The Thunderbird Hotel

There it is... This old timey photo of an old timey place means more to me than it does to anyone else you know in the whole entire world.

My car is not seen in this photograph. Nor am I. But I'm in there. And so is my dad. See, my dad, former cut man to Baby Arizmendi, arch enemy of Henry Armstrong, finally left the boxing business and got into the restaurant trade, eventually giving up a very lucrative position at the Mocambo in LA to begin working as a Captain in the Thunderbird showroom. And eventually I got to work summers as a busboy in the showroom. It was extremely exciting for a little Mormon boy who was striving to hold onto his virginity. Boy, did I keep a hold on it...

There was a cigarette girl... She was maybe 5'2", but very full bodied. On Saturday nights we would add a two person table to the end of the eight person tables and it would severely restrict the aisles and if two people met, they would have to squuueeeezzzeeee by one another. In other words, I would have a portion of my body pressed tightly against a portion of her body for up to 1.5 seconds. There was a purity, an almost sacred innocence to this rutting behavior of mine. I would float on clouds of lust, sacred lust, after each 'meeting/meating.'

Later, after my Mission, I tracked her down and apologized. I also asked her out but her husband interrupted and asked me to leave.

I hope each of you has a reservoir of innocence you can draw from during dry periods of excess impurity, and I really, really hope that mangling metaphors doesn't make you grind your teeth.

And no, my confrontation with the Mafia didn't happen here. It was when I worked for two weeks at the Sultan's Table, at the Dunes. I'll get to that eventually.

I met a Girl Named Avarice in a Town Without Pity

Yeah, her parents really did name her Avarice. There was a time when she experimented with nicknames, like Ava and Rici, but it was half-hearted. She decided that she was worth the effort of calling her by her full 'christian' name.

I met Avarice just after my first wife and I split up. The wounds were still hot and steamy. No wait, those were the turds. The wounds were superficial and healing quickly. Avarice helped.

Avarice was 23 and was working in a bank. I'd finagle the line as best I could to try to get to her window. She obviously knew my financial despair, which I would work against me. But it turned out to be a positive; she wanted someone poor, someone who yearned for both love AND money. But I was lucky. I yearned for love, but money, I could take or leave. Seriously! I have no reverence for money. I treat it very poorly. And this saved me from Avarice. Because she was looking for someone she could stupefy with the glory of her fresh young body and then mold into a criminal. So after a couple of weeks of enjoying her every fleshy pleasure, she suggested I commit a criminal act that would result in a great deal of money. I said no. She dumped me and I had to switch banks.

So see? Innocence is a very worthwhile character trait. And it came in very handy when I had that run in with the Mafia in Vegas, back when Las Vegas was still old timey. Remind me to tell you about how I saved my dad's career when the Mafia was after him and all I used was just a little bitty shtick.

"Urinal Our Dreams" sponsored by Hygiene Cakes of America

My latest display of below average genius:

A reality show based on listening to guys talk as they're taking a piss. There could even be the occasional soliloquy. Each week we visit a different establishment where alcohol is served. One week it could be a high class country club, like Congressional, outside of Washington D.C., or Augusta National. And then the next week the cameras might be rolling in a pseudo pub in Boston, or the Las Muniecas cantina in Santa Ana. And to spice things up, for the final fifteen minutes of the show, a good looking girl goes in and pretends to be a wash room attendant.

There will be a lot of bleeping if they do it on a regular broadcast or cable channel, so for the best results, it'll have to be on HBO.

Thank you and good night. Be sure to join us next week when we travel to Sioux City, Iowa, and for a night of pissing at the Bull Run Bar & Grill.

Family Photos

These are my three sons. Mike is the oldest, 32. Then there's Roby, 21, and Andrew, 18. Andrew can't sit still, which makes for blurry photos. But if you are simply desperate to see a good photo of him, email me and I'll send him to you so you can take your own photo. If you don't want to send him back, that's okay.



I've had some requests for a photo of Liz Bananas. She's very shy, in fact, painfully bashful, when it comes to being photographed, even with the success of that show, Big World, Little People, or whatever the name of it is. We feel very blessed (said the Laztheist) that our children were born basically of normal size. I love how she's kept her figure, despite all the kids and the natural assault of the passing years. Here she is cleaning the pool yesterday.

Oh, yeah... In the top photo, Mike's oldest son, Jayson, is at the far left. His youngest daughter, Dana Bananas (They liked the alliteration) is between Mike and Roby. Mike's other daughters, Taylor and Stephanie, didn't want their photos put on my blog because they already have enough attention paid to them.

Roby and Andrew don't have kids yet. My two daughters, Kris and Gaby, are in Utah and Colorado, respectively (but not respectfully). Kris has four and Gaby has two and both have retired from the baby derby. But my three boys will be adding to my totals.

The Ultimate Bad Guy will be a Mute

If you're planning a career as an Evil Madman, or even just a Career Bad Guy, take my advice and rip out your voice box. Success in any endeavor is pretty much contingent on the brain power applied to said endeavor. You seldom see double digit IQ people achieving greatness or getting away with serious crimes.

But when you apply the necessary brains to a career in crime, or to doing Evil, it apparently becomes impossible to keep your mouth shut when confronting those opposing you. And when you open your mouth to boast, brag, elucidate or otherwise toot your own horn, the good guys win. You know this, you know this, but yet if you don't rip out your voice box, you'll eventually end up being defeated.

Rip out your voice box and preprint a list of your achievements and goals and leave it pinned to the bodies of your victims, the ones you shoot, stab, poison, irradiate, skin, skewer, etc.

Like most great plans, it is simple, yet elegant.

You're welcome.

Six Strips of Bacon on a double decker Wendy Burger

This is insanity! Serious, serious insanity!

It's just as insane as a denatured tofu burger on unleavened bread.

Tonight's best line from The Simpsons: "How come all the things that happen to stupid people keep happening to me?"

