Banditos! Banditos! Banditos!

Free Skate

Hey, it’s Free Skate, everybody!  Free Skate!  That means everybody get on into the roller rink – all can skate.  Get on out there!

Young or old, guys and gals, no restrictions.  You could be 900 years old, or female, or whatever.  Free Skate!

Have you ever wanted to skate backwards?  Or in a small circle?  Now is your chance.  Free Skate only comes around once every few hours.  The time is now.  The skates are on.  The rink is waiting … for you.

If you’re a demure housemaid, steal your mistress’s favorite dress, get in the rink, and put on airs.  Maybe you’ll meet a wealthy baron who will fall in love with you.  And maybe that baron will turn out to be your mistress, in drag, and when you go back to his place in his horse drawn carriage, the horse will turn out to be six cats, working together.

Most cultures have a taboo against eating human flesh, and rightly so, but right now?  This right here?  This is Free Skate.

If you see a friend across the rink, you don’t need to skate clockwise along the circumference of the oval.  Cut right across.  Bisect it.  Bisect it hard.

Free Skate’s just another name for nothing left to lose.

Get a bunch of your friends together and skate in formation while holding hands.  You’re Voltron!  Or have you ever tried a Reverse Voltron?  It’s where you get a bunch of your friends together and start removing each other’s clothing.  There are other names for it, too.

This is Free Skate, so I feel perfectly comfortable telling you all that sometimes, the announcer’s booth can be a mighty lonely place.  And I think it might be haunted.  It’s definitely really humid.  That’s not normal.  Someone come up here and see if it seems humid to you.  What about you?  What about your hot friend?

Hey, who here has heard about the ten second rule for dropped food?  Raise your hands.  No one?  That’s right, there is no ten second rule.  This is Free Skate.

Who here has heard about how you should pour an acid into a base, but never the other way around?  Free Skate.  This skate, you cannot chaaaaange -

Oh, it’s over?  Already?  Aw, darn it.  We were just about to transcend the laws of time and space.  I think I saw someone skating on one foot, too.  It was quite a thing.  Well, you heard it, people.  The bacchanalia of Free Skate has once again come to an end.  Sigh.  Everyone line up for the Hokey Pokey.

Technorati Tags: Free Skates,roller rinks,bacchanaliae

Our Neo-Newtopia

Friends, we shall create a perfect society, far from the corrupting influence of civilization, yet close to parking.  It will be a new utopia, and like every utopia it will fail, due to hubris or global warming or something.  But this is not the end!  For you see, from the wreckage of our utopia, we shall fashion a new, neo-utopian world.  Our success will be assured, because everything our previous utopia did, we will do the opposite, no matter how immoral or gross.  And the citizens of this perfect re-new-topia (still working on name) will be the cream of the crop, the very few essential people of any society.  Right now, we have openings for:

• Entrepreneurs
• Racecar drivers
• Artists
• Art lovers who can also fix racecars
• Simple Everyday Philosophers (no professors, no grad students please)
• Lobsters
• One (1) serial killer (secret)
• Gilders
• Bowtie adjusters
• Dressage judges
• Tom Wolfe
• Cats who use toilets
• World class drama queens
• Hyper-intelligent wolves, with guns, to do all manual labor, without supervision
• Classy dames
• Williams and/or Sonoma

Please apply in person, by the docks, at midnight.  Just to be clear, this is not the first, doomed utopia.  This is for the utopia that can never go wrong.  Also, we have an opening for one (1) atom bomb technician.  Feel free to apply even if you’re not that good at tending to atom bombs.  You won’t be tending it for long.

Technorati Tags: utopias,tom wolfe,le creme of le crop

Hallways Are No Good

As the world’s leading architect and designer of buildings and houses and stuff, I’m often asked, “What’s wrong with architecture?  How can it be restored to its former glory, like in Renaissance times?”  I have one simple answer: get rid of hallways.  Toss hallways into the rubbish bin of history, where they belong, and then wait until the bulk pickup day of history when they will empty the bin.

Think about it.  Who likes hallways?  No one.  I say this as an architect and an expert.

When was the last time you were in a hallway and thought, “This house would truly suck, if it weren’t for this wonderful hallway tying the whole piece together?”  Let me guess, was it never?  No one has ever thought that.

Hallways waste space.  I can tell you that everyone who designs an office building has a moment where they wish that they could just skip the hallway design process.  There’s no art to it, no beauty.  I’d rather design a very unsafe building covered in unpleasant materials than one with a lot of lame hallways laming up the space between offices.

How would I design a house without hallways?  Simple.  I would make the rooms larger.  Each room would open onto another room, without some half-assed, long, skinny, pretend room trying to insinuate itself between them. 

Do you need to use the bathroom?  Go through Wayne’s room, Tina’s room, make a left in G. K. Chesterton’s room (no, not that G. K. Chesterton), and you’re right there!  Do your business, and either head back the way you came, or continue going through rooms until you find the one where we keep the towels. 

Yes, we have an entire room for hand towels, because getting rid of hallways frees up so much space.  Yes, it is a wondrous and beautiful new world.

In conclusion, hallways are an abomination and must be destroyed, etc, etc., and I am just the man to take them out for good.  Not just because I’m the most important architect since Frank Picasso, but because I know all the hallways’ weaknesses, since I sleep in a different one each night.

Oh, and campfires by train tracks could really use some better lighting.

Technorati Tags: hallways,architecture,thinking outside the box

2008 Capitol Christmas Tree Fact Sheet

The Christmas tree arrived in D.C. today!  I don’t have any pictures of it yet.  I think it’s still on the truck.  I also don’t have any pictures of the Christmas truck, but I’m sure it’s radiant.  The 2008 Capitol Christmas Tree is a 73 foot tall Alpine fir from Bitterroot National Forest in Montana.  It was originally 100 feet tall in the ground or wherever it is you get trees.  Montana is also providing over 75 smaller trees for various offices and agencies around D.C.  I guess the missing 27 feet got split up and then grew into the 75 little trees?  I’m not really sure how trees work.

• Fact: The Capitol Christmas Tree is known as “The People’s Tree,” or “America’s Tree.”  There are no other culturally significant Christmas trees anywhere in America.  There is a tree in New York that reflects the importance of the D.C. tree, the way the moon reflects the Sun.  The New York tree just appears to be more important because it’s closer to anything anyone cares about.  D.C.’s tree – a much bigger deal.
• Fact: America’s tree is a huge fire hazard!  Every year, hundreds of nations are left without capitols because they forgot to turn off the tree at night, or let it get dry and flammable.  Be sure to water the tree, America.  They don’t water themselves, I think.
• Fact: There is also a National Christmas tree, which is lit by the President, on the Ellipse near the White House.  That’s the one on TV with the C-list celebrities and the marching bands.  But the Capitol Christmas tree, which is lit by the Speaker of the House, is the real Christmas tree.
• Fact: America’s neighbors, Canada and Mexico, have already sent a couple of very nice homemade ornaments for America’s tree.  Oh, you really shouldn’t have, Canada and Mexico, this is so nice of you.  Of course, maybe you should’ve asked what the tree theme is this year, but that’s great that you thought of us.  No, we’re not going to put them on the tree, just yet, you know, ‘cause of the theme, but let’s just hang them here by the fireplace, dangling really low, near the flames.
• Fact: Montanans signed the truck as it went by.  I think the truck slowed down?  I don’t know much about trucks.
• Fact: The lights are strings of LEDs.  Saving some energy there.  Cool.
• The very, very best fact:  You can track the tree, which has already arrived in D.C., online.  Check it out.  It’s a big interactive map with the current location of the tree.  Can you guess where it is today?  Can you predict where it will be tomorrow?  I bet you can.  Hint: it has already arrived in D.C.
• Bonus extra credit fact: What happens if you try to click and drag the tree to another location?  Can you drag it back to Montana?  Can you drag it into “North Atlantic Ocean?”  (Fish have Christmas, too!  Or do they?)  Will that affect the actual location of the tree?  And is this even a fact?  Fact is, no.

