This isn't to say that homosexuality is a disease. It most certainly is neither a disease nor a life style choice. But like heterosexuality, one thing homosexuality is at heart, is a rich vein of humor.
So with that in mind, here's another headline that Drudge pointed me to: "Oral arguments set in Sen. Craig sex-sting appeal"
Is that ridiculous or what?!
Number one, anyone who has seen a photo of Sen. Craig will agree, he has no sex-sting appeal.
Number two, you just know that gays in toilet stalls are not orally arguing; the fact is that they're in total agreement!
(ha ha! Did you get it, "number one" & "number two"? Who says you need fame or money to be funny?)
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Beware of this new Scam!!!
In the continuing run up to the Beijing Olmypics, there have been stories appearing in the media about the Gender Testing that necessity mothered into existence ever since Hermann Goering placed second in the 1936 Woman's shotput competition.
And as most scams do, this new one focuses on FEAR! Yes, the fear of failing your Gender Test.
But just like the fear of being hit by a meteorite, or of an earthquake striking just as you're beginning to change from the E/B I-105 to the N/B I-110 freeways in South Central, and having the 120' high transition road give way under you, so that your last moments on Earth are spent in free fall in a German car that's going to kill you just a quickly as the American car you could have purchased for $23,000 less, it's not likely to happen, although overpaying for the German car really did happen.
There is no need for you to purchase any books, paraphernalia or animal/mineral over the counter remedies to insure that you pass your test. The test now days is so sophisticated that even if you were born with both male & female external sexual apparatuses, (how fun must that be!) you'll be told which sexual trait is more dominant and allowed to compete in that sexual category.
Did you know that Gender Testing was part of Christian tradition, but then during the third century's (AD) Nicene Council, Gender Testing was rejected because the majority of the council was afraid that the Holy Ghost might test out female? Little known but absolutely true story!
And admit it: The Holy Ghost being a Broad explains a lot!
And as most scams do, this new one focuses on FEAR! Yes, the fear of failing your Gender Test.
But just like the fear of being hit by a meteorite, or of an earthquake striking just as you're beginning to change from the E/B I-105 to the N/B I-110 freeways in South Central, and having the 120' high transition road give way under you, so that your last moments on Earth are spent in free fall in a German car that's going to kill you just a quickly as the American car you could have purchased for $23,000 less, it's not likely to happen, although overpaying for the German car really did happen.
There is no need for you to purchase any books, paraphernalia or animal/mineral over the counter remedies to insure that you pass your test. The test now days is so sophisticated that even if you were born with both male & female external sexual apparatuses, (how fun must that be!) you'll be told which sexual trait is more dominant and allowed to compete in that sexual category.
Did you know that Gender Testing was part of Christian tradition, but then during the third century's (AD) Nicene Council, Gender Testing was rejected because the majority of the council was afraid that the Holy Ghost might test out female? Little known but absolutely true story!
And admit it: The Holy Ghost being a Broad explains a lot!
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Only Pistols has the Guts to be Real . . .
I can't tell you the exact date of publication for this particular Calvin & Hobbes week day strip. But I can tell you that it voices an elemental truth, which to our discredit and Pistol's credit, only he has the courage to continue to pursue:
HOBBES: I hate it when it's windy.
CALVIN: You know what I hate? I hate when I'm talking and someone turns the conversation to himself.
CALVIN: (next panel) It's so rude! Why do they think I'm talking? It's so they can hear about me! Who cares what they have to say! If I start a conversation it should stay on the subject of me!
HOBBES: (next panel) (amazed look)
CALVIN: (next panel) I also hate it when people look at me all bug-eyed.
HOBBES: That must happen a lot.
The truth HAS set Pistols free! Or at least, significantly discounted...
HOBBES: I hate it when it's windy.
CALVIN: You know what I hate? I hate when I'm talking and someone turns the conversation to himself.
CALVIN: (next panel) It's so rude! Why do they think I'm talking? It's so they can hear about me! Who cares what they have to say! If I start a conversation it should stay on the subject of me!
HOBBES: (next panel) (amazed look)
CALVIN: (next panel) I also hate it when people look at me all bug-eyed.
HOBBES: That must happen a lot.
The truth HAS set Pistols free! Or at least, significantly discounted...
Jerry Lewis in the News!
82 year old Jerry Lewis, famed French comedian, widow of Dean Martin and recent convert to Islam, is being held by TSA authorities at Las Vegas' McCarron Airport. He was apprehended trying to board a plane with a hand gun (I would have said "pistol" but then PAD would think this post was about him...) in his carry on luggage.
Questioned about the hand gun, Mr. Lewis said that he uses the weapon during religious discussions with infidel dogs to help them focus on the truth of the Prophet, blessed be his semen.
Asked if he was serious, Mr. Lewis said that if he were lying, may he be struck down with Muscular Dystrophy. As he was being led to a holding cell, he began screaming that Family Guy creator Seth MacFarlane had stolen both Family Guy and American Dad from him and had turned them into slutty, tawdry, low brow attacks on the Koran and red meat. He also yelled out that he only needed three virgins and would negotiate for his other 69...
Questioned about the hand gun, Mr. Lewis said that he uses the weapon during religious discussions with infidel dogs to help them focus on the truth of the Prophet, blessed be his semen.
Asked if he was serious, Mr. Lewis said that if he were lying, may he be struck down with Muscular Dystrophy. As he was being led to a holding cell, he began screaming that Family Guy creator Seth MacFarlane had stolen both Family Guy and American Dad from him and had turned them into slutty, tawdry, low brow attacks on the Koran and red meat. He also yelled out that he only needed three virgins and would negotiate for his other 69...
Opportunism and Titties! The New Republican Party
Ripped screaming and bleeding from Drudge:
"New McCain ad to feature Britney Spears and Paris Hilton..."
Dear Ghawd all lucky, can this really be true?
Yes, because this is America, where anything involving bad taste is possible, but only on the east and left coasts (there is no right coast).
My imagination is a as virulent, puerile and demented as anyone else's. Plus I actually got my BA in Advertising & Public Relations, so it's like I'm an accredited slacker and poser. But putting Spears and Hilton in an ad for McCain is beyond me.
I've been mulling this over and I can't think of anything that you could have these ladies say that would be useful to McCain's candidacy. Well, I can, but it's way, way demented and not at all funny.
So in my opinion, these so-called McCain ads are going to run on porn sites, skin mags and email forwards, where these young ladies might have credence. And their titties would be prominently featured. I'd have said breasts, but these two young ladies are such lightweights that to refer to their chesticles as breasts is an insult to the women I'd rather be with, like you! (If you're not a guy or either of my daughters.)
"New McCain ad to feature Britney Spears and Paris Hilton..."
Dear Ghawd all lucky, can this really be true?
Yes, because this is America, where anything involving bad taste is possible, but only on the east and left coasts (there is no right coast).
My imagination is a as virulent, puerile and demented as anyone else's. Plus I actually got my BA in Advertising & Public Relations, so it's like I'm an accredited slacker and poser. But putting Spears and Hilton in an ad for McCain is beyond me.
I've been mulling this over and I can't think of anything that you could have these ladies say that would be useful to McCain's candidacy. Well, I can, but it's way, way demented and not at all funny.
So in my opinion, these so-called McCain ads are going to run on porn sites, skin mags and email forwards, where these young ladies might have credence. And their titties would be prominently featured. I'd have said breasts, but these two young ladies are such lightweights that to refer to their chesticles as breasts is an insult to the women I'd rather be with, like you! (If you're not a guy or either of my daughters.)
Blog Cross-Pollination
When humans are married, the man pollinates the woman. It's never the other way around, unless you're talking about the silly yellow faux-pollen some men will beg/pay for. (Someone should write a book about how the simple act of pollination has become so complex, not to mention, commercialized! I'd go see the movie...)
Okay, the human male will pollinate any female who will allow his stamen entry, married or not. It's kind of neat that no one ever asks the question, "What kind of a man would sleep with a good looking woman he'd just met?" Guykind is so uncomplicated!
Pollination is about 'creation' and so hopefully you'll get what my title is about. I was trying to say that reading someone's blog entry can sometimes trigger a 'growth' in your own brain that soon gives birth to an idea for a post of your own.
But it's so damn hard to think about something non-sexual when writing about "human pollination." It's such a distracting subject!