But back to the insanity of six strips of bacon on a double decker Wendy Burger: if I hear of any of you buying and consuming one of these, I will mock you with the cruelty normally reserved for panty-less mock divas. But this threat only works as long as responsible women keep their panties on. Our way of life could go down the toilet if Opray should take to going out panty-less.

The Key to Survival

I don't really have the key to survival. I was just hoping to hook you in. But it's still an interesting notion: if Evolution works, why are there still "ugly" people. (if you accept the fact that there is a standard of beauty, then you have to accept that when you get far enough down the continuum from the Beauty end, there's an Ugly end.)

When I first heard the question, my immediate response was "Beer!" But while this may explain some couplings, and thus births, it isn't the answer the educator was looking for. Knowing that none of us knew the point of his question, he answered it.

A standard of beauty does exist, but it is different for males and females. So 'less than beauty' exists because a Handsome man will marry a Beautiful woman and a daughter of theirs my inherit his face or body type, which on a female is seen as 'less than beauty.' And vice versa.

And while there is a certain amount of logic to this, I decided that my answer was just as good.

What were his thoughts each night as he was falling asleep?

Dredging Drudge...

A bus driver in Poland kept trying to enter a contest, via text messages. But he was using a company issued cell phone, with a company rule that limited him to $5/month in usage. Here's the excerpt that captures this tale:

Leszek Wojcik, a bus driver in the northwestern Polish city of Slupsk, ran up a tab of some 94,000 zlotys ($34,000) with his text messages while trying to win a 100,000-zloty ($36,000) SMS contest

Now you have to figure that the first time he text-messaged an entry, he had it somehow justified. It was only .86 cents. But something happened and he couldn't stop himself. At some point he probably figured that he HAD to keep playing so he could win and pay that ever growing phone bill. If he knew when the billing cycle ended and thus when his phone bill would be received at headquarters, then those last couple of nights before B-Day were probably pretty ugly, from his point of view. How would you feel if you knew your life, as you knew it, was going to end on a date certain?

Why won't people let Everything mean Something?

Practitioners of Global Warming are currently touting new reports that Las Vegas has never been hotter. Temperature hotter, not rhapsodically hotter.

If you ask one of these practitioners about the record setting low temperatures in Australia this year, you get no response. If you mention the freakish Peruvian cold snap, you get no response. If you point out that there is evidence that Greenland used to have a Club Med location, you get no response.

But shouldn't each and every 'fact' mean something?

Yea and verily, I tell you that 'facts' are the devil's playthings when a person gets away with picking and choosing which 'facts' are the foundation of his faith.

If you can't work every fact into your system of belief, don't have a system of belief. When you can work every fact into your system of belief, that's a good start, but be prepared, because new facts are always emerging, like bubbles in a Mexican's bathtub.

Golf Fun

My oldest son, Mike, lives in Utah. He's married and has four kids. He and his family have spent the last ten days here in SoCal. His wife's grandmother, an arch-Mormon, is a millionairess, with whom I've tried to create a warm and nutured relationship, but she resists my efforts to rifle her purse.

I'm not a doting grandparent. Last Saturday was the first time I'd seen my newest granddaughter since her birth, nine months ago. And it was exactly as I'd expected, she had very little to say to me. She comes across as completely childish and self-absorbed: perfect sales lady material.

Mike and I played golf last Saturday. He doesn't get to play that often in Utah, like not at all during the winter and maybe two times the rest of the year. But he spent a lot of time playing as a teen, every summer when he'd come spent time with us.

Saturday is my regular golf day with the Asians. As opposed toe my regular golf day, Wednesday, with the Barbers.

We won both times. He and I were a team in a game against two Asians. He topped his first drive, as we were discussing how many strokes they would give us. After that piss poor drive, the leading Asian said, "Okay, we'll give you four strokes on the front and adjust on the back." I wanted to argue that we didn't need that many but Mike interrupted and shut me up. We beat them by five strokes, scratch, meaning we were up nine strokes. So we had to give them two strokes on the back, but beat them, plus took the press hole, too. It was awesome.

Then today he played with the Barbers. Three groups of four. We were the last group, paired up with Don "Fuck this Game!" Anderson and his son-in-law, Scott. Don wasn't playing all that well and kept moaning about how we were going to lose. But we didn't. We beat the other teams and Don "Love this Game!" Anderson happily pocketed his share of the winnings.

This coming Saturday Mike and his family will stop by on their way home and spend some time with us. I'll post some photos so you ladies can judge the power and majesty of my seed. The men can see, too, but it won't do them any good.

Preempting Global Warming: a new scheme for Albert Gore, Jr.

But first, three caveats:

1. I did better in school than Al Gore.
2. I don't 'believe' in Global Warming. I do believe in Climate Change.
3. I enjoy a good scam as much as the next guy.

If man-caused Global Warming exists, buying Carbon Offsets only attempts to mitigate the excessive CO2 production the purchaser has just made. Al has to teach us to Preempt Global Warming by buying Carbon Offsets before we produce more CO2. He's got to convince as many as he can that if enough Carbon Offsets are purchased, Global Cooling can be produced and the Human Race will have been saved!

A lot is being said and written about whether Al Gore will run for President. Commentators on both sides make good points. Here's a point I haven't seen expressed: Within the personal memories of the majority of the world, no Presidential administration has ended with a standing ovation. Al knows that any administration he headed would suffer the same fate; ruling America is just a popularity contest that no one will ever win again. President Albert Gore, Jr. doesn't have the same ring to it that Savior of the Human Race Albert Gore, Jr. does.

I think that he sees this simple comparison and is going for it.

What's your Reality Show Idea?

Naturally my favorite Reality Show is about Golf and Sex. I won't bore you with the details. But the title is "...The 19th Hole." There is golf, there is mystery and there is sex. Sure, the golf part might not sound interesting, but you'd probably watch if the mystery and the sex were good.

But enough about my genius... They are announcing new Reality Shows for the fall. None has captured my fancy. Although TBN's show about a studio faking a reality show a studio that fakes a reality show does seem to have some promise.