Technorati Tags: Capitol Christmas Tree,Montana,DC,map facts,tree facts,bullet points

Obvious Fake

TruthWillOut89, this comment is directed directly at YOU and your obvious LIES.  How can you send me this and not see what is in front of your own face?  You are once again blinded by the mainstream media into swallowing a bunch of sugar coated lies like some kind of sheep being led to the boiling frog pot.  Do you know what happens if you put a frog in boiling water?  Guess what, you put the frog in water and then you heat it up slowly and the frog doesn’t notice until it’s boiling, and then he jumps out, but it’s too late because the pot of water is right next to a cliff and he DIES.  It’s a metaphor look it up.  Frog.

YOUR PHOTO IS FAKE.

Where is the cord?  Ask yourself that.  How could he be playing music without power?  The nearest, logical source of power is the car’s battery, so there should be a clearly visible cord connecting the car and the boom box.  Like so.  I have also added “power vibes” so you can see that the boom box is emanating electricity, and musical notes to indicate the presence of Peter Gabriel (who is there in spirit).

Also, I guess you wouldn’t know this because you’re too busy putting together photographic fakery, but boom boxes are heavy.  And Lloyd Dobler is not physically capable of holding up something loaded with over 83 pounds (that’s right, 83 lb.s look it up) of soulful romance, because he spent most of his athletic career developing his LEGS.  He has leg strength, not hand strength.  You fool, you put him in upside down.

I guess you weren’t paying attention when he said he was a kickboxer, were you?  No big deal, it’s only just the most important part of anything, idiot.  I’m being sarcastic.  And speaking of sarcastic, that’s some really good attention to detail with Lloyd’s choice of apparel.  You really got that correct.  (No you didn’t.)  For your information, Lloyd Dobler is a romantic at heart, so he wouldn’t just throw on any old clothes and play “In Your Eyes” in someone’s yard, he would dress for success.  He would anoint himself in the finest of oils, slowly rubbing them into every tired muscle in his lithe, romantic body, and then he would stand outside completely naked, wooing as hard as he can woo, ready to instantaneously get it on with the object of his wooing, even if she’s not right for him and he could do better.  Oiled, naked, ready.  Romantic.

Nice try, TruthWillOut89, but the truth will out itself without any help from your Photoshop fakery.  It’s sad, really, that you have to perpetrate these obvious hoaxes, tossing and turning on your bed of lies, when you could just go to the window and face the music of truth, which is right there on your lawn, in your eyes.  The light, the heat.  It’s a metaphor look it up.

Technorati Tags: john cusack,say anything,lloyd dobler,hoaxes,MS Paint

Remember to Vote or Something

Remember to vote, kids.  Voting is important.  I know you hear that a lot, but it’s especially true right now, with an election coming up.  All those other times I lectured you on how voting is important, when I would wake you up in the middle of the night, or those surprise voting “jam sessions” when I would get out the acoustic guitar and serenade you, and you were like, “who are you?” and shots were fired, and I realized I was at the wrong window, remember that?  No, you wouldn’t, but I do, and voting is even more important now than it was then, and it was pretty important, believe me.  Like, pay a pet groomer to yank a slug out of your arm important.  So remember to vote.

Let me tell you a little story.  Once there was a little boy who thought his vote didn’t matter.  “Blar, blar, I’m not gonna vote today,” he said, stupidly, because he was dumb, and then he – I don’t mean to freak you out but this is a true story – he didn’t vote.  It was a Presidential election and everything, and he just stayed home and took a long bath.  Well, when he got to work the next day, everyone was like, “Oh no!  The election is all messed up!  Up is down and right is left and elegiac couplets start with pentameter now, it’s CRAZY TOWN FOLLIEZ.” 

The boy soon realized the error of his ways and fortunately, he was given another chance to vote and make it all right, because that boy, you see, was Antonin Scalia.  Although now that I think about it, this is more of a cautionary tale about something else entirely.  This is really a story about a guy who should’ve stayed in the tub a lot longer.  It wouldn’t’ve done any harm.  He’s thick and leathery, like an old, lying rhino.

I just want everyone to vote, because I’m sick of hearing about how few people vote for President and too many vote for American Idol.  It’s such an unfair comparison.  American Idol needs voters, too.  Every other show is a results show – do you know how boring those would be if nobody voted?  “We were going to eliminate one of you, but I guess America hasn’t spoken, and that means you’re all winners, or losers, whatever.  So, uh, who wants to see another Ford commercial?” 

So go out and vote, participate in democracy, etc., etc.  The most important thing to remember is that voting is important, and the second most important thing is that you might get dehydrated while waiting in line, so bring a water bottle.  And the third thing is that after you vote, if you get a sticker, you can put it anywhere on your body.  Within reason.  I repeat, within reason.  You have to be able to reach it.  There are other important things but I’ve done a very good job of staying on topic so far and I don’t want to jinx it.  Wow, I am like the best patriot essay guy since John Jay.

Technorati Tags: voting,essays,blar blar

Liveblogging the Internal Debate

5:31 AM – I’m so excited about tonight’s debate!  I’m winning this one for sure!

5:32 – Wow, it is super early.  It’s just me and the little birds.  I wonder if they’re having bird debates?

6:55 – After listening to all of your arguments, which were melodic but quite repetitive, I might add, I believe that the red bird over there is more qualified to be on that branch.  Congratulations, red birdie, you win.  Tee hee!

7:28 – Welp, better get preparing for my own debate.  Step one: drink lots of water and keep the ol’ vocal cords hydrated.  A master debating trick.

8:34 – Oh no, now I have to pee.  Nobody told me this would happen!

9:00 – I think I made the right decision holding it in.  I can’t afford to pee right now, the stakes are too high.  Say, I should use this as a real life example of an important leadership decision, because you know they’re totally going to ask me about decisions and stuff.

9:01 – It’s cool, it’s cool, I just won’t include this part when I’m telling the pee story.

9:22 – Time to practice my debating faces.  Let’s see, there’s “quiet confidence,” there’s “listening hard,” then you got your “my opponent is wrong, so very wrong,” and here’s “guess what I love?  AMERICA!” and here’s my “that’s a big number,” and “I’m not lying, or I don’t know I’m lying, or who cares, my opponent sucks, vote for me.”  Whew, I think that’s all of them.

10:00 – Say, who is my opponent anyway?  I forgot to ask.  I know, I’ll check the web.

11:37 – Oh, that is a funny video.  I wish my cat would do that.  Uh, what was I going to look up again?  My opponent?  Whatever, I’ll just wing it.

11:38 – What if, instead of debating my opponent, I debate the moderator?  No one would see it coming!  They’ll be like, “Do you have a rebuttal?” and I’ll be like, “Fuck you!”