Okay, the human male will pollinate any female who will allow his stamen entry, married or not. It's kind of neat that no one ever asks the question, "What kind of a man would sleep with a good looking woman he'd just met?" Guykind is so uncomplicated!
Pollination is about 'creation' and so hopefully you'll get what my title is about. I was trying to say that reading someone's blog entry can sometimes trigger a 'growth' in your own brain that soon gives birth to an idea for a post of your own.
But it's so damn hard to think about something non-sexual when writing about "human pollination." It's such a distracting subject!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Oh, yeah, the Earthquake . . .
Up here in the High Desert, about 60 miles from the Epicenter, we had a few seconds of rumbling. I continued working, after offering up the customary Laztheist propitiatory prayer for earthquakes, tsunamis and getting rear-ended while not in a car, "Oh, Lhard, what the hell was that?"
This calmed. But my wife, who is prone to being female quite a bit of the time, began calling everyone she knows. It was call after call, exchanging heart-stopping stories of the terror that might have been if it had been a 9.2 earthquake. It was call after call to her girlfriends and female relatives. The only call she made to a male was to our older son, who with the younger boy, is up in San Francisco. He couldn't hear her very well and told her they hadn't felt a thing. He didn't ask any questions so all she could do was hang up. Since the boys take after their even more laconic than Gary Cooper father, this is not the first time they have disappointed her.
I felt not the slightest compulsion to call any of my friends. And obviously they all felt the same lack of impetus.
It's one hell of a sex drive that allows guykind and galkind to overcome a rather obvious disinclination to hang out together. Sex drive and boobs. Nature is a frickin' genius.
This calmed. But my wife, who is prone to being female quite a bit of the time, began calling everyone she knows. It was call after call, exchanging heart-stopping stories of the terror that might have been if it had been a 9.2 earthquake. It was call after call to her girlfriends and female relatives. The only call she made to a male was to our older son, who with the younger boy, is up in San Francisco. He couldn't hear her very well and told her they hadn't felt a thing. He didn't ask any questions so all she could do was hang up. Since the boys take after their even more laconic than Gary Cooper father, this is not the first time they have disappointed her.
I felt not the slightest compulsion to call any of my friends. And obviously they all felt the same lack of impetus.
It's one hell of a sex drive that allows guykind and galkind to overcome a rather obvious disinclination to hang out together. Sex drive and boobs. Nature is a frickin' genius.
What is it about a Harem that keeps a guy coming back for more?
No, no, no, this is not a serious question.
The one thing about having a harem is that occasionally (in theory) you'll make love to one of your wives that you'd forgotten about and it's like the very first time again!
But can you imagine being rich enough to have a harem today, but not being able to find enough women dumb to accept such a life style?
But none of you are probably losing any sleep over this situation. I blame the Democrats.
The one thing about having a harem is that occasionally (in theory) you'll make love to one of your wives that you'd forgotten about and it's like the very first time again!
But can you imagine being rich enough to have a harem today, but not being able to find enough women dumb to accept such a life style?
But none of you are probably losing any sleep over this situation. I blame the Democrats.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Cuil.com
Here's my review of this new competitor to Google: It's not good.
I searched "Laztheism." As the earth's foremost expert on Laztheism, I wanted to see what Cuil would find for me. It showed me seven hits. Only two of them actually had "Laztheism" in them. When I did this search on Google, it showed me all the blog posts I'd made with the word in it, as well as comments on other people's blogs.
Here are the two entries Cuil had with Laztheism in them:
Comment about This is one of several reasons war occurs.
I'm coming out of the Closet. I'm sure it will come as no surprise that Laztheism, as practiced by the Missouri Synod of Laztheists of the Northern Hemisphere-But Not Alaska (MSLNHBNA), condones marriage between any two people who can sign their names, . Tags: coming Closet. Seasame Street Tub Boat with Big Bird...
www.financial-times-web.info/Bert-w...
States - States Search
The Laztheist X-MessX-Mess comes but once a year . . . Here's how Laztheism would solve (and enhance) the X-Mess experience. On June 01, 2008, the Master Computer that runs the United States will match up every American resident who will be over the age of 18 on 12-24-2008 with another American More. .. Related...
www.finance-outsourcing.com/states/
Note that it credits two websites I've never heard of. And then when I clicked on the links, I got that screen about Address Not Found.
So if you're worried about Cuil.com taking the starch out of your Google stock, you can stop now.
I searched "Laztheism." As the earth's foremost expert on Laztheism, I wanted to see what Cuil would find for me. It showed me seven hits. Only two of them actually had "Laztheism" in them. When I did this search on Google, it showed me all the blog posts I'd made with the word in it, as well as comments on other people's blogs.
Here are the two entries Cuil had with Laztheism in them:
Comment about This is one of several reasons war occurs.
I'm coming out of the Closet. I'm sure it will come as no surprise that Laztheism, as practiced by the Missouri Synod of Laztheists of the Northern Hemisphere-But Not Alaska (MSLNHBNA), condones marriage between any two people who can sign their names, . Tags: coming Closet. Seasame Street Tub Boat with Big Bird...
www.financial-times-web.info/Bert-w...
States - States Search
The Laztheist X-MessX-Mess comes but once a year . . . Here's how Laztheism would solve (and enhance) the X-Mess experience. On June 01, 2008, the Master Computer that runs the United States will match up every American resident who will be over the age of 18 on 12-24-2008 with another American More. .. Related...
www.finance-outsourcing.com/states/
Note that it credits two websites I've never heard of. And then when I clicked on the links, I got that screen about Address Not Found.
So if you're worried about Cuil.com taking the starch out of your Google stock, you can stop now.
Juan Haight Undredt
Roscoe & Rosemary Undredt knew very well that when you say their last name quickly, it sounds like "hundred."
Roscoe Undredt is a Boomer, born in 1953. He was married twice before he met Rosemary in 1985. She got pregnant on their honeymoon. Or sometime the month before or sometime the month after. They never used the Scientific Method to pin it down.
When it came time to name their newly born son, hubris got the best of them... Hubris and some really good weed. Despite having lived in upper New York state his entire life, Roscoe agreed with Rosemary that Juan Haight Undredt was as classy a name as anyone could ever have, especially since New York Bell was allowing private citizens to sign up for toll-free numbers.
So now, 23 years later, if you're so inclined, you can talk to their son any time you want: Juan Haight Undredt 202-9033.
Roscoe Undredt is a Boomer, born in 1953. He was married twice before he met Rosemary in 1985. She got pregnant on their honeymoon. Or sometime the month before or sometime the month after. They never used the Scientific Method to pin it down.
When it came time to name their newly born son, hubris got the best of them... Hubris and some really good weed. Despite having lived in upper New York state his entire life, Roscoe agreed with Rosemary that Juan Haight Undredt was as classy a name as anyone could ever have, especially since New York Bell was allowing private citizens to sign up for toll-free numbers.
So now, 23 years later, if you're so inclined, you can talk to their son any time you want: Juan Haight Undredt 202-9033.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
I can't see how knowing the facts would change this...
Some of you are aware of the problem the City of San Francisco has been having with their computer system. From what I can decipher between the competing media voices, this nerd built the current system and obsessively guarded it, to the extent that he was the only one who knew the password necessary to gain entry to work on the system. The system was up and running, but only he could get in to change things. And next thing we, the viewing public knew, he was in jail and refusing to divulge that password. Supposedly he has since given the password to future US President Gavin Newsome.
So buried in one of the stories today was this little gem:
"Childs' troubles with the technology department started to snowball June 20 when he followed and took photographs of the agency's new head of security after she began an audit of who had password access to the system, authorities said. Childs' frightening behavior prompted the woman to lock herself in an office."
Childs is the now jailed nerd. He was following the new head of security and taking photos. His behavior 'scared' her into locking herself in an office...
What kind of 'head of security' does that? I'm guessing she's not ex-FBI. How can anyone bear that title and wind up locking herself in her office? Hey, I'm not being sexist here. I know there are guys who have that same thought process. There are simply personalities that should never be given the title Head of Security. Can you see this situation arising in private enterprise?
Thanks for listening.
So buried in one of the stories today was this little gem:
"Childs' troubles with the technology department started to snowball June 20 when he followed and took photographs of the agency's new head of security after she began an audit of who had password access to the system, authorities said. Childs' frightening behavior prompted the woman to lock herself in an office."
Childs is the now jailed nerd. He was following the new head of security and taking photos. His behavior 'scared' her into locking herself in an office...