Probably the next step in reality shows (which of course is integral in my show, "...The 19th Hole," is doing away with participants who WANT to be there. I have always hated that factor in the so called reality shows. I swear, I never wanted to be on Survivor or any other reality show. (I did at one time fantasize a lot about being on Gilligan's Island... Some day I'll relate the story of me working for Joe Wells, Dawn Wells father. He was the 'front man' for the mob, when they owned the Thunderbird Hotel in Las Vegas. What a kidder he was!) So anyway, the secret to great reality theater is to get people involved who don't want to be there! I believe there are ways to work around the rights guaranteed by the Constitution and the 14th Amendment. There are always ways...

So let me hear your ideas. I promise I will NOT rip them off. Swear...

Heck if I know ...

This is not an answer that is normally acceptable outside of personal relationships. You can "heck if know" a mate or a friend all you want and you are probably more tolerated than someone who says he or see does know. In fact, I feel safe in assuming that we all have friends and relatives who would be offended if we "knew" because then they couldn't tell us. And some people just have to tell us...

But it's not the same in corporate America. Although I can see how it might be a very liberating phrase to use when it is in fact the truth, I am probably not going to be a leader in trying to gain its acceptance. Mostly because I don't trust in the ability of upper management types to fully comprehend how the phrase ultimately liberates communications between disparate groups and even with different levels of the same group.

I'm writing this to both educate and encourage: Understand that "Heck if I know" is an expression of ultimate truth. (And the Truth shall set you free!) And please consider liberating yourself, every once in a while, by using this phrase. I don't expect you to endanger your employment situation, as when a boss-type asks you how the group you're working with is doing in preparing the Vanderhousen proposal, because I can see where admitting ignorance is counter-productive, but I do want you to have the phrase ready for use in a corporate situation that is both safe, and mutually beneficial. Such as when you're talking to your boss's wife over the phone, right after seeing your boss escort the about to go back to school hot Summer intern into a storage closet. She may not appreciate "Heck if I know" but you know who will...

But seriously, "Heck if I know," just like the Truth, can set you free.

Not that I'm Jealous or anything, but I am ranked 21st in Competitive Breeding West of the Mississippi

Hey, I wasn't going to say a word, but that flagrant shameless self-promoter, Steakbellie ((Tripebellie makes more sense...) is all "Hey, I'm #22 now...!"

Well, that stats were reviewed at the end of June and it's official, I'm #21 on the competitive breeding list, West of the Mississippi. It's as messy as SB's hobby, but I think it's ultimately more satisfying, plus I only eat if I feel like it.

I may be doing some seminars in the Fall, should any of you ladies be interested... Check with the league website, InseminationNation.com, or OhGodOhGodOhGodOooooohGoddddddd.biz

I took this photo and I want you to guess what it is

There is no 'photo-shopping' involved. No alterations of any kind. I pointed the camera and pushed down the shutter release and this is what I ended up with.

While some of you venture a guess, I'll try to come up with a truly exciting story about it. The truth, as is usually the case, is pretty boring.

What if you could get married by lease or month to month?

Right, I'm aware that this can only be considered if there are no off-spring. And yes, I know your second question is, "people who are living together are essentially already 'leased' to each other, or living in a month to month relationship, so why bother with legalities?"

"Why bother with legalities...?" For those of you who actually consider this a rational question, bend yourselves over your knees and paddle your asses till at least one cheek is a soft rosy color, because you've asked a very, very terrible question!

Just think about it: Where would we be without lawyers?

But back to the marriage by lease or month to month agreement... Right now if you're living together, you can't inherit from your mate's estate if he/she dies intestate. Instead, a bunch of Common Law hooey kicks in and the next thing you know, some of his/her relatives are going through Katrocket's apartment asking her if this is her jockstrap, or through Pistolero's apartment asking him if this is his satin nightie. (Turns out it wasn't Kat's jockstrap, but Pistolero had the receipt to prove he bought the satin nightie at Blutto's Big & Tall, and it was, after all, a size 18.)

With a marriage lease, or month to month agreement, the Common Law gets it's dentures kicked in. And then there are the stipulations that can be written into the lease/agreement, items that a couple might put into their vows, but vows aren't binding. You can take a marriage lease into court and either mandate enforcement or receive monetary compensation: either she has to give him his 'birthday present' or pay for a licensed professional to give him his birthday present.

And it could just as easily work to the female's advantage, but speaking as a male who is truly sensitive to the needs of women, and who knows that 'happy women' are contented women and put out more, I can't imagine, even for a second, what a woman would want me to do that I wouldn't already have done on my own.





(In the history of bullshit, that last sentence is a contender for, if not a prize, at least Honorable Mention. Thank you.)

A Prediction . . .

You know how News Radio stations all follow a similar format? They do sports at 15 and 45 past the hour and there's weather and traffic at regular intervals?

Here's my prediction: Within the life time of the current President, Gbumbling W. Babushka, News Radio stations in large metropolitan markets will have 'Terrorist Reports' at regular intervals. Something like this:

And now it's time for the latest in terrorist news for the Southland. Here's Ricky Sanchez.

Thanks, Pat. Well, the firefight between residents of San Marino and terrorists looks to be just about over. Organ gathering has already started at the first intersection where terrorists blew up and IED. We have reports that terrorists are gathering near the refinery in Torrance and National Guard troops are reconnoitering. You may want to stay away from Del Amo Road near the refinery for the next half hour.

Now let's go to our eye in the sky, Doug Blankenship, in the KABC A-10 Warhog. Doug, what's the latest?

Hi, Ricky. Well, I'm over the Coliseum and I'm taking fire from a small group of terrorist who appear to be on the way to the DMV building on Martin Luther King. And I just flew over Olvera Street where two terrorists were trying to kill innocent civilians, but Brown Power enthusiasts are now barbecuing their remains. And now I'm on my way to Santa Monica where a group of young terrorist are trying to get bathers to dress more modestly. Back to you Ricky.

Thanks, Doug. Well, that's it for terrorist news at 10:31 a.m., Pat.