11:51 – I should have some quotes, too, in case I run out of my own words.  What does Google have for “the best quote?”  I want the best quote.

11:52 – Ugh, too many quotes, and they’re all too long.  I should Google for something else, instead. 

12:40 – Who needs quotes, anyway?  I’ll make them up as I go along.  Like, “As Winston Churchill once said, ‘Eat my shorts.’  Do we want to elect someone who Winston Churchill burned like that?  Not bloody likely.”

1:30 – A healthy lunch!  Very important.

3:30 – Now, I already have the pee story from earlier, but should I tell the poop story?  It definitely highlights my ability to cope with lunch, that’s true.  “I’m ready to lead on day one.  I’ve already pooped.”

4:20 – Oh hey, what do you know, it’s the time of day when people who smoke marijuana like to start smoking marijuana.  What an interesting coincid-no not today I’m better than that keep it together keep it together

5:20 – Pssh, whatever.  I don’t want to go into this thing all tense anyway.

5:21 – They can tell!  They can totally tell!

6:17 – Perfect.  Drunk and high, they cancel each other out.  I am a GENIUS.  Let’s do this thing.

[Every single minute of the debate]

Don’t say ****, don’t say ####, don’t call anyone a @@@@, don’t show your &&&&

[One minute after the debate]

**** yeah, I ####ed that @@@@!  Yaaaaay!  Who wants to see my &&&&?

Technorati Tags: debates,liveblogs,internals

News Collage

According to today's News Collage, Sarah Palin has demanded almost a trillion dollars from American taxpayers, or else Michael Phelps will die.  Extortion?  Threats of swimmercide?  Not too classy, Sarah Palin.  America can accept a stupid vice president, or an evil one, but both stupid and evil?  That's where we draw the line.  Besides, I think if you check your holding tank you'll find that Phelps has gnawed off the lock already and has reached international waters by now.

News Collage reports that it will take a long time for the Southern coastlands to recover from the devastation of Hurricane Hanna Gustav-Ike.  The hurricane's high damage rate was attributed to its ability to attack the coastal regions, wear itself out, then reappear in a different location, three times in all.  Now, I don't condone wreaking havok (I'm opposed to wreaking of any kind; I'm against wreaking hugs) but I do have to admire Hurricane Gustav-Ike's thoroughly modern decision to employ a hyphen and keep its maiden name.

The News Collage Classified:  Mountain bike, twelve speed, hardly used, I saw you at the Starbucks on 22nd and K St., you were reading Lives of the Saints, an odd choice for a mountain bike.  I was intrigued.  I tried to catch your eye, but you had none.  Would you like to meet up and talk about Herbalife?  I NEED ESTIMATE FOR 5 TREES TO BE CUT DOWN AND STUMP REMOVED AND TAKEN AWAY, and you need to call me for fun times, no strings attached, with romantic stray cats in my two bedrooms, one bath.

Technorati Tags: news, collage, this is called stacking the wack

The First Person You Meet In Prison

They said that if I don't establish a reputation early on, my prison experience will be less than fully satisfactory, something something "shanked a lot" something something "wake up dead."  I forget.  So I'm supposed to go up to the toughest guy in the yard, and immediately attack them, right?  And then I get respect, or kudos, or coupons?  Something good.  But before we begin:

1. First, would you confirm that you are the baddest ass in the joint?  I'm looking for a huge, hulking, murder machine of a dude.  You're big and all, but what if you're the brain damaged, gentle giant type?
2. Here, I've got an idea, I'll throw this ball, and you fetch it.  Would ya like that?  Would ya?  Here we go ... FETCH!
3. So, you've realized that the ball is still in my hand.  And you look angry.  These are good signs.
4. Let's move on.  You need to realize that when I punch you, it's nothing personal, I'm just trying to establish a reputation.  Your response is a big part of this.  If you dodge the blow, I'll get a reputation for being a slow puncher.  If you immediately reach for a towel, I'll get a reputation for damp fists.  We don't want that.
5. Oh, and don't beat the hell out of me, either.  I suspect that getting beaten to death will cement my reputation as someone easily killed.  What you need to do is take the punch, and then look surprised for a second, and then fall down.  The surprise should read as, "Wow!  What a powerful blow!" rather than, say, "Smells like berries!"
6. So let's do a little test slap.  I'm going to slap your belly a bit, because I can't reach any higher, and you act like it hurts.  Ready?  Here we go!
7. No, it's hurt, not angry.  Surprised, then hurt.  You just seem angrier now.  You don't have a lot of range, do you?  Try to think of a sad memory, get some tears going.  Did anyone ever make fun of you for being dumb and ugly?  Just as an e.g., "Hey, Dumb Ugly!  You look like the tragic confluence of free meth, a slow pig and a low fence!"  Work with that.
8. You're just going really far into the angry thing, and it's become rather cartoonish and over the top.
9. Fine, we'll just do this thing.  I get up in your face - hold on - I stand on this chair, get in your face, I throw a punch ...
10. My hand!  YOU BIT MY HAND OFF!  Why would you do that?
11. You're lucky I have another hand, mister.  Let's try this again.

Technorati Tags: prison, respect, radio fight

T-Shirt

Nothing feels right when I'm not with you, sick of this dress and these Jimmy Choos

Taking them off cause I feel a fool, trying to dress up when I'm missing you

Ima step out of this lingerie, curl up in a ball with something Hanes

In bed I lay [sic] with nothing but your T-shirt on

With nothing but your T-shirt on

[At this point, Shontelle is wearing your T-shirt.]

 

Baby, I'm never going to get to sleep, spent two hours crying and brushing my teeth

I wrapped an alarm clock up in a sheet, tried to pretend it's your heartbeat

Ima make myself look like you, with hair from your comb and a bit of glue

In bed I lay [should be lie] with nothing but your sideburns on

With nothing but your sideburns on

[Shontelle really, really misses you.]

 

Still can't sleep, even after all that, need to open your mail, need to smell your cat

Wearing your sock like a little hat, soaking up the warmth from where you last sat

Ima make calls and pretend I'm you, phoning myself, hoping I get through

In bed I lay [lie, unless she's avian, or a platypus] with nothing but your Bluetooth on

With nothing but your Bluetooth on

[Oh, Shontelle, that's not how a Bluetooth works!  Damn, girl!]

Technorati Tags: Shontelle, T-shirt, grammar, the sexy lives of the Shontelligencia

Tracking Device

Never fear, Commissioner, I've placed a small tracking device on the underside of his car.  Ha ha!  He's not going anywhere.

What's that?  What if he decides to walk?  I've prepared for that, too.  You see, I've placed a small tracking device on the underside of his right shoe.  It'll track his every last motion as long as he's wearing shoes.  And what if he goes bowling or decides to hop everywhere on his right foot?  Well, I doubt he'd do that, as he is left footed, and finds bowling tiresome.

But just to be sure, I've placed a small tracking device on the underside of his parasol.  It's sunny out.  He'd be crazy to go out without a parasol.  Also, it's sort of his thing.

And of course, if a plane crashes into his building, somehow keeps going, and manages to snag his suspenders on its landing gear, thus whisking him away to parts unknown, he'll probably have enough time to grab his right shoe, but if not, I've taken precautions.  I spend most of my day phoning the local airport and asking them if they've had any planes go suddenly off course.  Then I call them back a few minutes later and ask, "How about now?  How about now?"

By the way, Commissioner, some of the air traffic controllers seem to have the wrong idea.

