Trek episode -- City on the Edge of Forever -- Dr. McCoy went back in time, and wiped out the present for Captain Kirk and the landing party that had followed the doctor down to a planet, after he was accidentally injected with a stimulant that sent him off into hyper-whacked Joe Bidumb-land.  Kirk and Spock had to follow McCoy into a time device on the planet, and try to right what he had done.

In so doing, Kirk met and fell in love with a 1930s woman, who turned out to be the focal point in history that McCoy had changed:  McCoy had saved her from dying in an accident.  And in so doing, had changed events in upcoming history that led to Nazi Germany winning the Second World War, and wiping out the future that had included Star Fleet, the USS Enterprise, et al.  Spock and Kirk discovered that for history to be put back in order, the woman had to die.  And Kirk had fallen for her.

In the end she died in the street accident she was supposed to, and Kirk swore for just about the only time on the Star Trek series. 

At the same time, The Time Tunnel was struggling with trying to get Drs Newman and Phillips back to the Time Tunnel complex, deep under the Nevada desert.  All the while, watching them time leap from one episode to another, spanning centuries of human history, and frequently becoming very much involved with the times and events they'd wound up in.

It was interesting (and not very convincing) that the Time Tunnel team couldn't get Newman and Phillips back; yet they could pick up and send back William Barret Travis from the Alamo, on the eve of the March 6, 1836 attack; and a Souix warrior, who was convinced not to harm Drs Newman and Phillips even as Custer was being wiped out at the Little Big Horn; and they could send guns and ammo -- and their chief of security, Sgt. Jiggs -- to Odysseus during the Trojan War.

But they couldn't get Newman and Phillips back.  The sacrifices science has to make to have a TV series, I guess.

Anyway...what with advances in 'special effects' today vs 1966-67, another try at The Time Tunnel might just be worth a shot.  With a little better eye to details in history and historical events, perhaps the premise could manage better than 30 episodes.  And with a little more attention to the scientific, moral and ethical considerations of time travel, it might prove as appealing and thought-provoking as the original Outer Limits episodes did in 1965.

Perhaps Hollyweird could quit trying to politically correctify everything as they're wont to nowadays, and take a shot at resurrecting something from the 60s that might have some entertaining, thought-provoking legs.

Or perhaps, The Time Tunnel idea is as dead as a can of corned beef.  After all, Hollyweird's pop culture hero might tell them -- if they could successfully recreate the show and some of the very real issues that time travel would pose -- "you didn't build that".

I dunno.  If I were a script writer -- and I ain't, trust me on that -- I'd be curious to see what the possibilities are.  Besides...I might risk time travel, just to meet Lee Meriwether in 1966-67.  Rrrrowr.

At any rate...what say you TV watchers out there, about the idea?  An updated Time Tunnel, or another 'reality' show about the Kardashians?

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Tuesday, September 11, 2012


I remember, eleven years later.  I remember where, what, and when.  I remember the victims.

I remember who did it.  And I remember those who have fallen, to bring those responsible to justice.

I remember.  I'll never forget.

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Friday, September 7, 2012

Even Worse, He Can't Read...

Email scammers come in all types.  Some smart enough to dupe lawyers, doctors, executives and professionals.

Some smart enough to dupe the everyday person.

Most, however...would be stymied by a tree stump on Jeopardy! 

Perhaps I've been contacted by a few of the first two kinds:  they were smart enough to, after reading my response (or what I did to their original mail), realize that there was nothing further to gain from repartee with me.

I keep getting a wealth of the last kind.

A great recent example is below, the opening salvo from a scammer claiming to be Ezra Nehemiah, a corpse-in-the-making and 'contrite' about it:

Dearest Beloved,
Good day to you and.How is your health and family life going? hope this mail you are also going to be reading is reaching you in good health condition, i am sorry to disturb your privacy at this moment, but i just found your email address now through my personal research from a business email list. After finished reading your profile, and i felt deeply in my heart that you are that individual that i have been looking for and so i can contact you for a blessing that you are about to recieve and also share with people that need it ,my name is Mr. Ezra Nehemiah a merchant from Dubai in the U.A.E. Living at the moment now in Capital city of Ivory Coast Yamoussoukro. I am 62 years old, never married, i have no kids, i have been living all my life alone.I have been diagnosed with Esophageal cancer .It has defile all forms of medical treatment, and right now I have only about a few months to live, according to medical experts
Now, I did go a bit overboard on the rewrite required considerable ‘editing’ from what I did to it. Even then, you get the drift that I was not terribly kind to this scammer:

From: Ezra Nehemiah To:
Sent: Saturday, August 25, 2012 2:25 PM
Subject: Bananaz

Email: Ezra Nehemiah <>
F**k Me,

Gawddammit!!! I waked up this day and findz I gotz no bananaz!!!
F**k, f**k, F**K!!!