There are 6.4 Billion Stories on the Naked Earth

Tell me your version of the story behind this apparently fine looking pair of shoes being left in a supermarket parking lot. But don't make me cry... Make it a happy story, but with a low point that builds quickly to a happy ending. No cliff hangers!

Without Being Needlessly Cruel or Insensitive, Who Does This Remind You Of?

The Private Aye

America's Navy in 1933 was an aging beauty who'd seen better times and now could barely totter a straight line in her rounded high heels. And she hadn't had a date since 1918 and boy, was she horny.

"Buggery on the High Seas," the Charnel House classic had yet to be published.

When two (or more) sailors got it on at sea, it was said that they were now Private Ayes.

This has now given way to the current state of affairs, were everything is done under the Public Aye.

Weird, huh?

With This Ring I Pee Wed: A new twist on the Wedding Shower

Cast of characters:

Pat Sturm, the soon to be bride; young, hip gorgeous

Pat Daley, the soon to be groom; young hip, gorgeous in his own way




Act One

Scene: their bathroom. Pat is naked in the shower as Pat enters, also naked.

Pat: DO YOU MIND IF I PEE WHILE YOU'RE SHOWERING?

Pat: WHY DON'T YOU JUST COME IN THE SHOWER AND PEE IN HERE?

Pat: EWW, THAT'S KIND OF GROSS!

Pat: WHAT IF WE WERE MARRIED?

Pat: (silence)

Pat: DID YOU HEAR ME?

Pat: ARE YOU ASKING ME TO MARRY YOU?

Pat: IF THAT'S WHAT IT'LL TAKE FOR YOU TO PEE ON ME.

Pat: OKAY, LET'S DO IT!

Pat: WHAT? PEE IN THE SHOWER OR GET MARRIED?


Act Two

Scene: Their bathroom. Pat is wearing a beautiful wedding gown, while Pat is muy mas macho in a tux.

Pat: SO, READY TO HIT THE SHOWER?

Pat: YOU STILL WANT ME TO PEE ON YOU?

Pat: DON'T YOU WANT TO PEE ON ME?

Pat: NO.

Pat: WELL, THEN, WHY DID YOU MARRY ME?

Pat: BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!

Pat: GREAT. I HOPE YOU LOVE ME ENOUGH TO PEE ON ME?

Pat: OF COURSE I DO. BUT HOW OFTEN WILL HAVE TO?

Pat: HEY, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO, JUST SAY SO. THIS MARRIAGE ISN'T CONSUMMATED UNTIL YOU'VE PEED ON ME SO...

Pat: (interrupting) YOU'D ANNUL OUR MARRIAGE IF I DIDN'T PEE ON YOU?

Pat: NO, I'D ANNUL IT BECAUSE YOU DON'T LOVE ME.

Pat: OKAY, GET INTO THE SHOWER, NOW!

Act Three

Scene: A different, space age looking bathroom. They are wearing matching explosive vests. And they both look to be around 80 or 90 years old.

Pat: YOU READY?

Pat: I WAS BORN READY!

Pat: I'VE NEVER LOVED YOU MORE THAN THIS MOMENT.

Pat: NOT EVEN WHEN WE PEED ON EACH OTHER?

Pat: OH, YEAH, THAT WAS GREAT. BUT BLOWING UP THE HOME OWNERS ASSOCIATION BOARD MEETING WITH YOU. WHAT AN EXIT! WHAT A LEGACY!

Pat: WANNA PEE ON ME ONE LAST TIME?

Pat: YOU KNOW, HOW ABOUT WE PEE ON THE HOME OWNER ASSOCIATION PRESIDENT AS WE DETONATE?

Pat: NO WAY! HE SHOULD BE SO LUCKY. NO, DARLING, REMEMBER, WHEN THEY ASK FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS, THEY TOLL FOR PEE.

They exit the bathroom, stage right.

FINI

Blogs You'd Probably Read, Based on the Titles

Here's the deal, take any one, two or more of these titles and write a sub-title on the "...or how I ..." principle. For instance, if there was a title, "Groin Pains," you could say, "...or one man's search for his Mother." Get it? Hint: you have to let go . . .


1. Waking Up Dickless

2. The Search for Nipple Ripple ice cream

3. Rumors of an Elastic Scholastic

4. Bacteria I've Loved

5. One Gay at a Time

6. Phishing & Pharting

7. When Life hands you Lemons, Acid Rain is overkill.

8. Fritos, Nachos and the Cisco Kid

9. Impersonal Sex with the One You Love

10. Wright writes rites, right? Wrong!

11. My Louisville Slugger After-Hours Club

12. With a Schlong in My Heart

A High Point in Grabbing at the Impulse Shopper

My wife joined NetFlicks a long time ago. I've never ordered or looked at a NetFlicks DVD. It's a personality disorder, but I don't care to change it. But this thing nailed me. I've heard a lot about "Happy Feet" but hadn't seen and had no plans to see it. But then I ran into the above diabolical machine at our local Albertson's. Intrigued by the shiny buttons and the pretty screens, I ended up reviewing their menu of available DVDs, swiped my credit card and selected "Happy Feet." I went home and my wife and I watched it and I took the DVD back this morning.

So now I'll just wait until HP & the Order of the Phoenix shows up in this machine. Naw, I won't ever do this again. I feel so violated, but I did it to myself. So that should probably be called violabation...

Another in a short line of ideas to Preserve the American Way

You've seen it, in every fast food establishment you've ever been in: abuse of the free napkins. Sometimes the restaurants try to limit the abuse by not allowing free access to the napkins, but the louts of whom I complain simply keep going back to the counter to ask for more.

Since it's not likely that fast food establishments are going to have round the clock Bouncers/Enforcers, the next best thing, and a veritable slap in the face that Americans need, is for them NOT to provide napkins. Big signs would need to be put up announcing the new policy and with a spacious time frame for customers to prepare themselves.