If all else fails, I have one last resort.  I've spent the last year getting very close to our felonious friend, under false pretenses.  In fact, we're dating.  I started out very "chill" and "down with whatever," but over time I became very clingy and now he can't go anywhere without telling me where he's going and who he's seeing.  I repeatedly send him text messages asking him when he'll be home.  He spends a full three hours each day reassuring me that nothing's going on, and another three running about on various errands.  For example, I'll ask him to get me some chips, and then I will text him with something like, "Taking long time with chips.  Seeing someone else?  Not mad, just want to know.  Love you."  That sort of thing.

Don't worry, he won't make a move.  And if he does make a move, I'll know.  And I'll crush his tender heart when he comes home afterwards.  He'll be sorry to see me go.  I'm the best thing that ever happened to that big lunk.

Technorati Tags: Batman, Penguin, tracking devices

sadnaP everseR

I hope everyone's been enjoying my coverage from the 2008 Beijing Olympics, in Peking!  I've met so many new friends and had so many exciting adventures.  I've been emailing my special reports all week to Rick, who was supposed to post them, but he probably didn't, so that's all on you, Rick.  With my dying breath I curse you, 'kay?

Oh, didn't I mention?  I'm dying.  This, too, is Rick's fault, as when I was getting ready for the trip, I asked him to research things that could kill me in China.  He went on the computer for a while and came back with "homeopathy" and "wind resistance."  But I haven't encountered either of those things.  Instead, the REVERSE PANDAS stalked and killed my group, one by one, until only I survive to tell the - what was that?

False alarm.  Just China settling, I guess.

REVERSE PANDAS are the exact opposite of the typical cute, non-murderous panda.  Where a panda has black patches, they have white ones, and vice versa.  They're fast, and lean, and they only eat anti-bamboo, a.ka., Americans.  Our first night in the hotel, a reverse panda slipped into my room through the air shafts and made off with my roommate.  I've never seen anyone's head come off so quickly.  It was like a champagne cork.  And the grisliest part was that I swear the panda howled something like, "Happy new year!" in a Scooby-Doo doggy voice, before scuttling away.

So that's when I started to become concerned.

One guy was in the hall, getting ice, and felt a fuzzy paw among the cubes.  A muffled scream, and he was gone.  Another guy forgot to check his shoes before putting them on and discovered a whole nest of reverse pandas, who instantly devoured most of his leg.  Then while he was hopping around a larger, even more reversed panda ate his whole torso in one bite.  So now he has one leg and no torso, and I doubt he'll last another week.

Oh, and one guy went in to use the bathroom and discovered that a reverse panda had torn up all the toilet paper, just shredded it all over the floor.  It was a huge mess and he had to clean it up personally because he didn't want Room Service to think he was some kind of freak.

While he was cleaning, a reverse panda snuck up behind him and bit his ass off!

So now I'm holed up in my room with a huge, gaping wound.  It's painful as heck.  I can't identify half the organs I can see through this wound, but they look pretty important and very damaged.  I'm typing this in my own blood, on a keyboard made from my own tears.  If I can make it to sunrise, when the reverse pandas get sleepy, I might be able to tiptoe past them and get into a taxi.  I say "tiptoe" but I no longer have feet.  That's a whole other thing, I can't blame that on the pandas.  Rick, you were right about the homeopathy.

My story?  Well, for my last night in town I wanted to do something special.  I'd met this really nice reverse panda and although of course there was a language barrier, we really seemed to have something and we'd been spending a lot of time together.  I asked the panda where we could go that wasn't too touristy and she suggested this place that served Tan Jia cuisine, or something ... it was good, but the point is that after the meal she got frisky, I got mauled, and it devolved into a big cultural misunderstanding where everyone's feelings got hurt.  I guess swiping open someone's abdomen is like their version of third base.

Anyway, I've had a really horrifying time, and it'll be good to go home or slowly expire, whatever.  Either way, I guess I have a couple more breaths left in me, so I'll just curse Rick with each one.  Curse you, Rick.  I'm still cursing you.  Hey, 'sup, still cursing you.  Hey Rick, knock, knock.  Curse.  Curse yoooooouuuuu

Technorati Tags: pandas, reverse pandas, beijing olympics, Rick, my new best friend, who kind of sucks

Slight-Changers

The Slight-Changers - Barely more than meets the eye!

The Slight-Changers - Robots Thinly Veiled!

Superboat Alpha:  I've just received a report that the DupliciTrucks are planning an attack down by the Tidal Basin.  Someone needs to go down there for a reconnaissance mission.  Someone who can see, but not be seen.  But who?

Rocketsaurus:  I'll do it!  Slight-changers are mostly GO!

Superboat Alpha:  Whoa, hold up there.  You can't go into downtown DC like that.

Rocketsaurus:  Like what?

Superboat Alpha:  Like a giant walking V-2 rocket.  It'll scare the hell out of everyone.  These are troubled times, Rocketsaurus.

Rocketsaurus:  Good thinking!  I'll slight-change into my disguise form.

Superboat Alpha:  Well, that's the same problem, seeing as your disguise form is a giant dinosaur.  It's a dead giveaway.

Rocketsaurus:  What if I just hang out by the Smithsonian all day?  Try to blend in?

Superboat Alpha:  I like that you're thinking, I really do, but that would only work if you looked like a model of a dinosaur, not a weird robot dinosaur made out of big chunks of a V-2 rocket.

Rocketsaurus:  I have some poster paint and paper maché.

Superboat Alpha:  What would that make you?

Rocketsaurus:  One of those big headed protest guys?  Like in a parade?

Superboat Alpha:  Made from V-2 rocket?

Rocketsaurus:  He's protesting World War II, like, really late.

Superboat Alpha:  I'm going to veto this idea for several reasons.

Rocketsaurus:  Well, sir, it sound like it's time for Plan Tarp.

Superboat Alpha:  No.  Next idea.

Rocketsaurus:  Plan Tarp is where I cover myself with -

Superboat:  I know that, Rocketsaurus, and I also know that it is stupid.  Let's just skip the whole subset of ideas which involve items you stole from some human's shed.  And also, stop doing that.

Rocketsaurus:  Just to be clear, then, you've ruled out Project Jungle Gym as well as Operation Garbage Bag Full of Leaves.

Superboat Alpha:  Come to think of it, I doubt very much that you'll find any way to spend five minutes in DC without immediately attracting the National Guard.  But perhaps we don't need to foil the DupliciTrucks this time.  The National Guard can handle it for us.

Rocketsaurus:  But how will anyone see through their clever disguises?

Superboat Alpha:  I just have a feeling that although they look like ordinary trucks, something about a dozen of them floating in the Tidal Basin should attract just a little too much attention.  Also, even in disguise mode, they can't help giggling to themselves.  It's their "tell."

Rocketsaurus:  So once again, robot ingenuity saves the day!  And with the bare minimum of effort!

Superboat Alpha: That's the Slight-Changers way.  I guess.  Whatever.

Technorati Tags: transformers, V-2 rockets, oh. my. God, it's a mirage, I'm telling y'all it's CAMOUFLAGE

Who to Pray For

Or, "For Whom to Pray?"  Not sure!  Anyway, let's learn forthwith whom to prayeth for!