What kind of 'head of security' does that? I'm guessing she's not ex-FBI. How can anyone bear that title and wind up locking herself in her office? Hey, I'm not being sexist here. I know there are guys who have that same thought process. There are simply personalities that should never be given the title Head of Security. Can you see this situation arising in private enterprise?
Thanks for listening.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Let's settle this once and for all . . .
The issue at hand is Paula Bunker.
It's getting so I can't walk out the door, can't open my email, can't answer the phone, can't hail a friend on the golf course, can't take a shower, without being confronted about Paula Bunker! Everyone wants to know, when are you leaving Liz for Paula Bunker? Short answer: Never.
Long answer: See, it's not about Paula Bunker, per se. Yes, I knew, intimately, a girl named Paula Bunker. The image of her Senior Year photo is the easiest recollection to call up from the dusty archives of my memory. But there are definitely other images.
Mostly what "Paula Bunker" is, is a touch stone, a focal point for the essence of what I care to consider about my youth. Youth being a time when one is unformed, as well as liberally uninformed. Many people remain "youths" all their lives.
One of the characteristics of Youthness (only the grossly ignorant call it Youthity) is to desire more control over one's surroundings and activities. Becoming a mature adult does allow us to contrast the degree of control we exercise with the almost total lack of control available during Youthness. (This contrast allows us to put up with still almost total lack of control of our lives, but we're able to content ourselves because it's a lot more than we had as youths.)
Paula Bunker was my attempt, during my Youthness, to exercise control and dominion. I failed miserably. But she kept me spinning in her orbit because she was also trying to adultate. (Whaddayamean adultate is not a word! To adultate: to behave as an adult when you aren't actually one. Your kids, as well as the Spears girls, do this all the time.)
You know how kids go out 'tagging' because it allows them to think they're adultating? Well, Paula Bunker and I would go out petting (we were good Mormons, so that was the limit) and this allowed us to think that we were grown up. At least that was partly what I was thinking. I was also partly thinking what a great rack she had! But I also wanted to be 'in love' because literature and the movies told me that this was part of being grown up. Naturally, being the male, it meant I got to be on top. So I can see why Paula resisted this additional step, not to mention that she didn't want to have to tell her parents about me.
We orbited around each other for Junior and Senior year in high school and freshman year in college, she in Seattle and me in Salt Lake City. In high school, she 'broke up' with me before the Junior Prom, so I took Rayetta Kay Kanel. We got back together during the summer, between Junior & Senior year, but she broke up with me before the Sadie Hawkins dance (Linda Sharp asked me), before the Christmas Ball, (I asked Judy Clyde) and before the Senior Prom (I took Chris Gang). I was 'going steady' with Chris Gang and my senior year book had all this tripe about what a cute couple we were. But then a couple of days before graduation, Paula called me and applied some gravity and pulled me back into a tighter orbit. We spent graduation night together, petting. I was intimately acquainted with every color of blue you can imagine. Then we went off to college. Contact was sporadic. After Freshman year we met a couple of times during that summer and the petting was as good as ever, but she finally let me know that it was over. She broke my little heart.
Just before I left on my mission, 18 months later, we had a couple of conversations and I felt a form of vindication at the time, because she was no longer 'firm in the faith.' Meaning that she anticipated my same life style apostasy by a few years.
The very last word I heard about her was at my high school 20 year reunion. She married, very successfully (meaning a rich guy) and had had a number of children and was fat. I took what pleasure I could from this knowledge and never gave her a second thought, except that I can't think about my youth without seeing her face.
So no, I don't want to see Paula Bunker ever again. I don't dream about her, I don't live in the past with her. She's actually an embarrassment to me because if truth be told, everything that happened involving her was wrong, done for the wrong reasons, and with the wrong results. Rayetta Kay Kanel, Linda Sharp, Judy Clyde and Chris Gang were wonderful, warm human beans who didn't care that I was only a first generation Mormon. Had I explored relationships with them, my youth would have been properly served. But I wanted Paula Bunker, who was ashamed of me, as the break up pattern tends to indicate. She didn't mind being with me, but didn't want it publicly known. I couldn't see that then...
I can't speak for her problems, but for me it was all because I was trying to grow up too fast. I spent too much time adultating instead of youthinating.
But I did learn my lesson and when the time was right, in 1979, I began youthinating in earnest and with a true purpose. So then when I met my wife, in June of 1984 (the first Wednesday of that month) I was ready to put aside my youthness and become mature with her. And now 24 years later, we are still very mature youths.
It's getting so I can't walk out the door, can't open my email, can't answer the phone, can't hail a friend on the golf course, can't take a shower, without being confronted about Paula Bunker! Everyone wants to know, when are you leaving Liz for Paula Bunker? Short answer: Never.
Long answer: See, it's not about Paula Bunker, per se. Yes, I knew, intimately, a girl named Paula Bunker. The image of her Senior Year photo is the easiest recollection to call up from the dusty archives of my memory. But there are definitely other images.
Mostly what "Paula Bunker" is, is a touch stone, a focal point for the essence of what I care to consider about my youth. Youth being a time when one is unformed, as well as liberally uninformed. Many people remain "youths" all their lives.
One of the characteristics of Youthness (only the grossly ignorant call it Youthity) is to desire more control over one's surroundings and activities. Becoming a mature adult does allow us to contrast the degree of control we exercise with the almost total lack of control available during Youthness. (This contrast allows us to put up with still almost total lack of control of our lives, but we're able to content ourselves because it's a lot more than we had as youths.)
Paula Bunker was my attempt, during my Youthness, to exercise control and dominion. I failed miserably. But she kept me spinning in her orbit because she was also trying to adultate. (Whaddayamean adultate is not a word! To adultate: to behave as an adult when you aren't actually one. Your kids, as well as the Spears girls, do this all the time.)
You know how kids go out 'tagging' because it allows them to think they're adultating? Well, Paula Bunker and I would go out petting (we were good Mormons, so that was the limit) and this allowed us to think that we were grown up. At least that was partly what I was thinking. I was also partly thinking what a great rack she had! But I also wanted to be 'in love' because literature and the movies told me that this was part of being grown up. Naturally, being the male, it meant I got to be on top. So I can see why Paula resisted this additional step, not to mention that she didn't want to have to tell her parents about me.
We orbited around each other for Junior and Senior year in high school and freshman year in college, she in Seattle and me in Salt Lake City. In high school, she 'broke up' with me before the Junior Prom, so I took Rayetta Kay Kanel. We got back together during the summer, between Junior & Senior year, but she broke up with me before the Sadie Hawkins dance (Linda Sharp asked me), before the Christmas Ball, (I asked Judy Clyde) and before the Senior Prom (I took Chris Gang). I was 'going steady' with Chris Gang and my senior year book had all this tripe about what a cute couple we were. But then a couple of days before graduation, Paula called me and applied some gravity and pulled me back into a tighter orbit. We spent graduation night together, petting. I was intimately acquainted with every color of blue you can imagine. Then we went off to college. Contact was sporadic. After Freshman year we met a couple of times during that summer and the petting was as good as ever, but she finally let me know that it was over. She broke my little heart.
Just before I left on my mission, 18 months later, we had a couple of conversations and I felt a form of vindication at the time, because she was no longer 'firm in the faith.' Meaning that she anticipated my same life style apostasy by a few years.
The very last word I heard about her was at my high school 20 year reunion. She married, very successfully (meaning a rich guy) and had had a number of children and was fat. I took what pleasure I could from this knowledge and never gave her a second thought, except that I can't think about my youth without seeing her face.
So no, I don't want to see Paula Bunker ever again. I don't dream about her, I don't live in the past with her. She's actually an embarrassment to me because if truth be told, everything that happened involving her was wrong, done for the wrong reasons, and with the wrong results. Rayetta Kay Kanel, Linda Sharp, Judy Clyde and Chris Gang were wonderful, warm human beans who didn't care that I was only a first generation Mormon. Had I explored relationships with them, my youth would have been properly served. But I wanted Paula Bunker, who was ashamed of me, as the break up pattern tends to indicate. She didn't mind being with me, but didn't want it publicly known. I couldn't see that then...
I can't speak for her problems, but for me it was all because I was trying to grow up too fast. I spent too much time adultating instead of youthinating.
But I did learn my lesson and when the time was right, in 1979, I began youthinating in earnest and with a true purpose. So then when I met my wife, in June of 1984 (the first Wednesday of that month) I was ready to put aside my youthness and become mature with her. And now 24 years later, we are still very mature youths.