Americans think they are entitled to free napkins, toilet paper (I'll wait on this one) free cream and sugar, salt and pepper, ketchup, and other condiments. We've created generations of 'gimme-gimme' people.

People will learn respect this way, for themselves and for others.

Hey, it's a start.

Battling on the Homefront

I have my problems with McDonald's, but obviously since I continue to patronize their outlets (especially for breakfast) I'm dealing with it. Right now I am fighting my way up the corporate ladder with regard to the pricing structure with regard to the Deluxe Big Breakfast. Here are the salient points:

1. There is no menu available; all you can reference is their 'tote board.'

2. The tote board says Deluxe Big Breakfast, $3.99.

3. There is no mention about a beverage.

4. But when you order it, you are asked, "coffee or orange juice?" The $3.99 price includes a small coffee or an orange juice.

5. I discovered the 'Senior Soda' a few months ago. It's a small soda for $.49, and I was substituting the Senior Soda for the offered beverage, and paying the same $3.99.

6. Recently a Caucasian female in a manager's outfit was looking over the shoulder of one of the young girls at the register. I placed my regular order and the girl was keying it in when the manager said that I couldn't have a Senior Soda with the Deluxe Breakfast at the $3.99 price. I had to pay for a regular soda, which was extra. No matter what I said, wailed, lamented, begged, cried, she wouldn't see my points, that A. since I'd been getting that price for months, she was estopped from changing an established procedure, and that B., a small soda was the same amount of liquid, and probably cheaper for them, as a small coffee.

Knowing human nature as I do, I knew that I was only arguing for the fun of it. She would NEVER back down. So I walked out. I stood outside looking in and when she went to the back, I went back in and ordered. After I got my food, she came back out and became wroth herself when she found out what I'd done. Since then she watches for me.

But I outfoxed her, which is hardly worthy of any credit, since she is underpaid and overworked and has, literally, zero incentive to battle with me. Now when she's there, I order the Deluxe Breakfast with a small coffee and then dump the coffee and fill the cup at the self-service fountain with yummy Diet Coke, no ice. Yummers!

But I am protesting the situation and I've had discussions with the office of the local franchisee and the District Franchise Director, in San Bernardino. No one wants to see my point of view, which I totally understand, but this is helping prepare me for my position of Town Council Gadfly, which I will occupy once I am allowed to retire. The Town Council meets in the evenings, so it won't interfere with golf.

Hindu Cleric's U.S. Senate Prayer Shouted Down!!

The followers of Jesus Christ have struck another blow for the Second Commandment: they interrupted a Hindu cleric's official opening prayer in the U.S. Senate on Thursday, 7-12-07.

The prayer by the Hindu cleric was thought by the Senate Sub-Committee on Getting along with Everyone to be a good idea. And there was no trouble during the first few minutes of the prayer, when the Hindu holy man called on Brahma to bless the efforts of those assembled in the Senate Chambers. But then as the prayer dragged on, and the cleric was working his way down the cast of colorful characters who serve as the Hindu Godly Round Table, people began to fidget. After Brahma came Vishnu. Then Siva, followed by Saraswathi, and then Lakshmi and Parvathi, and Ganesha (Ganesha got some light applause, from Simpson's afficionados) and Muruga and Anjaneya. By the time, 44 minutes later, he got to Navagrahms, three people had begun bellowing from the Senate Gallery. They were escorted out of the gallery by Capitol police, but only two of them were arrested. The third simply had a bladder ready to burst, "...but that M/F Hindu shithead wouldn't stop, no matter how I called on Jesus to shut him up!"

We have a long way to go before we can all sit around the table of universal understanding and friendship. But take heart, there were a few people in the Senate who did not wax wroth at the Hindu holy man, but later some of this group groused about drooling on their paperwork.

There is no Bottom to this Pit . . .

"Draft Al Gore" for president

A Draft Al Gore group delivered the former vice president more than 100,000 signatures on a petition urging him to mount a White House bid. Draft Gore organizers brought the list of Gore fans to the Democrat's Nashville office yesterday morning, and called the number a "major milestone." "This enormous outpouring of support for Al Gore is testimony both to his enduring appeal among the grassroots and to the dissatisfaction of the Democratic base with the current crop of declared candidates," said Monica Friedlander, chairman of the draft effort, which has been spotted here and in New Hampshire, New York, Iowa and California.

The group also is running radio ads to persuade Gore to jump in the race.

There's nothing I can say about the movement to draft Al Gore, assuming that we're talking a NASCAR racing strategy. But they're not, so I can speak. And here's what I'm speaking:

Al Gore is a politician. He desperately wants to be President. He's out of politics, leave him there. I could be dead before the next President finishes two terms, so if it's going to be a Democrat, make it one who isn't so goddam dumb, okay?

And what radio station(s) are they advertising on? Have they checked his SUV to see what stations he listens too? Paying money to a radio station in hopes that Gore will hear their ad? Why not just email him a .wav file? His fans deserve him...

What's the opposite of "Leave Me Alone!"

You can scream at Jehovah Witnesses all you want when they're on your doorstep and they won't turn a hair. They'll smile serenely at you, no matter how much you escalate the vitriol. But peek in the back door of a Kingdom Hall during a Sabbath Meeting and shout that Allah is Great and Jesus Sucks and they'll go all vitriolic on your gawd-fearing ass.

Anyway, it's easy to tell the world to leave you alone. But what short and sweet comment can you make that will get the world to pay attention to you?

Resolving this question could lighten more than a few loads, you know. There are literally millions, maybe even a billion of us, who would like to be paid more attention.

If you can help out, please do. But in the meantime, until this matter is resolved, please smile at those people --they are so easily recognizable-- who look like they could really use it.

If you're one of us, try begging like this. It's very liberating. I am the moral equialent of a guy standing at the end of the off-ramp, with a crudely drawn sign asking for money. But in my case, I'm just asking for a little attention. Even faux attention will be happily accepted.

Thank you.

Another Realty Bite (in the ass)

Again from Drudge:

LONDON (Reuters) - A "fat tax" on salty, sugary and fatty foods could save thousands of lives each year, according to a study published on Thursday.