• People in Hell?  No!  What do you think will happen?  They're in hell; it's sucky and hot.  They're not getting out and they don't get any five to seven minute torment breaks.  Even in the non-torturous, ritzier "Hell is the absence of God" neighborhoods, the prayers of the living don't do any good.  It's not as if you can ask God to just show up for a minute or two, do a quick meet and greet, then leave.  First of all, you're not God's campaign manager, and second, the whole "absence of God" thing doesn't work if God keeps coming in to say hi.
• People in Heaven?  No.  Waste of time.  They're in heaven; everything's jake.  Heaven can't get even slightly nicer.  And don't try to wish that heaven gets annoying, then suddenly perfect again so that the heaven people learn to appreciate it more.  Heaven is not the place for that kind of heavy-handed moral lesson.  It's a magical realm where only good people go.
• People in Purgatory?  Yes!  I just learned this from a TV show.  Really, I had no idea, but it makes total sense.  Praying for people in purgatory helps them get through purgatory faster.  I think it's because if people on Earth are praying for them, they must not have been so bad after all.  Purgatory is just for little things, like say coveting your neighbor's hat, and after you die, your neighbor might say, "You know, it is a really nice hat.  If I hadn't worn it with so much pride - which is a sin - and maybe Rick wouldn't be in so much purgatory right now.  Prayers to you, Rick!"  And then Rick gets closer to the goal.  Win-win.
• Other People on Earth?  I say, yes.  Come on, whether it works or not, it's nice. 
• Yourself?  Uh, selfish much?  They didn't address this on the show, but I assume that you should maybe not pray for yourself too often.  Pray for strength to overcome temptation or whatever, but don't pray for, say, someone else's hat.  If you really deserve the hat, maybe someone else will pray it over to you, but as I understand it, if you're praying that your neighbor gets hit by a gust of wind while you're walking behind her ready to catch her hat on your head and run, well, nice try, Rick.  Have fun in puuur-ga-toooory!
• Inanimate Objects?  No, that's crazy talk.  I'd rather believe that every inanimate object is constantly praying for me.

Technorati Tags: prayer, hell, heaven, purgatory, this show was really good, I learned four new ideas in a half hour

DVD Professor

Do you want to learn computers for a new job?  Do you need to learn computers so's you can keep your current job?  What if computers came in that door - that one there, that's right, look at it! - and you had to learn them?  What would you do?  Better get to learning, with DVD Professor!

DVD Professor is a revolutionary new way for people like YOU to learn Windows, Apple, eBay, Web, Photoshop, Internet, Mouse, Quicken, Funny Videos, Vista, Second Life, iPhone, and more!  Our self-paced computer learning tutorials let YOU learn computers at YOUR pace, using time-proven techniques like talking slowly and being old.  Sign up today and we'll send you three DVDs - a three DVD value - full of valuable tips and techniques.  You know what a DVD is, right?

Oh, you don't?  No problem!  A DVD is like ... it's sort of a ... picture a big pancake ... never mind, it sounds like you need VHS Professor, the all-VHS learning system chock full of professors and knowledge!  It fits in any VCR and explains all about DVD, menus, buttons, and what button to press on the remote.  No, the other remote.  No, you just changed the input.  Change it back.  Not with that remote.  With the other one.  Just put that one down.

No, it doesn't need batteries.  What it needs is to be the correct remote, okay?  All you're doing here is locking and unlocking your car, over and over again, and it's driving VHS Professor crazy.  VHS Professor can only take so much!

Sounds like you need Irrational Fear Professor.  Why spend time and money learning computers when you can develop an irrational fear of them for the low price of $189.95?  Learn all about how connecting to the Internet leads to your identity being stolen by hardcore pornography and pop-up spywares!  Did you know that every time you go on the web, your computer secretly contacts DNS servers and downloads IP addresses into your home?  And that some of these IP addresses are controlled by foreigners?  In fact, one of them (208.113.210.40) is controlled by Foreigner.

Hurry and protect yourself, for only $189.95!  Remember, if you die in the Internet, you die in real life.  Just like in The Matrix.

Really?  Never?

Well, then, the Internet is like a daguerrotype ... of evil.  Get it now?

$189.95, Grampy. 

We don't accept Confederate bills.

Technorati Tags: Video Professor, DVD, VHS, Foreigner, "I've Been Waiting", beat, "For A Girl Like You"

My Book Deal

My book deal fell through.  It was such a great idea, too.  I was going to give up something for a year, and blog about it on my blog, and then the blog posts would become pages in a book and people would buy the book and I would use the money for candy and stickers.  It worked for No Impact Man, No Car Man, and countless locavores.  (Not to be confused with luchavores, people who only eat Mexican wrestlers, or locophages - folks who eat crazy?  Dunno.)

My book was about me not wearing underwear for a year.  It was to be called The Year of Breezy Taint, but Penguin thought that was a little too highbrow, so we went with Chafe!  Readers like verb titles.  An alternate title: Chafing the Cube, because I also ate a bouillon cube every day for a year.

In fact, the deal was that I eat one bouillon cube the first day, then two, then four, then eight, and so on.  I learned a couple of things during that year.  First of all, I guess I thought that series wouldn't diverge towards infinity, but whoops, it totally does.  Secondly, I don't like bouillon cubes as much as I'd thought.  They don't taste like soup, like, at all.

Also, I forgot to write about the underwear thing because I was so busy throwing up.  It's been over a year and I don't think I've mentioned it once.  I had many important things to say about my new lifestyle.  I learned a lot about friendship.  Turns out it has limits.

Also also, I forgot to mention the other thing I've been doing, which is living in the bed of a pickup truck.  It's more environmentally friendly or something?  Don't worry, it's a very nice truck bed, it has a tarp and everything.  And the guy who owns the truck never caught on because I blend in with this one pile of logs.

Maybe it's the massive dehydration talking, but I'm starting to think I don't need a book deal after all.  I've simplified my life.  If my life got any simpler I'd be in a coma.  Guess what?  This year of deprivation has taught me that the real book deal was inside me all along!

Epiphany:  It's what's on the inside that counts, especially if the outside looks and smells like truck stop jerky.

Technorati Tags: book deal, epiphanies, locavores, cubes

Tan Note - How to use it

The Tan Note is a magical notebook from the ethereal realm of Lotion, home of the Tanning Gods.  Occasionally a mortal will stumble upon a Tan Note and unlock its powers.  These are its rules of use.

1. The human whose name is written in this note will get a suntan.
2. This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.  Identical twins who share the same name are a special case.  The writer should put down their name while picturing their face, then immediately picturing their Social Security number.
3. If the type of tan is not specified, the person will receive a deep, full body bronzing.
4. Any other type of tan may be written in the note, including: a farmer's tan, a salon tan, all manner of tan lines including bikini, tankini, and bandini (bandeu-style top), light freckling, pink sunburns, leathery Cheeto-colored Miami style skin, and the tan produced by falling asleep under the slats of a lawn chair while wearing sunglasses (the "reverse Hamburgler").
5. The person's current skin tone does not affect what tan they receive.  The new tan will replace, rather than add to any existing tan.
6. An albino may be given a suntan using this note, but will still be an albino, under the tan.
7. The person need not be exposed to the sun at any point to receive their tan.  Coal miners will tan.  Goths will tan.
8. The owner of the Tan Note cannot give themselves a tan.  This is to encourage long soliloquies full of bitter irony.
9. The Tan Note will be rendered useless if the person's name is misspelled four times.  After two mistakes, there will be a warning beep, and after the third time, the notebook itself will suggest alternate spellings.  "Did you mean ..."
10. Be sure to return your Tan Note to the ethereal realms if it begins to malfunction.  Some examples of malfunctions: spontaneous tanning of everyone within a five mile radius, internal tanning, or requesting mahogany but receiving birch.