What Aliens want with Earth People
First off, please face the fact that despite all the other labels affixed to you, whether you like them or not, the label, Earth Person (I caved in...) is indisputable.
Look at yourself in the mirror: You and almost 7 billion others share that label, or lapel, if you're wearing a suit or sports coat.
We never greet each other with this label. So it's a good bet that if you get a knock on the door and there are two aardvark-looking creatures standing there, wearing name tags, and one of them says, when you open the door, "Good morning Earth Person..." it's probably not a prank. Invite them in, offer them something to drink, listen to their message and then politely tell them you're not interested and escort them out.
Not that I think this is the likely scenario. Nope, when the Aardvarkians arrive, they'll round us up, process us like bipedal cattle, package and freeze us for shipping and once the Earth has been denuded of Earth People, they'll head for home. Because I think that any appeal we have to extra-terrestrials has to do with the protein we surround our bones with. And maybe even the bones taste good!
But I'm not the least worried. The Aardvarkians, being true capitalists, will take home a large herd of Earth People. And because I have kept my stud book up to date and I think that when the time comes, I'll be in that group heading back to their home planet where I'll be installed in luxurious surroundings and I'll spend maybe another 500 Earth years (thanks to their advanced sciences) at stud. Sure, it may get boring, but it's what I was born to do.
What's that? You ask how I can be so callous about the fate of my progeny? You have a point... Okay, so if it makes you happy, I'll commit now to plotting my escape, stealing a battle cruiser, loading all the wives and kids on-board and then thundering out to the depths of space where we'll find a hidden earth-like world where we'll settle and I'll spend another 500 years at stud, but this time all the kids will spend their lives planning a triumphant return to Earth, as well as the destruction of the Aardvarkians!
Happy now? Lhard knows I am!
Look at yourself in the mirror: You and almost 7 billion others share that label, or lapel, if you're wearing a suit or sports coat.
We never greet each other with this label. So it's a good bet that if you get a knock on the door and there are two aardvark-looking creatures standing there, wearing name tags, and one of them says, when you open the door, "Good morning Earth Person..." it's probably not a prank. Invite them in, offer them something to drink, listen to their message and then politely tell them you're not interested and escort them out.
Not that I think this is the likely scenario. Nope, when the Aardvarkians arrive, they'll round us up, process us like bipedal cattle, package and freeze us for shipping and once the Earth has been denuded of Earth People, they'll head for home. Because I think that any appeal we have to extra-terrestrials has to do with the protein we surround our bones with. And maybe even the bones taste good!
But I'm not the least worried. The Aardvarkians, being true capitalists, will take home a large herd of Earth People. And because I have kept my stud book up to date and I think that when the time comes, I'll be in that group heading back to their home planet where I'll be installed in luxurious surroundings and I'll spend maybe another 500 Earth years (thanks to their advanced sciences) at stud. Sure, it may get boring, but it's what I was born to do.
What's that? You ask how I can be so callous about the fate of my progeny? You have a point... Okay, so if it makes you happy, I'll commit now to plotting my escape, stealing a battle cruiser, loading all the wives and kids on-board and then thundering out to the depths of space where we'll find a hidden earth-like world where we'll settle and I'll spend another 500 years at stud, but this time all the kids will spend their lives planning a triumphant return to Earth, as well as the destruction of the Aardvarkians!
Happy now? Lhard knows I am!
You can't expect Failure to just happen!
To be successful at something requires a plan. Life is all about contingencies, unless you are a female between the ages of 17 and 40 and have ginormous chesticles. Because for this group (at least in 1st & 2nd World Countries) all the contingencies are good.
So if you want to be a failure, you've got to plan for it! Which is why my new book, Planning a Successful Failure is required reading for those who don't want to get ahead.
There's a right way and there's a wrong to get on Welfare. Section 8 housing is easy if you have a plan. Federally funded health care and SSI disability don't just walk up to you and jump on your lap.
Thanks to an early draft of my book that was read by a young neighbor, he is now set for life! He is just 26 years old, but he has free housing, free medical and dental, and a life time guaranteed income of almost $19,000 a year. That's tax-free! And remember, the housing and health insurance costs are already paid!
He puts in a Monday afternoon at a charity food clearing house and for this effort takes home (in his 1993 Toyota Corolla, that he got for $660 five years ago at a Salvation Army auto auction) two boxes of canned goods, pasta and breads.
He and five other friends registered a charity with the State of California. They got a small grant as a start-up from some federal office and used the money to rent a small office in a strip mall within easy walking distance. They hand-painted the name of their charity on the window and got some cheap furniture and set up a cozy little club for themselves. Then they chipped in and got a big screen plasma and they divide the cable bill amongst themselves, with the full NFL package.
Once every six months it's my neighbor's kid's turn to replace the keg. There's a little bedroom in the office, but he swears he hasn't gotten lucky yet. But they're always inviting ginormous chesticle girls over, but that contingency hasn't come home to roost yet. He says he spends maybe five nights a week there. They refuse to get a pool table because that would piss people off if they ever get caught.
But they do have a couple of old computers that they go online with, they have a PS2 and some games, and air conditioning.
Looking in from the outside, this kid is behaving as if he's retired! He's got his "life time pension & benefits" coming in, and he's got his friends in his "retirement community." And he never had to go through the angst and bother of schooling and a career.
Now that you can see the beauty of his life, compared to yours, sucker, please feel free to contact me for a prospectus of my book. It's not cheap, but nothing good ever is.
So if you want to be a failure, you've got to plan for it! Which is why my new book, Planning a Successful Failure is required reading for those who don't want to get ahead.
There's a right way and there's a wrong to get on Welfare. Section 8 housing is easy if you have a plan. Federally funded health care and SSI disability don't just walk up to you and jump on your lap.
Thanks to an early draft of my book that was read by a young neighbor, he is now set for life! He is just 26 years old, but he has free housing, free medical and dental, and a life time guaranteed income of almost $19,000 a year. That's tax-free! And remember, the housing and health insurance costs are already paid!
He puts in a Monday afternoon at a charity food clearing house and for this effort takes home (in his 1993 Toyota Corolla, that he got for $660 five years ago at a Salvation Army auto auction) two boxes of canned goods, pasta and breads.
He and five other friends registered a charity with the State of California. They got a small grant as a start-up from some federal office and used the money to rent a small office in a strip mall within easy walking distance. They hand-painted the name of their charity on the window and got some cheap furniture and set up a cozy little club for themselves. Then they chipped in and got a big screen plasma and they divide the cable bill amongst themselves, with the full NFL package.
Once every six months it's my neighbor's kid's turn to replace the keg. There's a little bedroom in the office, but he swears he hasn't gotten lucky yet. But they're always inviting ginormous chesticle girls over, but that contingency hasn't come home to roost yet. He says he spends maybe five nights a week there. They refuse to get a pool table because that would piss people off if they ever get caught.
But they do have a couple of old computers that they go online with, they have a PS2 and some games, and air conditioning.
Looking in from the outside, this kid is behaving as if he's retired! He's got his "life time pension & benefits" coming in, and he's got his friends in his "retirement community." And he never had to go through the angst and bother of schooling and a career.
Now that you can see the beauty of his life, compared to yours, sucker, please feel free to contact me for a prospectus of my book. It's not cheap, but nothing good ever is.
A Public Service . . .
Although I haven't bragged at length about my Grand Central account, nor my MagicJack thingamabob, I am going to pass along this word about Slydial... mostly because it will explain for Pistols just how it is that he's been getting these voice mail messages on his cell phone, but the phone never rang, of which he is certain because he was starring at it, hoping that it would ring.
Here's what's going on, big guy:
"Those wanting to avoid an actual conversation simply need to dial 267-SLYDIAL (267-759-3425), sit through a brief history about Slydial and why it should be used, an advertisement that will last a couple of seconds, and then enter the person's phone number. Once all that is completed, the Slydial service connects to the person's voicemail just like a regular phone call."
The article then goes on to say that these free VM messages are limited to 90 seconds each. The caller's call back number is displayed, but fat chance they're going to pick up, Sr. Pistolero.
It only works on cell phones, and they have to be regular accounts. It won't work with pay as you go phones.
We all have someone in our lives with whom we have to communicate, but would prefer they not answer when we call. So this is perfect.