According to a study I just made of my navel, a Dumb Tax wouldn't save a single life, but would wipe out the Federal deficit, and cut serious inroads into the National Debt.

Speaking of which, the current debt is 8.8 trillion dollars. With the estimated population of the United States at roughly 302,413,053, give or take an abortion, each citizen's share of this debt is $29,346.03. And you just know that your brother-in-law Greg, and your Uncle Sid and his wife and five kids are NEVER going to put up their shares. So it's me and you, buddy. (F'ing Kat doesn't have to pay a dime because she's North of the Border.)

It's such a drop in the bucket, but still... The National Debt has, since late 2006, continued to increase an average of $1.28 billion per day.

You know how you're branded a total loser if you accumulate a lot of credit card debt and then only make the minimum monthly payments? And it does make you a financial loser, no matter how many push-ups you can do or how many women think you're cute. So what does it make the USA, since that's all we do, is make the minimum payments and we even borrow more money so we can make those mounting minimum payments and still buy things we don't need!

The solution: Don't vote in November of 2008. Don't send ANYONE to your local town council, your state capitol or Washington D.C. Let the salaried bureaucrats carry on for four years without a President/Commander-in-Chief or a sitting congress. The savings will enormous and the economy would boom like you wouldn't believe.

I'm perfectly serious...

But to get back to my original thesis on this topic: dumb people abound. According to the Guv'nor, there are even rich dumb people. (Some day I'll tell you about dating the USC Alum, lad Scion, rich like I never believed, who wanted me to go with her to Peru to help her catch a Alpaca-Llama, for a private zoo a friend of hers had. I only mention her in support of the Guv'nor's point.) If dumb people had to pay a fine every time they did something dumb, our grandchildren would reach maturity in a world where our tax dollars could afford Universal Sex. And Universal Health, too.

Fantasy Breeding Leagues

When you're watching sports on TV, inevitably you'll see an ad for a fantasy league in the sport you're watching sponsored by the network you're watching. So far I've had no trouble resisting their allure; for me they just don't have any.

But it'll be a different thing if they start running Fantasy Breeding Leagues. A fantasy breeding league is where men (sorry ladies, this is strictly a guy thing) select 'popular' women, get them pregnant and then boss the wives and kids around. You can accumulate points by drinking fantasy beer, playing fantasy pool and racing fantasy cars. The more points you accumulate, the more wives you can have. Eventually your league will run out of 'well known' women and you'll have to bring in 'unknowns' such as, "the chick who used worked on a print production team at a large ad agency/publisher" but you have to be able to post of photo of her so all the other guys in the league can envy you.

It should come as no surprise to you that I'm too lazy to actually put any of this thought into action. I'll just sit here and day dream about it.

Without Lazy People, Everything would get Done but there wouldn't be New Stuff to do.

Just about any new invention or process is the result of Laziness. (This has nothing to do with Laztheism...) From the beginning, it was lazy people driving Humanity to the technological heights we've attained. The first person to use a hunting dog, the first person to yoke an oxen, the first person to figure out soap was easier to wash with than sand... The list is endless.

Unfortunately, there are lazy bullies, too. And that's where the advances in weaponry came from.

Sexually lazy people have made their contributions, too. Today we call it hedonism and most of us just pick and chose, as the mood hits us, which is the way lazy people do things. People who seem to be driven to practice hedonism aren't lazy.

Me, I'm intellectually lazy, which is useful when you need someone to explain to you why it's okay to stay in shape by doing bench presses in your mind. And maybe I've come full circle, maybe this is about Laztheism?

Women of the Web, is this true?

From Drudge:

CHICAGO (Reuters) - Muscular young men are likely to have more sex partners than their less-chiseled peers, researchers at the University of California Los Angeles said on Monday.

Their study, published in the Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, suggests muscles in men are akin to elaborate tail feathers in male peacocks: They attract females looking for a virile mate.

"Women are predisposed to prefer muscularity in men," said study author David Frederick of UCLA.

I have strong beliefs about what women are predisposed to do...

What I've always been curious about was how hard they fought their predispositions. The fact that I've sired children is obvious proof that there are women who will take positions totally against their self interests. I am aware that rationalization makes us capable of the most awful things. But when you really get down to it, without rationalization, we'd probably eat our young.

Anyway, the sponsors of the study, Bally Total Fitness, said the results took them totally by surprise!

A Curious Story

Fred Thompson, whom I've never seen on TV, may soon officially join the race for his party's nomination for President of the United States. He appeals to Conservatives of the conservative party. And as such he has to be anti-abortion.

There is a story currently frothing on a soon to crash wave about Thompson having been hired by a family planning group to lobby the first Pres. Bush to overturn that Bush's rule that clinics that preached family planning (meaning abortion) could not receive Federal Money. Two people in the story I read recall crystal clear incidents involving his efforts in that lobbying. But a spokesman for Thompson, along with John Sununu, the man Thompson allegedly spent time lobbying, both deny that the lobbying took place.

Thompson hasn't spoken directly to the press, but wsa quoted by a spokesman as stating he had no recollection of he events portrayed. John Sununu spoke directly on the issue and said that Thompson did not do the lobbying described by members of the family planning group. The family planning group said that it had made payments to Thompson's law firm. But that law firm has yet to comment on whether or not they received this money. All this was back in 1991.

Supporters of Thompson say that he has public stated that seeing the sonogram of his daughter, who is now three, was a watershed event in his life and whatever his feelings were prior to that moment, with the viewing, they coalesced into his current fervid Pro-Life position, and that's all that should count.

As a former candidate for President, my opinion on this matter is as worthless as anyone elses. But just so there is no mistaking my position, I am pro-abortion. Not for any namby-pamby women's rights issues, but because there are just too freaking many humans on the I-405 Freeway in the mornings and afternoons.