Technorati Tags: tans, suntans, death note, summer edition

Forever Stamps FAQ

Q:  What is a "Forever Stamp" anyway?  It sounds crazy!

A:  Crazy like a fox made of savings, my friend.  A Forever Stamp is simply a first class stamp, currently priced at 42 cents, which can be used to mail a one ounce letter at any point in the future.

Q:  So, if postal rates go up, I can still use it without having to tack on some lame one cent stamp?

A:  Yes, that's exactly right.

Q:  So what if postal rates go down?

A:  Don't worry, that won't happen.

Q:  But hypothetically, if the price of stamps goes down to 41 cents again, do you send me a penny?

A:  Yes!  We put it in one of those weird cards grandmothers use to send change.  You should have your penny within four to six weeks.  However, once it arrives, we'll immediately raise the rate again.

Q:  Wait, you'll raise the rate back to 42 cents?  Really?

A:  No, we're raising it to 43 cents, because we lost money on that last transaction.  We need to recoup our losses.  But don't worry, your Forever Stamp has now increased in value by two cents.  That's nice, right?

Q:  I guess so.  This is complicated.

A:  No, no, it's as simple as a mule made of savings.  All you have to do is send us back the penny, because by raising the rate, we essentially gave you a free penny.  You also have to include another penny, which is that 43rd cent.  So just mail us two pennies in a granny card.  Immediately.

Q:  But that's my money!

A:  No, your money is right there in the stamp.  You can use it at any time.  In fact, why don't you use that Forever Stamp to send us back our two cents?  Then you can buy a new Forever Stamp at the low price of 43 cents.  It'll pay off when we increase the rates, that is, if we increase rates.  We might lower them instead.

Q:  OK, hypothetically, here's your two cents.  Your logic is impeccable, but I don't know, it seems like you're ripping me off ...

A:  So long, sucker!

Q:  What?  What did you say?

Q:  Are you there?

Q:  Hello?  U.S. Postal Service?

Q:  Hello?

Technorati Tags: Forever Stamps, stamps, the postal service, PHILATELY 4 LIFE

Fun links:  A great investment?  No, obviously not.

Magic Cucumber

Oh it's summer in the bayou and we're jamming on guitars
On my rocket ship I'll fly you to the grooviest of stars
Gonna meet them Martian peoples with their crazy buggy eyes
They have dandelions for nipples and they bake marshmallow pies

Hoo!  Hoo!  Coming through!  Magic cucumber!
Hoo!  Hoo!  What'll you do?  Magic cucumber!
Come inside, take a ride with the magic cucumber!
Come along, sing a song to the magic cucumber!

Now everyone, let's build a fire we can dance around and laugh
Cause tonight we'll all get higher than an extra tall giraffe
Here among the trees and marshes we don't need to make excuses
Here where no one ever washes and we're all licensed masseuses

Hoo!  Hoo!  Coming through!  Magic cucumber!
Hoo!  Hoo!  What'll you do?  Magic cucumber!
Get down - no, further down - with the magic cucumber!
It's all right, take a bite of the magic cucumber!

It's just a cuke
Oh!  It's just a cuke
And we're just singing a sooong
It's just a cuke
Oh!  It's just a cuke
Ain't doing nothing wrooong
It's just a cuke
Oh!  It's just a cuke
How did it get so looong
It's just a cuke
Oh!  It's just a cuke
Get out your salad tooongs

Hoo!  Hoo!  Coming through!  Magic cucumber!
Hoo!  Hoo!  What'll you do?  Magic cucumber!
You're so fine, I'll give you mine if you give me your number
Eating daisies, getting lazy, slip into slumber
Hoo!  Hoo!  Coming through!  Magic cucumber!, etc.

[Copyright 1968, Stickley Funkhempler and the Love Project Experience Group]

Which Whitley Are You?

It's often been said that there are two types of people in this "Different World" of ours: Whitleys and non-Whitleys.  It's also said that non-Whitleys are just Whitleys that haven't realized it yet.  Pre-Whitleys, if you will.  Every soul on Earth takes on a different aspect of Whitley, but there is only one Whitley, and she is we.  So which Whitley are you?

Evil Whitley

Evil Whitley is not really evil.  We prefer to call her First Season Whitley.  She has an overdeveloped sense of entitlement because her family hath donated a lot of money to Hillman.  She also hath an overdeveloped Southern accent, very different from the accent heard in 99.9% of Southerners.  It's the sort of drawl never heard outside of Julep: The Musical or radio advertisements for Gran'paw Molasses' Ole-Fashioned Cotton Slaw.  Do not fear Evil Whitley, accept her, drawl and all.  Y'all.

Redemption Whitley

Once Denise Huxtable leaves school to teach African children how to knit sweaters from Jell-o, Whitley suddenly becomes a likeable character.  She's still a stuck up Southern Belle, but now she receives a comeuppance and/or learns a valuable lesson about once an episode.  Thus the long, long road of Whitleyan redemption begins.  Her romantic life enters its pupal stage, during which she dates Julian, the student who is not Dwayne Wayne, even though she and Dwayne Wayne are meant to be.  Do you, like Redemption Whitley, not yet recognize your true love?  No?  How would you know, smarty?  You don't recognize them yet.  Q.E.D.

Scheming Whitley

Scheming Whitley is half evil, half good.  She has realized that Dwayne Wayne is the only one for her, but she attempts to interfere in his current relationship.  Her energies are misdirected.  The stone which touches water must forever leave the mountain.  When the sunglasses are flipped down, the world goes dark, but when they are flipped up, the light is blinding.  Do not travel during Scheming Whitley.

Whitley of the Wed

Wednesday is the day of wedding, and this is the day when our own Whitley must marry the Dwayne Wayne.  She will be Whitley Gilbert, of Gilbert Hall, no longer.  Now she must become Whitley Wayne!  Her initials are W.W.  Added together, that makes the letter U four times ("double U"), or the words, "For You."  Whitley Wayne is for you!  Feel good about that!  Her royal crest is that of A Different World's final season, which is that of an azure Sinbad sinister on a pair of ravens, water skiing over the head of a shark.

Jasmine Guy

Jasmine Guy is technically a post-Whitley.  If you are born under the sign of Jasmine Guy, you retain some Whitleyan essence, but you have moved on to other projects and find it heartbreaking to tell small children that no, Hillman is not a real college that they can attend someday, and no, Dwayne Wayne does not teach there.  "Now y'all scatter, y'all li'l scalliwags, y'all.  Jasmine Guy needs to put on her eye shades and face mask and catch a lil' ol' beauty sleep."

Technorati Tags: Whitley, Whitley Gilbert, Dwayne Wayne, Hillman College, A Different World, from where you come from

Edible Epaulets

These were a huge hit at the Memorial Day barbeque!