I wonder if Slydial will give Pistols an award for being the number most called?
Here's what's going on, big guy:
"Those wanting to avoid an actual conversation simply need to dial 267-SLYDIAL (267-759-3425), sit through a brief history about Slydial and why it should be used, an advertisement that will last a couple of seconds, and then enter the person's phone number. Once all that is completed, the Slydial service connects to the person's voicemail just like a regular phone call."
The article then goes on to say that these free VM messages are limited to 90 seconds each. The caller's call back number is displayed, but fat chance they're going to pick up, Sr. Pistolero.
It only works on cell phones, and they have to be regular accounts. It won't work with pay as you go phones.
We all have someone in our lives with whom we have to communicate, but would prefer they not answer when we call. So this is perfect.
I wonder if Slydial will give Pistols an award for being the number most called?
Friday, July 18, 2008
Ebb & Flow
The tide is all about ebb and flow. So is the sex. There are probably other things that ebb and flow... I suppose one could make an argument for the mouth being in charge of ebb, while the other end of the torus would be in charge of flow. But this isn't strictly accurate, as any flu victim or frat boy already knows.
Why wasn't there a 60 duo named Eb & Flo. Or an 80s porno film by the same name...?
If there was a reality show about a restaurant called Ebanflough, what would they serve?
With regard to the torus reference: it's true, humans are mobile tori; we're like donuts with legs, and some of us have sprinkles or glaze or icing, etc. And a few of us are just plain cake.
Why wasn't there a 60 duo named Eb & Flo. Or an 80s porno film by the same name...?
If there was a reality show about a restaurant called Ebanflough, what would they serve?
With regard to the torus reference: it's true, humans are mobile tori; we're like donuts with legs, and some of us have sprinkles or glaze or icing, etc. And a few of us are just plain cake.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
On Global Worming...
Dude! Like, on Drudge today there was a link to this some British scientist dude's remarks about global worming. The guys supposedly said, and like, I quote, "In the past 70 years the Sun was more active than at almost any other time in the past 11,400 years ... Mars, Jupiter, Neptune’s largest moon, and Pluto wormed at the same time as Earth."
Supposedly this British dude, who is a Lord, says that CO2 doesn't make for more earthworms. So global worming isn't caused by humanity! Which will be good news for fishermen everywhere if Al Gore stops messing with global worming.
Supposedly this British dude, who is a Lord, says that CO2 doesn't make for more earthworms. So global worming isn't caused by humanity! Which will be good news for fishermen everywhere if Al Gore stops messing with global worming.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
I have a question...
Seriously.
I've tried to research this via Google, et alia, but to no avail.
Here's the question:
If I had a lump of what I thought was pure gold, say the size of a extra large hen's egg, who could I sell it to (in other words, who buys gold in that quantity) and once I identified a possible buyer, what steps would that buyer take to be sure of what he was getting?
Yes, I've seen the ads on TV claiming to pay you for the old jewelry you send in via their postage paid envelope, and I suppose that they have somewhat the same problem, assessing the purity of the gold in order to set a price...
I need to know this for a homework assignment, so if one of you knows someone who knows someone, please post the answer. And don't worry, my report isn't due until the end of summer school.
Thanks!
I've tried to research this via Google, et alia, but to no avail.
Here's the question:
If I had a lump of what I thought was pure gold, say the size of a extra large hen's egg, who could I sell it to (in other words, who buys gold in that quantity) and once I identified a possible buyer, what steps would that buyer take to be sure of what he was getting?
Yes, I've seen the ads on TV claiming to pay you for the old jewelry you send in via their postage paid envelope, and I suppose that they have somewhat the same problem, assessing the purity of the gold in order to set a price...
I need to know this for a homework assignment, so if one of you knows someone who knows someone, please post the answer. And don't worry, my report isn't due until the end of summer school.
Thanks!
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Republican Principals
I only remember two public school Principals. One was the lady at Fifth Street Elementary. I don't remember her name. Was she a Republican? I say yes. Prove me wrong.
During my joyous four years at RHS the Principal was Paul Arenas. And he was definitely a Republican. Real nice guy who knew how to delegate authority and who never raised taxes.
Therefore, I ask you to consider electing a Republican Principal.
Thank you.
During my joyous four years at RHS the Principal was Paul Arenas. And he was definitely a Republican. Real nice guy who knew how to delegate authority and who never raised taxes.
Therefore, I ask you to consider electing a Republican Principal.
Thank you.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Laztheism and Safe Sects
Remember the Violins in School routine on SNL?
I'm submitting this post to SNL, partly for the money, but mostly to get Laztheism some more exposure. Because the world needs Laztheism. It's always needed it, but who am I to say how much? Does the world need Laztheism more than it needs clean drinking water? No. Does the world need Laztheism more than it needs petroleum? No. Does the world need Laztheism more than it needs tickets to a Bon Jovi concert? Yes.
So it's all relative. Like Ghawd. He's a relative. But as Chico Marx used to say, "I'mma no relative, I'mma guest." The script had another line, but it was cut: "And I'mma a guest violence."
A lot of people were Laztheists before Laztheism had a name. But now that Laztheism has a name, people are afraid to join because they think there are dues. People, Laztheism is the OPPOSITE of death and taxes.
Remember what Shakespeare suggested in the Soliloquy: "...and by opposing end them."
Anyway, with Laztheism you don't need a condiment. "Aye, there's the rub."
I'm submitting this post to SNL, partly for the money, but mostly to get Laztheism some more exposure. Because the world needs Laztheism. It's always needed it, but who am I to say how much? Does the world need Laztheism more than it needs clean drinking water? No. Does the world need Laztheism more than it needs petroleum? No. Does the world need Laztheism more than it needs tickets to a Bon Jovi concert? Yes.
So it's all relative. Like Ghawd. He's a relative. But as Chico Marx used to say, "I'mma no relative, I'mma guest." The script had another line, but it was cut: "And I'mma a guest violence."
A lot of people were Laztheists before Laztheism had a name. But now that Laztheism has a name, people are afraid to join because they think there are dues. People, Laztheism is the OPPOSITE of death and taxes.
Remember what Shakespeare suggested in the Soliloquy: "...and by opposing end them."
Anyway, with Laztheism you don't need a condiment. "Aye, there's the rub."
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Democracy, Theocracy, Ludicracy, & Idiocy
Democracy: the will of the majority
Theocracy: the will of the ghawds
Ludicracy: the will of the silly
Idiocy: the will of a political party
Theocracy: the will of the ghawds
Ludicracy: the will of the silly
Idiocy: the will of a political party
Syllable Technician Wanted
When I saw this ad headline, I almost stopped my eyes to focus on the body of the ad. But then I stopped the stopping. I'm too old to start over.
I think I would have been a wonderful Syllable Technician. I think I could even have been a Syllable Master Technician! Had I started in Syllable technology back 35 years ago instead of curb painting, I would probably now be a revered elder Syllable Technician-statesman!
I would be the driving force behind Syllables.Com and the people at Words.com would be biting their nails, wondering what I would have to say about new words.
Take for instance the words "Crotchular" and "Intensier." These are recent inventions. Obviously those pious nut-cases at Words.Com (Did you know they petitioned ICANN to create the .god suffix class, for websites in charge of important issues? Insufferable creeps wanted Words.God !) would find fault with crotchular & intensier, declaring them invalid and unacceptable.
But if there were a Syllables.Com, those words would have been championed. After all, words are not absolutes. (Syllables are! Syllables are comprised of all, ALL, the short utterances the human mouth is capable of forming/emitting.) Since there have been humans, there have been syllables. Words only came to exit when two people first agreed that a certain vocalization meant something. So for Words.Com to say that crotchular is not a word is the height of folly. And I couldn't be more intensier.
Thank you.
I think I would have been a wonderful Syllable Technician. I think I could even have been a Syllable Master Technician! Had I started in Syllable technology back 35 years ago instead of curb painting, I would probably now be a revered elder Syllable Technician-statesman!
I would be the driving force behind Syllables.Com and the people at Words.com would be biting their nails, wondering what I would have to say about new words.
Take for instance the words "Crotchular" and "Intensier." These are recent inventions. Obviously those pious nut-cases at Words.Com (Did you know they petitioned ICANN to create the .god suffix class, for websites in charge of important issues? Insufferable creeps wanted Words.God !) would find fault with crotchular & intensier, declaring them invalid and unacceptable.