Every few years we hear about one or another of the Channel Islands being overrun with goats or deer and the cry goes up that the herds need to be thinned. Well, the same goes for many areas of the Earth, in terms of the human herds overrunning those areas. It's not like there's any danger of the species becoming extinct! If anything, the danger is that we'll extinct ourselves more quickly at the current pace of breeding than if we began paying women to have abortions.

Hey, if you don't want to have an abortion, or didn't want your woman to abort the seed of your loins, I'm fine with that. But if it's not your seed, I don't think you or anyone should be allowed to offer an opinion to a woman looking to kill, murder, butcher, etc., her fetus. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

You know, if abortions were freely available, perhaps there would never be those icky partial-birth abortions.

Aliens to the Rescue

Google News passed along some scientific group's press release, calling for more funding for efforts to find alien life.

As a purely scientific act, I can see reasons to be interested in such an inquiry. But are humans capable of purely scientific acts? To our everlasting credit, the answer is yes. There are humans capable of giving up their lives in the pursuit of non-income generating knowledge. Did you know that Nicholas Tesla did not patent his invention of "alternating current"? Edison had come up with direct current, which didn't work over long distances. Tesla came up with alternating current, which did. And then gave away the invention. He could have become the richest man in the world. Did he give it away because he was a good man, or because he was just dumb?

I have a suspicion that the people who want to find alien life are a combination. Knowledge for the simple satisfaction of knowing it, along with, Holy Shit, the Aliens have the cure for cancer and all the ills that plague mankind, so it's good we were able to find them!

Getting from point A to Point Z without having to stop at any of the other letters is the kind of pipe dream that used to fuel the old numbers games, and currently fuels lotteries and casinos, and has always and forever fueled religions. Hoping that there really is a Santa Claus and that we can get something for nothing is what makes us different than animals.

Bert Bananas puts the HOT in HOTel sex

I've been pestered for a photo of me. Well, that's me. And I'm not wearing pants, because it was that kind of a getaway. The entire time we were in our hotel room, we were naked, or naked under our clothing. I kid you not!

The excuse for all this sordid carrying on was to go to a wedding in San Diego. After the HOTel sex, the best part of it was this bonsai tree display we found at a street fair in Old Town San Diego! Check this out:

Luckily I have macro-zoom on my camera: those trees are only an inch high! If I had told you they were real trees and a real lawn, you might have bought it, until you looked really closely.

About the wedding... Yes, I'm old fashioned, so I had a problem. This was a way proper wedding, at the Officer's Club at the naval base in San Diego. We had to go through a security check to get on the base. My underwire jockey shorts set off the metal detector, so that almost made us late. Then there was some explaining to do about the turban at the end of my male appendage, but my wife was able to convince them it had no religious significance, and that, in fact, I am an ordained and consecrated Laztheist. The base Charlie Chaplin wanted to discuss some of the finer theological points of Laztheism as they contrast with concept of the Trinity, but time constraints, and my wife's malicious irreverence made it impossible.

So who got married? The neighbor's girl. My wife and the neighbor lady are way tight. I took a very nice photo of them together, and almost posted it, but then decided that I was risking future HOTel sex, since women NEVER think they look as gorgeous as they truly are in a photo. If you're a woman, you understand. If you're not, shut the fuck up, no one cares.

I had a question I kept repeating to my wife, as well as myself, but mostly to myself as my wife gave up listening to me, in like about 1991... Why did they get married? The 'they' being the bride and groom:

This is not that dumb a question... See, they had a civil ceremony as soon as she got pregnant. Here they are with their 11 month old boy, right after the priest said, "you may kiss the bride, I now present Mr. & Mrs. W. Beyond Foreplay":

So after 20 months of marriage, they spend a small fortune to carry out this festive event and I ask myself, "Why?" (I'm on first name terms with myself, so I'll butt in just any old time with questions like this.) My wife says the answer is, "For the memories." Of which they will have a ton, since there were two still photographers and two videographers. I kid you not. Plus cell phone cameras and digital cameras were both ubiquitous AND catholic!

So this whole thing was so they would be able to show the photos and the DVD to people whom they can trap into watching it? Or so they could, 10, 20, 50 years from now sit and watch the DVD together? Or if they sustain head injuries and are amnesiac, they'll be able to remember all this? Which begs the question: are memories worth anything, and if so, do you have to be a Capitalist to get the most out of them?

No matter what the answers are, please keep a kind thought for Bert Bananas that the neighbors don't know about this blog.

A timely question, with only one proper answer

How high is the corn today?


While you're pondering this question, here's a fact you won't read in the popular press, or as Rush calls it, the 'Drive By Media.' When Earth's Savior, Al Gore, was getting ready for today's heroic Save the Earth concerts, his son was rocketing through Orange County, CA, high on weed and prescription recreational drugs, none of which had been Rx'd to him. That much you knew. Here's what "They" are trying to hide from you: He was listening Rock & Hip Hop, with vile, loathsome lyrics about sex, sexual aberrations, drugs, drugual aberrations, satanic activity and satanical aberrations!! (Not really... a satanical aberration would be doing a good deed.)

Wouldn't you love to be a fly on the wall when The Tipper tries to talk to him about straightening up and finding Jesus?

Bush says, "The Sentence was just too harsh."

Further, Bush sayeth, "I have concluded that the prison sentence ... is excessive."

I became a Republican long ago. It was an election year and a school yard bully was taunting older kids about the Republican pins the kids were wearing. I had no idea what was going on, but, wow!, shiny pins! I made a comment about how I wish I had a pin. Not being privy to School Yard Bully philosophy, I had no idea that I was manna from heaven to the bully: I was alone and I was smaller. So he pushed me around, knocked me down, dribbled spit on my face and told me that Democrats ruled and if I knew what was good from me, I'd vote Democratic. I remember that I wasn't crying, although it loomed large as an alternative action. But then the recess bell rang and I was freed.

I've never ever voted for a Democrat. Plus two days later my cousin David, who was a Freshman at John Marshall (the above incident having taken place at Los Feliz Elementary) followed the bully two blocks from school and stole his pants, telling the bully that his pants were being donated to Meals on Wheels. David is still the king of non sequiturs.