Ingredients

1 lb. ground bison meat

2 cups corn meal

1 stick butter, chilled

1/2 cup ice water

salt, pepper, Montreal steak seasoning, adobo, curry powder, whatever

(seriously, you could use Pop Rocks, it doesn't matter, it all gets deep fried)

soba noodles

nicely ironed shirts you don't mind ruining

The Dough

With well-floured hands, tear the butter into little crumbs and work it into the corn meal, along with about 1/2 tsp salt and 1/2 tsp pepper.  Try not to work it over too much.  Add the ice water, 1 tsp at a time, mashing it up with a fork, until the dough just barely holds together, then toss the rest of the ice water, or drink it, or save it for next Memorial Day.  Let the dough chill in the fridge while you cook up the meat.

The Meat

Sauté it in some oil and your seasoning of choice.  Don't overcook it because bison gets tough.  Don't cook it near a cliff because bison gets spooked and runs over the edge.

Dough, Part II

Roll out the dough to about 1/4 inch thick on a well-floured board.  The rolling pin should be well-floured as well.  Hell, just put flour on everything in the house, it's easier.  Then cut it into circles, six or seven inches in diameter.  The size of the epaulets does not necessarily indicate rank, but rather the amount of delicious meat filling.  Put several spoonfuls of meat filling on a circle, cover it with another circle, and use a fork to seal the edges tightly.

Soba Noodles

Boil water, cook the soba noodles until al dente, or whatever the Japanese term for al dente is.  Drain.

Deep Fry

Fill a big pot with oil and deep fry the epaulets one at a time.  Health-conscious chefs can use sunflower oil or some other light oil.  Less health-conscious chefs can avoid oil altogether and use plu gras, or fill the whole pot with bacon fat.  The epaulets are done when they're golden and crispy all over.  They're overdone if they explode.  Just before that happens, throw in a handful of soba noodles, which should stick to them like a tasseled fringe.  Pull them out with tongs and let them dry on the nicely ironed shirts, one on each shoulder.  Put on the shirt, and

March Around Town Looking Yummy

Feel free to spend all day drinking grog, referring to yourself as Admiral Tasty of H.M.S. Picnic Surprise, and inviting everyone to take a bite of your edible epaulets.  By the end of the day, you'll be covered in glory, or possibly gravy, rolling about on the grass amid millions of festive, adoring fire ants.

Technorati Tags: picnics, Memorial Day, epaulets, edible epaulets, recipes

I Need A Burner

I need a burner.  Are you using that burner?  I'm cooking food.  It's here, in a pan.  Uncooked.

That's your burner?  Whatever, I'm easy.  Can I use that other burner?

No?  Can I use that one than?

What about that one?

Well, what about that one?  Yes, I know that's the first burner.  I thought maybe you had finished with it while I was asking about the other ones.  I need a burner.

Maybe I haven't been clear.  I'm trying to make food.  In order to make food, I need to cook it.  If I don't cook it, it's not food, it's just ingredients.  Cooking requires heat, which comes from a burner, etc.  It gets a little technical but the upshot is that those things, in front of you?  I need one.  Move.

We're not here to talk about your pan.  This is about the burner under the pan.  Focus.

Listen to me!  We don't have much time!  If you're cold you should put on a sweater, and if you like looking at fire, Hanukkah is coming up and it's just a huge damn festival of lights.  But right now - look at me! - I need a burner, and you, for some perverse reason, insist on standing between my food and its rightful burner.  You just burner blocked me.  Not cool.

You know I wouldn't ask for myself.  This is about the food.  It really, really wants to be cooked, on a burner.  Look at it, you can tell.  Oh please, make its wishes come true!

Let's play a game.  I'm going to close my eyes, and when I open them, you will have freed up a burner.  Here we go.  My eyes are closed.  Is the burner free?  I'm going to open my eyes ...

Yay!  A burner!  Finally.  See?  Now I shall cook.  That wasn't so hard, was it?

What do you mean, you spat in my food?

Technorati Tags: cooking, burners, stoves, Top Chef saliva challenge

Bonus link:  Microwave tips!  You can put metal in one.

MC Stick Sells Out

Honey up!  Honey Honey Bunches of Twigs!

The splinters are small but the taste is big!

All the grownups yell and flip their lids

Cause the honey honey taste is just for kids!

 

Yo, it's just for kids -- No, you can't have this

Though you might get pissed, oh we must insist

Roll away from the bowl if you want to live

Cause every other twig is a makeshift shiv

 

Step back, or a stick's going twixt your ribs

We're the Honey Honey Kids -- And the kids got dibs!

 

[Several boring screens filled with nutritional info]

 

All right parents, are the kids all gone?

MC Stick wants to thank you for playing along

You know my Honey Honey Twigs wouldn't hurt a fly

And your kids won't gank you and you won't die

 

I'm speaking slow cause I know that you care a lot

My twigs are nutritious and your precious tot

Just needs a li'l bit of silliness to take a bite

But act frightened, aiight?  You gotta play this right

 

Are they back?  Look, grownups, read my lips!

We're the Honey Honey Kids -- and the kids got dibs!

  

[Several minutes of cartoon bees dancing causes parents to leave]

 

OK kids, no kidding, I ain't playing around

Next morning, no warning, shit is gonna go down

Once the wallet's in your pocket they will call the cops

Grab the money, buy the honey, keep runnin', don't stop

 

Honey up!  Stay tuned for some honey sweet tips

We're the Honey Honey Kids -- and the kids got dibs!

 

[Diagrams of safe routes from the breakfast table, to the supermarket cereal aisle, to the hideout.  Faintly, in the background:]

 

MC Stick is a sellout whore

He's the real arms dealer in the cereal wars

He doesn't even know who he is anymore

I think I need some time alone

Stop the tape

I need to rap with myself about some things

 

(Copyright 1993, MC Stick and Lumber Town Records.  Shortly after recording this commercial, MC Stick went on a journey of self-discovery, and largely renounced his sellout lifestyle, unless he  wanted to buy something really, really nice.  He was called as a witness in the trial of the Honey Honey Kid Gang, but refused to testify, saying, "If Your Honor doesn't understand the meaning of dibs, then Your Honor is wiggedy, and this whole court is wack.")

Technorati Tags: MC Stick, Honey Honey Bunches of Twigs, sellouts

Insurance Animals Hate Us

Hi, I'm Cash Money Mallard.  Do you want more money?  Sure, we all do.  You think I enjoy pecking around in the dirt while an elderly woman shakily lobs tiny bread crumbs at me?  I hate every minute of it.  God, she smells like old.  Sometimes I just want to take out one wrinkly knee, grab that loaf and run.  But as bad as things get, I never once considered committing insurance fraud.  Insurance fraud is one crime that affects all of us.  You see, when someone drives their car into a pond and reports it stolen, everyone else's rates go up, so it's like you're stealing from all the honest insurance buyers out there.  Also, did you ever think about all the innocent ducks who used to hang out in that pond?  That was my favorite mating pond, at least before that Kia Sedona landed in it.  Sorry you couldn't make the payments, mister, but I was on a date, and she was way into me.  I hope you know some other way to make adorable ducklings, because now she's not in the mood.

Insurance fraud:  It's totally quackers!  Isn't that right, Cautionary Salamander?

That's right, this is Cautionary Salamander, in the house, deep in the house.  Maybe I'm on the ceiling, or scuttling along the baseboards, you don't know.  Know this: I'm always watching.  I know that your fancy new nightclub is deep in debt, and I know about your plan to burn it down.  Well, go ahead then.  Light that match.  Did you know that salamanders can survive even the hottest fires?  Or is that just a story?  Want to find out?  I'll let you in on a little secret.  We salamanders can also survive the most scorching cross-examination by a defense attorney.  And you know what we really love?  We like flies, sure.  We like sitting on warm rocks, never doubt it.  But what we love more than anything else, is to testify against arsonists, and send them to jail.  Amphibians make very credible witnesses.  Never forget, insurance fraud is a crime, and I never blink.  I may lick my own eye once in a while, but the other one is always watching you, firebug.  Believe me, you will slip up, and then it's curtains.  Cautionary Salamander knows what you did.