I am sorry to disturb your privacy at this moment, but i just found out I gotz no bananaz, and this again make me say with feeling, F**k, f**k, F**K!!!

After finished reading your profile, I feeled that you is who I can turnz to to fix my bananaz deficit. It suck having bananaz deficit. You want know how much it suckz I has no bananaz? I tell you: F**k, f**k, F**K!!!

My name is Mr. Ezra Nehemiah a merchant from Dubai in the U.A.E. Living at the moment now in Capital city of Ivory Coast Yamoussoukro. I am 62 years old, never married, i have no kids, i have been living all my life alone, and gawddammit, I gotz no bananaz!

F**k, f**k, F**K!!!

It has defile me to has no bananaz. It make me try other things that are ass insertable to sodomize myself all the time. All the time I sodomize myself with bananaz, but I now gotz no bananaz!

You know seez the problem as I haz it. You now seez why I needz bananaz.

I have not particularly lived my life so well, as I never really cared for anyone (not even myself) but my business. Now, I haz no bananaz, and I cant not sodomize myself without my bananaz. After I sodomize myself with bananaz, I eat them with the peel on, because I am one really sick f**k.

Yes, I am.

So that why I contact you. I gotz no bananaz. You gotz bananaz I am telled. You getz me bananaz. You tells me you gotz bananaz at my email address above. We work out something for you to getz me the bananaz I needs to sodomize myself.

Though I am very rich, I was never Generous, I was always hostile to people and only buyz my own bananaz to sodomize all time because I is sick f**k and it the only thing I cared for. But now I needz you to get me bananaz. Gimme dem gawddamn bananaz. All time bananaz.

Gimme dat gimme dat gimme gimme dat bananaz.

Now that gawd has called me and taked away my bananaz for sodomy, I needz you to be my bananaz succor. I renounce camel religion and say to the world, f**k off, gimme dat bananaz!!!

I want this to be one of the last good deeds I do on month of August. Then I startz this sh** all over again in September. Oh yes...I needz bananaz to sodomize myself with in September too.

I will wait to hear from you to know if you are capable of doing this favour for me. If you sez no, then F**k, f**k, F**K!!! you and your mama!!! I will wait for your urgent response.

Ezra Nehemiah
I really needz bananaz for sodomize me

Despite my rather crude handling of the scammer and his email, ‘Ezra’ didn’t bother with the finer points of bothering to read what I done to his email scam. Nawp...he was just thrilled that I bothered to reply to it:

 I have received your mail and I must first of all show my appreciation over the fact that you have given heed to the entreaty of a dying man, if you don't need cash by the grace of God,so you can help me distribute the funds to the poor organisations and to charity,Like I had told you in my previous mail,and again sorry to tell you call me Mr Ezra Nehemiah this is my reall name ok you can see it from my id card ok, I lived a very reckless life when it mattered most. All I thought about was my various investments; it is that same care free attitude that is going to cost me a lot now,i find it difficult to pay my bills now my bills are on pending must especially my drugs (MORPHINE) is very costly for me to even afford at the moment because my bad health has broken me down and i don't want to pass away with my treasures with held with the security company,i want you to support and assist me with your utmost heart ,so that my dreams to help and bless the society can be actualized.

As I said...I don't tend to get the 'cream of the crop' from Scamland here.  Certainly not in this case.  So I decided to try again, with a rewrite of his latest email, to see if mebbe this time, I'd get some kind of a point across:

Come and listen to my story 'bout a man named Jed, a poor mountaineer barely kept his family fed, and then one day he was shootin' at some food, and up from the ground came a bubblin'**, ye see...running ca-ca...fecal stuff...
I have received your mail and I must first of all show my appreciation over the fact that you have completely rewrote my meaning to into something that, quite frankly, I have no f**king idea how to read.
I guess I should be happy that you wrote back, never minding what the f**k you did to my meaning, huh?
My transspecied wife, Agatha the Chimpanzee is much impressed with your bananaz rant; which I guess is good, because I didn't understand one f**king word of it.  What is sodomy?  Is that shoving sod up my ass?  That doesn't sound so good an idea.
I love drugs...especially MORPHINE, since it kills the pain I feel everytime I look in the mirror and see what I see...I sez to myself, "Ezra, you are a real dickhead!".  And I am, too.
My deer meat belonging to me is to be given to starving coyotes.  I wish you to see to that. 
My beloved i want you to know that i have pray for God to lead me to a person like you and this has show his really a God that answer prayers, at least until I read what you did to my email, you f**king asshat.
Please kindly follow my instruction here is how you are going to distribute 100 bales of dried human sh** that I saved up after a visit to my country by your potus, nobama, and his awfully overweight secretary of state.
(1).Charity for orgasm home of people dressed like vaginas (2).Charity for the people with genital piercings (3).Charity for the people living with cancerous democraps (4).Charity for the homeless vaginas wandering around Tampon, FL (5).Charity for the ugly lesbian ducks (6).Charity for the blind uteruses (7).Charity for the widows and shutters that cover them (8) charity for occupy places people, who are in need of a sh** reload.
I has a phone number and wishes have speaks with you to clarify fact that I do, in fact, buttf**k goats.  reach me at any time on +22505345836.   Or email at Ezra Nehemiah <>
I am part of your breath-taking and historic commitment towards taking a public sh** in the middle of my village, while video cameras catch the moment for a YouTube video.
I masturbate until I hear from you.
Ezra Nehemiah