But if there were a Syllables.Com, those words would have been championed. After all, words are not absolutes. (Syllables are! Syllables are comprised of all, ALL, the short utterances the human mouth is capable of forming/emitting.) Since there have been humans, there have been syllables. Words only came to exit when two people first agreed that a certain vocalization meant something. So for Words.Com to say that crotchular is not a word is the height of folly. And I couldn't be more intensier.
Thank you.
Rain
As many of you who have taken the time and trouble to find out everything you possibly can about me know, I live in SoCal's High Desert. Being a High Desert dweller has almost none of the panache that living near the intersection of Haight & Ashbury gives to those residents. But even if I could live anywhere I wanted to, I wouldn't move, because I'm against change.
As one comes to expect of an area with 'desert' in it's name, we don't get a lot of rain. But it rained all last night. And now this morning the air is redolent with the scent of wet dog fur. Which begs the question, did Jesus have a dog? And did He know about frisbees?
It's really a shame that we had no raging forest fires burning in the local mountains. They would have been quenched and the people would have rejoiced. I blame our local politicians who never seem to get anything right.
As one comes to expect of an area with 'desert' in it's name, we don't get a lot of rain. But it rained all last night. And now this morning the air is redolent with the scent of wet dog fur. Which begs the question, did Jesus have a dog? And did He know about frisbees?
It's really a shame that we had no raging forest fires burning in the local mountains. They would have been quenched and the people would have rejoiced. I blame our local politicians who never seem to get anything right.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Hard Times
I didn't live through the great American Depression. (No, this isn't about the Grand Canyon.) But I did know people who did. They assure me that had I been alive during the Great Depression, I would have been poor.
So in a sense, it could be said that I have been preparing for this next Depression all my life, and EVEN BEFORE! (cue eerie music)
The thing about the new, improved Depression is that we're all so connected. Charities will be set up so that jobless, homeless people --called hobos & tramps in the prior Depression, but in the upcoming Depression they'll all be lumped into one big group, democrats-- can have access to the WWW, so we can blog the uniqueness of our poverty and destitution.
Am I certain that there is going to be a new, improved Great Depression? No, I'm seldom entertain fits of certainty any more. But besides the general cyclical nature of economies, I believe we have religious overtones, in that key players in the global economy think it's for the general improvement of the state of humankind, that America, and Americans, be humbled.
What if a new oil company began doing business in America, and issued credit cards that had to be validated weekly at your local mosque, and when properly validated allowed you to buy unleaded regular and diesel for 99 cents a gallon. I think there's a good chance that a great big segment of the population would become Muslim, if name only. It would be like a reverse Inquisition. And it won't be too long before the Islamic faction of OPEC will be able to afford such an economic coup.
Allah Akbar may soon come to mean, "fill up on #3, please, and 40 bucks cash back."
So in a sense, it could be said that I have been preparing for this next Depression all my life, and EVEN BEFORE! (cue eerie music)
The thing about the new, improved Depression is that we're all so connected. Charities will be set up so that jobless, homeless people --called hobos & tramps in the prior Depression, but in the upcoming Depression they'll all be lumped into one big group, democrats-- can have access to the WWW, so we can blog the uniqueness of our poverty and destitution.
Am I certain that there is going to be a new, improved Great Depression? No, I'm seldom entertain fits of certainty any more. But besides the general cyclical nature of economies, I believe we have religious overtones, in that key players in the global economy think it's for the general improvement of the state of humankind, that America, and Americans, be humbled.
What if a new oil company began doing business in America, and issued credit cards that had to be validated weekly at your local mosque, and when properly validated allowed you to buy unleaded regular and diesel for 99 cents a gallon. I think there's a good chance that a great big segment of the population would become Muslim, if name only. It would be like a reverse Inquisition. And it won't be too long before the Islamic faction of OPEC will be able to afford such an economic coup.
Allah Akbar may soon come to mean, "fill up on #3, please, and 40 bucks cash back."
Moot U.
For the vast majority of us, the word 'moot' exists only as a predicate nominative, as in "the issue is moot." Most predicate nominatives are nouns. But moot is really quite the transitive verb! As in when you're having sex, it's best to be transitive, not intransitive.
The most striking use of the verb, to moot, is when it is used with regard to a person. Because I'm writing this post, within six months you will see this usage in a major motion picture (I don't appeal to indie people, apparently) or a major network comedy series. What you will hear is one character tell another character something like, "Want me to moot you?" Or, "How'd you like to wind up moot?" Or, "Hey, boss, you want I should moot him?"
So there ya go. Don't feel left out. Someday all of us will be moot. The Moot U. refers to the fact that my college education and degree became moot within three years of my graduation, so in a sense, and many of you will share in this distinction, I might as well have attended Moot U.
In a totally unrelated story, let me share with you the knowledge I recently gained: It is possible to search for a name, for example, Wanda Phsuggs, on Google, and have Google tell you that there are no hits, and could you possibly have meant Wanda Psuggs? When you acknowledge this possibility, Google then searches and then within .045 seconds tells you that there are no hits for Wanda Psuggs. Why didn't Google just tell me, "If in searching for Wanda Phsuggs, you actually meant Wanda Psuggs, there are no hits for her either"? I would have saved just over .045 seconds and mooted the second search!
The most striking use of the verb, to moot, is when it is used with regard to a person. Because I'm writing this post, within six months you will see this usage in a major motion picture (I don't appeal to indie people, apparently) or a major network comedy series. What you will hear is one character tell another character something like, "Want me to moot you?" Or, "How'd you like to wind up moot?" Or, "Hey, boss, you want I should moot him?"
So there ya go. Don't feel left out. Someday all of us will be moot. The Moot U. refers to the fact that my college education and degree became moot within three years of my graduation, so in a sense, and many of you will share in this distinction, I might as well have attended Moot U.
In a totally unrelated story, let me share with you the knowledge I recently gained: It is possible to search for a name, for example, Wanda Phsuggs, on Google, and have Google tell you that there are no hits, and could you possibly have meant Wanda Psuggs? When you acknowledge this possibility, Google then searches and then within .045 seconds tells you that there are no hits for Wanda Psuggs. Why didn't Google just tell me, "If in searching for Wanda Phsuggs, you actually meant Wanda Psuggs, there are no hits for her either"? I would have saved just over .045 seconds and mooted the second search!
Friday, July 11, 2008
Tax Money
Your Tax Money at Work! And Play!
Government work is divided between those who decide how much of your money to take from you in taxes, those who decide how to spend your Tax Money and those who do the actual spending. The lines between these functions are sometimes made to stretch to such an extent that you can't tell just who is whom in this scheme of things.
By and large, the people involved in these processes are happy in their work. It's nice when self-sacrifice is abundantly rewarded. "Perks" apparently abound for those willing to sacrifice for the greater good. (Their greater good?)
So it has come to my attention, via a leak between my rhombencephalon and my prosencephalon, and not screened by my mesencephalon, that the federal government of the United States of America (EEUU [ting tang, walla walla bing bang]) is funding a study to determine at what temperature it is best to serve butter.
For you see, a problem exists! Yes! If butter is too hard, trying to spread it on soft bread, or even lightly toasted bread, is very inefficient. There is no data to contradict this position.
But on the other side of the equation, the ease with which soft butter is spread co-exists with the mostly hidden danger that TOO MUCH butter will end up on the object of the butter knife's attention!! Studies conducted in the Swedish armed forces proved conclusively that between 35 & 61 percent too much butter is used when the butter source is too soft.
And so the question arose, naturally, what temperature is best? At what temperature is butter not going to tear the bread, but not melt so quickly into warm toast so as to constitute a hazard?
Clinical trials have begun. The bookies in Vegas have 71° F as the favorite, at odds of 12 to 10, meaning a $10 bet will win you $12. Anyone willing to bet on 33° F can get odds of 3,000,000,000 to 1. I plan to bet a dollar on 33° F because I like the odds. Plus I can always frame the ticket and make up a story about what the bet was on. Like I could say that it was a bet on me getting Paula Bunker pregnant...
But wait, don't let my tawdry attempt at humor deflect us from the purpose of this post: governments are made up of people just like you and me.
Government work is divided between those who decide how much of your money to take from you in taxes, those who decide how to spend your Tax Money and those who do the actual spending. The lines between these functions are sometimes made to stretch to such an extent that you can't tell just who is whom in this scheme of things.