It remains a virtual certainty that I will never vote for a Democrat. But if the Republican party is ever horn-swoggled by a Bush again, I will move to... the bathroom.

I would have accepted Pres. Bush announcing that because of fears that Scooter Libby would tell tales out of school, he was pardoning him. That would be a brutally honest statement, and a reflection of just what politics is all about. But to offer the mealy-mouthed comment, "...the prison sentence is exessive" is clear and unequivocal testament of his "fundamentally" flawed personality.

George W. Bush, you moral weenie.

For Big-T, the whiney golfer who can't get along with anyone...

I'll leave the interpretation of this cautionary tale in each of your capable hands, especially, Kat'Dion, into whose (whom's?) hands I long to fall headlong, or head over tail...

Avoiding Alternate Universes

Many of us are naturals at this.

I'm not trying to pass judgment on alternate universes. I'm simply pointing out a tried and true way to avoid them.

An alternate universe is created every time you take action. So right away you can see where this is going.

Suppose I'm on the third hole at Hesperia and there's hardly any wind. I've been getting puffed up in my pride and I decide that I'm going to mash down on a five iron instead of simply hitting a full four iron. And my ball goes into the water. When I pulled the five iron out of my bag, an alternate universe was created, wherein I pulled out the normal four iron. In that universe, I landed just right of the green, pin high and I chipped it close and made the par putt. Compare that with what's happening in the 'real' universe, where I took a drop, with a new ball, and chunked it into the water, beyond the reach of my ball retriever. Now I'm pissed. I drop another ball and hit it too hard and it goes across the green and out into the street. By the time I'm finished, there are two groups waiting on the tee and I'm writing "14" on my card.

So here's the secret to life and to avoiding alternate universes: Don't do things differently!

Thank you and good day.

It's a Lie, a Scandalous Lie!

Friday morning I got a call from an acquaintance. He'd entered a golf tournament with one of his partners. The partner wasn't going to make it back in town in time for the tournament, the next day, and did I want to fill in. Using that same breath, he continued, "Everything's paid for, it won't cost you a thing." So what could I do?

I had to call Bill to let him know about backing out of Saturday morning golf, but it hit me: I'd be seeing him at 2:00 p.m. and LA Royal Vista golf course. It's always nicer to see people's faces when you've got news that elevates you above them for whatever reason.

But it turns out he had the best of it.

The tournament was at Barona Creek Golf Club, down near San Diego. Their website says they are rated the fifth best public access golf course. Their website lied. A lie on the scale of "wettng the bed is better than sex," or "Politics is an honorable profession."

When I got to my acquaintance's house, his daughter's boy friend was there. He was dressed for golf and mentioned that he'd golfed a number of times at Barona Creek. I laughingly asked if I was losing out by having given up a game at Hidden Valley to go to Barona Creek. He dropped the pleasant smile and frowned at me. "You had a tee time at Hidden Valley and you gave it up for Barona Creek?" I nodded my head. He started shaking his head.

The day went downhill (downhell?) from there.

But I survived. I won't ever bother to play that course again. So now you've been warned. (Another in an increasingly longer line of things for which to thank the internet.)

Thank You Notes from my youngest son

(You have no idea the chill of fear, the knot of anxiety, the drumbeat of morbidity, the staggering of esteem, the frolic of fierceity... ect.)

Andrew wrote these himself:

Uncle Joe & Aunt Emma,
From all the neglect I've received from you, my so called 'aunt and uncle,' you can imagine the surprise I had when I opened your card! I didn't know who you were until I asked my mom.

Dear Uncle Steve & Aunt Leez,
100 buck? C'mon, cheapskate, I know you've got deep pockets. "We're moving to France, but, here's some pocket change, you little bastard." Screw you.

Dear Mrs. Wasielieski,
Hey! It really meant a lot to me to receive a car from you upon the occasion of my graduation! It's tough being the young one and a lot of times I feel like my accomplishments go by without notice, because I dwell in the shadow or my older, more attractive brother who has scaled the Everest of Life, it seems. So it was very pleasing to get the card from you. However, in actuality, it's my brother who is deserving of your pleasantries. I've since forwarded your card to his person and I hear that he has spent the small sum enclosed on underwear, without even wondering where or how the money was earned. It warms my heart to know that he has found pleasure, somehow, in my graduation.

HE CAN'T DECIDE ON WHICH OF THESE FOUR...

Dear Ashley,
Let me say this: Writing thank you notes is hell for me. You gave me 100 dollars for my graduation and you've probably thinking to yourself, "Boy, am I a great relative for dropping a bill on my cousin. I must have made his freaking day." You're wrong, dead wrong. I'll see you in hell

Dear Ashley,
First of all: HOLY SHIT! One hundred big ones!? Where the hell are you getting all this cool cash? My mom says I can't spend it until I write you this letter, but as I'm writing this I'm not thinking about your, your generosity, our great times spent over these 18 years of my life or anything else that Family Circus baloney. No, I'm focusing on how I'm going to blow your hard earned cash.

Dear Ashley,
You think money is going to make it all right that you didn't come to my graduation? I worked, I toiled, I emptied my being into the halls of that school for four horrible years and you can't even break away from your babysitting job to come down to see me? I burned that Benjamin you gave me and you can consider us on hiatus as cousins until I get a personal apology and 200 dollars.

Dear Ashley,
Geez, Ms Richie Rich, you really came through on this one! 100 bucks!! You even beat Uncle Steve! But seriously, I don't want to sound shallow or materialistic, but it really meant a lot to see that amount of money thrown my way. Let's face it, money is awesome, you're awesome by association. The card was cool, too; it actually made me jump a little! Maybe sometime before I go to college I can come down and visit you guys for awhile. It feels like it's been too long. I hear you got a schweet job taking care of some rich people's kids. Way to go! Be sure to weasel yourself into the old man's will. You can take care of the whole family! Anyway, thanks again! You made my day. See you soon, Ash!

- Andrew