THAT got me a response:

what is gods name are you to my email?  you are bad mans no more you rite me.

I simply couldn't resist responding to his question:

I'm in God's name to your email?  I'd be bad mans to rite you about bananaz.  While we on subject of God and bananaz, how did you vote in Charlotte?

I'll never know how Ezra voted in Charlotte on God, cuz he won't respond to me no more. 

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Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Is Charlotte Ready for Chicago Values?

Okay, so the RNC had their day in the sun.  Which the dems were gleefully hoping to be washed out to sea by Hurricane Issac.

But Issac didn't prove to be a good liberal hurricane.

Oh it's the dem's turn to see how their 'Chicago Values' go over in Charlotte, NC.

My pet rock, Seymour, found me a circular from the DNC that promised other activities for convention goers to take a break with.

I doubt that they intended it to be representative of 'Chicago Values', as espoused by Rahm Emanuel.

So I helped them a bit, to make the circular more liberally-oriented and truthful in a way that libs tend to grind their teeth at, as it were:

From bloviating speeches about the glory of marxism and Islamofascism, to parties being hosted while Louisiana learns the backstroke, to fact-void lectures and indoctrinaire discussions, there will be a lot going on during the week of the convention, and most of it will be misreported and misrepresented by ABC, CBS, NBC, CNN, the NYT and the WashPo.

We of the DNC have no time for truth.

No, what you're going to see in Charlotte is some of our udopian dream on parade.  You’re going to see dancing uteruses and vaginas, fresh from their dousing in Tampon, Florida, performing live abortions on stage, choreographed to Rachel Maddow’s menstrual cycle.

For those visitors and locals who want to get out of Uptown for a little exercise before the official daily proceedings begin, you are not welcome here; only our dependency class welfare couch potatoes are welcome here in Charlotte in 2012. 

Granted, we defend their right not to have to prove they're legal to vote, but they better bring their IDs to get in at our convention.  We luvs us hypocrisy, because our media allies won't call us on it.

Our Host Committee has partnered with the Catawba Gangland Flash Mobs, to allow flashmob looting of the fine shopping and dining opportunities that Charlotte has to offer, so our inner city, union thug and criminal delegates don’t feel out of place or lose their touch. Same goes for our allies and HAZMAT-quality friends in the Occupy movement; we won’t have trash pick up or any other hygienic activity that makes you feel unwelcome.

We democrats are all about infecting Charlotte with Chicago Values. We’re already ready with "Blame Bush" signs to be posted on every crime scene this week.

Each Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday morning during Convention Week, flash mobs will be unleashed on Walmarts, Chick-Fil-As, anything remotely related to Bain Capital, or anything else that we have identified as being owned and/or run by greedy, mean-spirited Republicans. If we don’t leave Charlotte looking like Detroit when we’re done, we have failed our base.

Looking to work up a bit of liberal hatemongering and vandalism? Anarchists can take part in a especially violent flashmob scene, to be announced shortly before it’s unleashed, hosted by "Republicans and Decent People Run for Your Life". Additionally, Forcible Income Redistribution, Chicago-Style, will be hosted by the Nation of Islam and New Black Panthers, in conjunction with MS 13 and the Muslim Brotherhood. Chris Matthews will be the keynote inciter.

The events are open to the public whether the public wants them or not; police protection is not available if you’re conservative. Choose wisely from our list of uncivil disobedience events, and choose the event you would like to be victimized at, so we can misuse your story later to show how all of this is Bush’s fault.

The deterioration of life and property are all a part of Charlotte Mayor Anthony Foxx’s "We Want Chicago Values Across America NOW" program.  Brought to you by the purveyors of the "You Didn't Build Nuthin" Small Business Denigrators, David Axelrod, Chairscum of More Marxist Hoax And Change in '12 and Beyond...

Charlotte will need their own hurricane to clean up their streets after this is over...

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Sunday, September 2, 2012

Awww, Poor Democwats

The lamestream news media chose to edit their time spent on the RNC this past week.

Which was probably fine with the RNC.  Less misreporting and misrepresentation by the lamestreamers is always a good thing.