By and large, the people involved in these processes are happy in their work. It's nice when self-sacrifice is abundantly rewarded. "Perks" apparently abound for those willing to sacrifice for the greater good. (Their greater good?)
So it has come to my attention, via a leak between my rhombencephalon and my prosencephalon, and not screened by my mesencephalon, that the federal government of the United States of America (EEUU [ting tang, walla walla bing bang]) is funding a study to determine at what temperature it is best to serve butter.
For you see, a problem exists! Yes! If butter is too hard, trying to spread it on soft bread, or even lightly toasted bread, is very inefficient. There is no data to contradict this position.
But on the other side of the equation, the ease with which soft butter is spread co-exists with the mostly hidden danger that TOO MUCH butter will end up on the object of the butter knife's attention!! Studies conducted in the Swedish armed forces proved conclusively that between 35 & 61 percent too much butter is used when the butter source is too soft.
And so the question arose, naturally, what temperature is best? At what temperature is butter not going to tear the bread, but not melt so quickly into warm toast so as to constitute a hazard?
Clinical trials have begun. The bookies in Vegas have 71° F as the favorite, at odds of 12 to 10, meaning a $10 bet will win you $12. Anyone willing to bet on 33° F can get odds of 3,000,000,000 to 1. I plan to bet a dollar on 33° F because I like the odds. Plus I can always frame the ticket and make up a story about what the bet was on. Like I could say that it was a bet on me getting Paula Bunker pregnant...
But wait, don't let my tawdry attempt at humor deflect us from the purpose of this post: governments are made up of people just like you and me.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Waste not, want not
You have to give this guy props...
I was N/B on Vermont, having turned left from E/B Olympic, coming back from another day in Beverly Hills... Well, it was my first day in 90210 this year.
I had to snatch up my camera and hurriedly take this photo. Had I been a tush behind this spot ("a tush behind..." get it?) the photo would have more clearly shown how deeply rusted the roof support was.
The odds are very good that the driver is not the original owner. The odds are just as good that the driver is an illegal alien, unlicensed and uninsured. Or as they saw in the insurance industry (if they happen to have read my mind on this subject already, an IUU. Which is immediately followed by 'ting tang, walla walla bing bang. (You have to old to get this one, plus you have to pronounce the three letters in Spanish.)
But still he gets props. How much have you sunk into your car this year? All he's paid for is black market gas, which is sold in the barrios for $10 for a five gallon gas container fill up. Which is basically $10 pure profit because it's stolen gas.
Both the really, really poor, and the really, really rich are the best at finding ways to not have to spend money.
Monday, July 07, 2008
Re-Write
The producer who is putting jumping on the "30 plays in 60 minutes" bandwagon actually read my play. I hadn't known about the 30 plays in 60 minutes criterion prior to writing my play, so while I thought it was short, coming in at 7 minutes, it was waaaayyyyy to long for this format. He asked me to cut the play and just leave the good stuff. So all the dialogue about Paula Bunker was cut. And I added two new cast members, along with a non-dialogue actor: girl with big chest. So yes, all that's left is my juvenile breast fixation. If it actually makes the cut and is in the program, I'll video it and post it. Excited?
Friday, July 04, 2008
Cherished Freedoms
A United States Senator who in his personal life would probably not have to obey the speed limit, is proposing a return to a national 55 mph speed limit.
He probably thinks that congress can pass such a bill. Dummy. Congress can't set a national speed limit. What they did last time was a pass legislation allowing the appropriate federal bureaucracy to withhold federal highway funds from any state that didn't impose the 55 mph speed limit. That's still a big stick, but there are now more States in the Union where woe betide the elected officials who support this attempt. But maybe the Greens will guilt us into it.
Will this attempt succeed? I haven't the slight idea. Wouldn't matter to me, anyway. I'll still go 70.
I think there's a bigger threat to America arising from the oil price rise: We're making it possible, through the transfer of wealth from Here to There, to make it possible for Islamic Fundamentalists to BUY America and financially brow beat us into, if not converting to Islam, to at least living by Islamic standards, Sharia Law. And if the money's good, why not? Especially if the consequence of refusal is starving to death.
It may boil down to being all about the Benjamins.
He probably thinks that congress can pass such a bill. Dummy. Congress can't set a national speed limit. What they did last time was a pass legislation allowing the appropriate federal bureaucracy to withhold federal highway funds from any state that didn't impose the 55 mph speed limit. That's still a big stick, but there are now more States in the Union where woe betide the elected officials who support this attempt. But maybe the Greens will guilt us into it.
Will this attempt succeed? I haven't the slight idea. Wouldn't matter to me, anyway. I'll still go 70.
I think there's a bigger threat to America arising from the oil price rise: We're making it possible, through the transfer of wealth from Here to There, to make it possible for Islamic Fundamentalists to BUY America and financially brow beat us into, if not converting to Islam, to at least living by Islamic standards, Sharia Law. And if the money's good, why not? Especially if the consequence of refusal is starving to death.
It may boil down to being all about the Benjamins.
A form of Patriotism
It's not a new form of patriotism. But it's not the patriotism that I was suckered into learning as a youth. Damn that John Wayne!!
When some Americans talk about dying for their country, they remember the Duke's ultimate sacrifice in the movie The Sands of Iwo Jima. And do they still teach youngsters the story of Nathan Hale, Mr. "I regret that I have but one life to give for my country"?
Even as a youth I know I looked at that in a slightly different manner. I've now come to label this slight askew view as "Pistolish." The label is new, but the view has been there, like, forevah...
See, I figured that Nathan's speech was slightly incomplete. Naturally I assumed that it was the reporters' faults. Since it's not on Youtube (in about 20 years, young people will be stunned when they search for video of Cleopatra clasping as asp to her bosom and can't find it...) we have to rely on what was handed down, like that game where I tell someone a fact, they repeat to a a third person, etc. and at the end my statement, "Frogs are green" has turned into "Former members of Congress have trouble peeing."
In my mind, Nathan's full statement was likely to have been, "I regret that I have but one life to give for my country, while my other lives are busy doing things that amuse me. Like I'd reserve one entire life to just tracking down Paula Bunker and getting her pregnant. And sure, I'd like to waste one or two lives memorizing the dialogue to the complete Family Guy oeuvre. Who wouldn't? Anyway, go ahead and take this one life for my country so I can grab my backpack and go follow up that lead I got about Paula Bunker being spotted near that hill in Boston..."
But back to the other form of Patriotism: It's not the love of country, but rather the love of your country's money. Bill Gates is filthy rich. But all he's going to do for the rest of his life is give that money away. He's not going to impoverish himself, but the essence of his purpose is NOT get as rich as possible.
There are people out there who are trying to get as much of their country's money as they can. And very often they aren't concerned with legalities, or even civility. And LIE! Big ones! HUGE ASS lies!
And it's basically because, as a culture, we have never been able to agree on an answer to a very fundamental question: How much is enough?
When some Americans talk about dying for their country, they remember the Duke's ultimate sacrifice in the movie The Sands of Iwo Jima. And do they still teach youngsters the story of Nathan Hale, Mr. "I regret that I have but one life to give for my country"?
Even as a youth I know I looked at that in a slightly different manner. I've now come to label this slight askew view as "Pistolish." The label is new, but the view has been there, like, forevah...
See, I figured that Nathan's speech was slightly incomplete. Naturally I assumed that it was the reporters' faults. Since it's not on Youtube (in about 20 years, young people will be stunned when they search for video of Cleopatra clasping as asp to her bosom and can't find it...) we have to rely on what was handed down, like that game where I tell someone a fact, they repeat to a a third person, etc. and at the end my statement, "Frogs are green" has turned into "Former members of Congress have trouble peeing."
In my mind, Nathan's full statement was likely to have been, "I regret that I have but one life to give for my country, while my other lives are busy doing things that amuse me. Like I'd reserve one entire life to just tracking down Paula Bunker and getting her pregnant. And sure, I'd like to waste one or two lives memorizing the dialogue to the complete Family Guy oeuvre. Who wouldn't? Anyway, go ahead and take this one life for my country so I can grab my backpack and go follow up that lead I got about Paula Bunker being spotted near that hill in Boston..."
But back to the other form of Patriotism: It's not the love of country, but rather the love of your country's money. Bill Gates is filthy rich. But all he's going to do for the rest of his life is give that money away. He's not going to impoverish himself, but the essence of his purpose is NOT get as rich as possible.