But the lamestreamers were counting on having LOTS to report on the protests outside the RNC this past week.  Lots of angst-ridden protesters.  Lots of made-up sob stories.  Lots of violence that could be attributed to the police or Bush.

Lots of things to denigrate Republicans with.

And they didn't get it.

There was a story on Yahoo that came out about how the protests at the RNC this week just never got traction.  Well, I had a little extree fun with it, and put my own non-lamestream media 'spin' to it.  Scammers catch a break for the next few days, while I have some fun with the Left:

Protests Fade Like Farts In A Hurricane During GOP Convention
Three dozen scraggily anti-GOP protesters hit a lull of silence as they marched through a low-income neighborhood in west Tampa. "What do we think we’re doing?" shouted one protester to his cohorts, expressing frustration that "we’re being shown up by oversized vaginas!"

Shown up isn’t the right word for protests at the Republican National Convention in Tampa this week. They have been unexpectedly muted and even the protesters know it. pMsNBc propaganda had claimed that thousands of demonstrators would be there to disrupt the convention, but only a few dozen smelly, dirty, disheveled Occupiers, Greenies, and Code Pink vaginas showed up.

"It was Issac, damn him" mused one Occupy protester. "The threat of heavy rain, well, it was like having to take a shower, and having Nature return us to the bourgeois or something". Activists blame the threat of Hurricane Isaac, first and foremost, for dampening their plan to have thousands turn out in Tampa. "We’re so used to stinking", said one seriously contemplative Occupier, "that the mere idea of getting wet and even remotely clean, was so, like, totally just not like, you know, us".

The protester then asked if anyone have videoed him for a YouTube posting.

Some activists worry they have no momentum built for the Democratic National Convention in Charlotte, N.C., next week, and then the anniversary of Occupy Wall Street next month.   But they'll have Cheese Nips.

"Unless you have the numbers out on the street, you really can't change anything," said one Occupier from an EPA site in New Jersey. Another protester said that "all the numbers are at the NFL preseason games, dammit".

The first protester denied knowing the second one.

The protesters were behind the eight ball even before the convention started. The threat of cleansing rain stopped at least 16 busloads of activists from coming to town.  It further didn't help that bus operators didn't want their equipment soiled by the slovenly Occupiers. Downpours on Monday put a damper on a kickoff march that drew only several dozen Code Pink vaginas, all of which kept tripping over their soggy, sagging parts. And rain continued off and on throughout the week, keeping Occupiers afraid of getting clean.

"Nobody came down because of this weather," said one protester, a 38-year-old welfare entitlee and professional unemployment recipient from New York, who is part of the Occupy Wall Street movement.  "I mean, we could have thrown feces and stuff all over us after it rained", the protester whined.  "We could have..I was ready", causing the interviewer to give ground rapidly.

And the well-turned-out police presence was also a damper for the eager "Chicago Values" protesters.  Groups of officers are stationed on almost every corner of downtown. They are riding around, drinking coffee and eating donuts...and being bored.

While many activists were forced admit that the police were restrained and polite -- they even shared their coffee and donuts -- they said the number of officers on the streets crimped their style.

"I'm really sad that every four years there is so many cops at these conventions," said a Green Party official. "It's not fair for our plans for flash mobs to rob and vandalize businesses here, to show how serious we are about what we believe in, which is more handouts and wealth redistribution via a brick through a store window. It’s all about Chicago Values, and it’s obvious that Tampa doesn’t have them yet, dammit".

The lamestream media failed to prop up the protesters to be heard. Few people would give the media the time of day, so they spent most of their time in bars and massage parlors, leaving the streets nearly empty and the protesters ignored.

"We could protest until we're blue in the face but there weren't people around who gave a crap" said a 35-year-old organic pot grower from New York who is part of Occupy Chick-Fil-A.

On Thursday, 16 protesters, watched by 35 officers, marched from their temporary EPA Super Fund site to Domino's Pizza to protest corporate-owned businesses. Not one person paid them any mind, and not one TV camera bothered to record them for YouTube.  No one would even give them free pizza that they felt entitled to.

Most discouraging.

Many EPA Superfund Site residents are relocating their impromptu bio-hazard community to Charlotte and the Democratic convention. They are hoping for bigger crowds and more energy, drawing on Occupy activists and freebie seekers from cities along the Eastern seaboard.

"Who knows?" said one protester, "maybe we can disrupt the Democrats. We gotta disrupt something, otherwise, what are we good for?" The protester then checked his cell phone to see if his welfare payment had been posted to his account, and headed for a nearby liquor store.

Next up:  a circular for the DNC in Charlotte that my pet rock, Seymour, found for me to 'edit' to make it more factually accurate, even if libs loathe accuracy in a factual sense....

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