There are people out there who are trying to get as much of their country's money as they can. And very often they aren't concerned with legalities, or even civility. And LIE! Big ones! HUGE ASS lies!
And it's basically because, as a culture, we have never been able to agree on an answer to a very fundamental question: How much is enough?
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Yesterday I was in Lancaster, Today I'm in Love
But before I went to Lancaster, I was at Cedar Sinai Hospital. Despite having lived SoCal the majority of my life, I'd never been there before. It's a little city unto itself. It ought to come as no surprise that the parking lots convenient to the hospital charge a fortune: $6 per 15 minutes, $20 maximum. Imagine the expense if you left your motor running!
But I don't pay those prices. I just drove around until I found a parking space. AND it had time still on the meter! SCORE!! It was only 25 cents per 15 minutes. I was only four blocks from the hospital
(What was I doing there at Cedar Sinai? I can't tell you... I promised her I'd keep it a secret. Who is "her"? I can't tell you that because if you knew who it was, you'd probably guess the secret and her career would be over... you know how it is...)
When I was walking back to my vehicle I was people watching. This is the Westside of LA and the inhabitants are, in the majority, Beautiful People. Many of these Beautiful People were out doing Beautiful People Things. I saw a valet parking sign in front of not even a very trendy bistro that said valet service was $6.50, which would be added to the bill. But you just know that the sweating valets still get some cash applied to their palms. It's not like they don't have their fair share of McDonalds, et al.
And then I saw her! Female caucasian, mid-30s, 5'4" tall, a bit chunky (I hope she reads this...) a reddish tinge to her darkish blonde hair, which was half in a pony tail and half just hanging loose, blue, skin-tight sort of capri-ish pants, sandals and a sleeveless blouse, walking alone at a furious pace, animatedly arguing with, seemingly, thin air. And she was arguing loudly. Of course she was on her hands-free cell phone.
Anyone else but a Beautiful Person would probably have not been conducting the argument so publicly. Non-Beautiful People mostly don't try to be a local center of attention. (Great name for a Mall! Center of Attention!) She caught up and passed me. As she did so, I tried to offer some support: "All right, you go girl, give'm hell!" She turned and looked at me, but her facial expression didn't change. I couldn't see her eyes because of the dark glasses. (Maybe she only had one eye, so I should have said, I couldn't see her eye...?) I wasn't wearing dark glasses. So she could see that I was bemused. She quickly turned to look forward. And I swear to All Mighty/Blighty/Flighty Ghawd that I heard her say, "What? No, that was just some freak talking to me..."
Me, "some freak..." How did she know?
But I don't pay those prices. I just drove around until I found a parking space. AND it had time still on the meter! SCORE!! It was only 25 cents per 15 minutes. I was only four blocks from the hospital
(What was I doing there at Cedar Sinai? I can't tell you... I promised her I'd keep it a secret. Who is "her"? I can't tell you that because if you knew who it was, you'd probably guess the secret and her career would be over... you know how it is...)
When I was walking back to my vehicle I was people watching. This is the Westside of LA and the inhabitants are, in the majority, Beautiful People. Many of these Beautiful People were out doing Beautiful People Things. I saw a valet parking sign in front of not even a very trendy bistro that said valet service was $6.50, which would be added to the bill. But you just know that the sweating valets still get some cash applied to their palms. It's not like they don't have their fair share of McDonalds, et al.
And then I saw her! Female caucasian, mid-30s, 5'4" tall, a bit chunky (I hope she reads this...) a reddish tinge to her darkish blonde hair, which was half in a pony tail and half just hanging loose, blue, skin-tight sort of capri-ish pants, sandals and a sleeveless blouse, walking alone at a furious pace, animatedly arguing with, seemingly, thin air. And she was arguing loudly. Of course she was on her hands-free cell phone.
Anyone else but a Beautiful Person would probably have not been conducting the argument so publicly. Non-Beautiful People mostly don't try to be a local center of attention. (Great name for a Mall! Center of Attention!) She caught up and passed me. As she did so, I tried to offer some support: "All right, you go girl, give'm hell!" She turned and looked at me, but her facial expression didn't change. I couldn't see her eyes because of the dark glasses. (Maybe she only had one eye, so I should have said, I couldn't see her eye...?) I wasn't wearing dark glasses. So she could see that I was bemused. She quickly turned to look forward. And I swear to All Mighty/Blighty/Flighty Ghawd that I heard her say, "What? No, that was just some freak talking to me..."
Me, "some freak..." How did she know?
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
OOGLE, a play in one act. And you damn well know it's copyrighted!!
Oh man! I wrote a one act play, for a friend of Roby's, and it was short enough so that at least one person would have wasted the 7-1/2 minutes necessary to read it. The friend needs a bunch of one act plays and Roby told him that I'd rather write that work, so I took and hour and did the play.
But when I copied and pasted it from MS Word to here, it was all garbled up. There was an error message saying Blogspot couldn't handle all the html mark ups... or is that marks up? Let's see if the title at least survives...
OOGLE, THE VISUAL SEARCH ENGINE
a play in one act by
Bert Bananas
So if any of you are curious, I'll let you know when it's being staged and you can fly out to the coast, stay with Roby and he'll get you passes. If you don't own a cloak, you can rent one out here... I'll be signing autographs after the performance, or bussing tables, whichever seems likely to be the more profitable.
But when I copied and pasted it from MS Word to here, it was all garbled up. There was an error message saying Blogspot couldn't handle all the html mark ups... or is that marks up? Let's see if the title at least survives...
OOGLE, THE VISUAL SEARCH ENGINE
a play in one act by
Bert Bananas
So if any of you are curious, I'll let you know when it's being staged and you can fly out to the coast, stay with Roby and he'll get you passes. If you don't own a cloak, you can rent one out here... I'll be signing autographs after the performance, or bussing tables, whichever seems likely to be the more profitable.
It's Impossible . . .
Right away you're saying, "oh yeah, what's impossible?" as if a challenge has been thrown at you and you're itching to accept it...
What if I said it was impossible to masturbate AND have sex at the same time? (Okay, I only put this in as a straight line for Pistols.)
Here's the real challenge: I say it is impossible to know that you're on the opposite side of the sun today from where you were six months ago. If there were a big lake and it took you exactly one year to walk around that lake, you'd know that in six months you were exactly opposite of the spot from whence you started. With binoculars you'd be able to look across and see your wife and kids looking through their binoculars at you! You'd all be waving and tears would be streaming down your face because you'd be so happy that they didn't see you last night with the chick from the Indian casino... Man, are YOU lucky!
But when it comes to the earth's journey around the sun, our scales are limited and we cannot fathom the distance traveled. Which is probably for the best, because otherwise we'd probably get dizzy. I hope this half of the revolution has been good for you. And enjoy the rest of the revolution.
What if I said it was impossible to masturbate AND have sex at the same time? (Okay, I only put this in as a straight line for Pistols.)
Here's the real challenge: I say it is impossible to know that you're on the opposite side of the sun today from where you were six months ago. If there were a big lake and it took you exactly one year to walk around that lake, you'd know that in six months you were exactly opposite of the spot from whence you started. With binoculars you'd be able to look across and see your wife and kids looking through their binoculars at you! You'd all be waving and tears would be streaming down your face because you'd be so happy that they didn't see you last night with the chick from the Indian casino... Man, are YOU lucky!
But when it comes to the earth's journey around the sun, our scales are limited and we cannot fathom the distance traveled. Which is probably for the best, because otherwise we'd probably get dizzy. I hope this half of the revolution has been good for you. And enjoy the rest of the revolution.
A visual image of a pun
I took these two photos as I was driving by. Honest to ghawd, I don't know what this thing is. Since it's just off the 101 freeway in practically the heart of El Lay, I figure it's not a water slide.Too bad we don't have a visual search engine, where you upload a photo and the visual search engine (VSE) searches the web for information it connects to the image you've uploaded. A VSE would process one of these photos and I'd probably get some very informative hits and my curiosity would be assuaged. (Assuaging, or assuagements, should be a category in the yellow pages.)
If there were a dependable VSE, I could upload Paula Bunker's senior class photo and perhaps find out if she ever realized that dumping my ass was probably the best thing she ever did. For her, not for me...
And anyone could upload MY senior class photo and discover just how matter of factly I went about exceeding the expectations of failure predicted for me. But only by those who knew me best.
Anyway, that's what I see when I look at whatever it is in the photos.
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