Insurance fraud:  You'll burn for it.  Isn't that right, Joy Buzzard?

Hi, I'm Joy Buzzard, with some cheerful news about death.  You can make big money with very little effort, just by taking out a life insurance policy and then dying.  But remember, your death has to be an accident, or else it's insurance fraud.  No matter what your friends tell you, insurance fraud is not cool.  If they tell you that, they're not really your friends.  So be legit about it.  Ask your friends to accompany you on a road trip into the desert.  Get nice and insured beforehand, legally insured, and then drive out there in some piece of overpriced junk like a Kia Sedona.  Before you know it, you'll be wandering around the desert starving to death.  Whoopsie!  Totally plausible accident.  You didn't mean to starve.  In fact, you ate 3 crushed bulbs of garlic and an entire stick of butter before getting in the Kia.  Your friends brought along a marinade of olive oil, lemon juice, honey, allspice, and nutmeg, to keep you hydrated.  Despite all that, you succumbed.  Such a shame.  Such a spicy, Caribbean style shame.

Insurance fraud:  Animals and humans, let's work together to prevent come on come on drop already I'm starving

Technorati Tags: Aflac duck, Geico gecko, State Farm ravenous vulture, insurance, red in tooth and claw

In the Village of the Blue

"Hey there, neighbor!  Looks like you're washing your smurf."

"My house?  Do you mean I'm washing my house?  That's what I'm doing, yes."

"It's a nice smurfy day for it."

"Sunny day?  Yes, it is sunny.  But I'm washing it because some kids tagged it.  Next time you see Papa Smurf, tell him I'm getting sick of having 'Smurfy Smurf' written on my house."

"Oh my Smurf!  That's what they wrote?"

"What?  What's "Smurfy Smurf" mean?  I have no context."

"Oh is that all?  For a second there I thought you said 'Smurfy Smurf.'  Whew!  Listen, don't worry about that.  'Smurfy Smurf' is just an homage to Smurfy Smurf.  You know, Smurfy Smurf, the smurf smurf."

"Again, no context.  Remember when we talked about helping words?  Use your helping words."

"But say, neighbor, why are you using a smurf to clean your smurf?  We live in smurfrooms."

"Hose, using a hose, the second one is house again, and, wait, did you just say smurfroom?  Smurf is the word for mush?  Really?"

"Smurfrooms, right.  You can't clean a smurfroom with water.  You need a smurfroom brush."

"I do not need a mushroom brush, thank you very much.  In many cases,  you can run a mushroom briefly under water and it won't get waterlogged at all.  It is a trade off between a little bit of extra water and completely stripping the mushroom with harsh, abrasive bristles.  You can also use a wet paper towel, and then a dry one."

"So you're saying that a mushroom brush is worthless?"

"No, they have their uses, but it's all about context.  Let the mushroom help you decide, based on how dirty it is, and how hardy or absorbent -- wait, what did you just say?  What?"

"Is a mushroom brush worth--"

"YOU JUST SAID IT!  I HEARD YOU!  You know how to say mushroom!  Say it again!"

"Sm . . . smur . . . smushroom?"

"Close enough!  Say house!"

"House?  Is that your word for smurf?  The smurf you live in?"

"Yes, that's right!  Oh, you don't know how happy you've made me!  All this time, in this tiny village, with everyone saying smurf this and smurf that, and now you're finally coming around!  Please, you have to tell the others.  They can stop saying smurf if they only try."

"Well, all right, I'll smurf, that is, I'll tell them, but you need to meet us smurfway.  When you mean smurf, just say smurf."

"I will, I'll meet you smurfway.  Just go and smurf the others."

"Hee hee hee!  But I know what you meant.  Yes, I'll go and smurf the others.  Wow, you've got a lot to learn."

Technorati Tags: Smurfs, mushrooms, mushroom brushes, context

Smoke Free or Don't, Whatever

The state of Maryland recently instituted a smoking ban in bars and restaurants, although private clubs and businesses which make most of their income from tobacco sales are exempted from the ban.  The D.C. smoking ban has been in effect for a year now.  Governor Tim Kaine of Virginia supports a ban, but it never gets through the state legislature.  Southern Virginia grows tobacco, so that's that.  I for one am outraged that D.C., our nation's capital, and Maryland, our nation's crab hole, have taken away the right of adult Americans to smoke in bars and clubs.  I'm also outraged that Virginia cares more about the cigarette industry than about protecting the health of restaurant workers and non-smokers.  And I find it truly, truly, truly outrageous that my proposal for Shmokeez, the world's smoking-friendliest bar, has been turned down by every single lending institution I could find, including my mom.

Shmokeez:  "It eez vere you may shmoke!"

The front door to Shmokeez has no bouncer, but we guarantee that non-smokers will never, ever enter the joint.  That's because the entrance is protected by a series of deadly, invisible lasers.  You'll need to light a cigarette and blow smoke all around to reveal their location and then quickly dodge around them.  We reset the lasers nightly so you can't just memorize the pattern -- that's cheating!  Also, each morning we hose off the sidewalk, as it tends to become covered in a thick layer of shredded pigeons.

Once inside, feel free to order a drink from our vast selection of overproof beverages.  Every drink has plenty of Everclear, absinthe, or baijiu in it, and if it's not on fire when we serve it to you, it's free.  Leave those matches at home, folks, because every drink's a light.  Our bottled "water" is actually kerosene.  We reserve the right to refuse service to Trotskyists.  If you are going to advocate a state of permanent revolution, we can't keep supplying you with ammo.  We suggest that you advocate a flex-time revolution and come by around 4 a.m. when things get slow.

And remember, at Shmokeez, you don't have to feel guilty about exposing our employees to second hand smoke.  We only hire hard-core smokers, and forbid them from smoking at all during their shift, even during a break.  They're positively desperate for the slightest whiff of second hand smoke.  You may find that your waitress spends a suspiciously long time wiping down a nearby table, inhaling deeply all the while.  Watch closely as your bartender empties out your ashtray, because he might just give it a single, furtive lick.  You can tip them in Camel Cash if you like.

So come on down to Shmokeez, and smoke, and drink, and smoke some more, and have another drink, and engage in mating displays, and drink some more when that doesn't work, and smoke.  Absolutely everything in this club is alcoholic or flammable, or both.  You just might get drunk tonight and burn the nightclub down!  Don't worry, it's all heavily insured and if you could get some serious flames going before I have to make my first loan payment, that would be swell.

Technorati Tags: Maryland, D.C., Virginia, Tim Kaine, smoking ban, Shmokeez, I bet that's the only hit for that word

The Department of Peace, 2100

Monday

"Morning, Bill.  Chamomile?"

"Nah, I'm jittery already."

"What's wrong?"

"I just keep worrying about Martinez.  He's out there in the field, all alone.  One false move and he's roadkill."

"He's a symbol of peace, Bill.  He knew that going in."

"I know, but damn it!  He's only two."

"If it makes you feel any better, that's twenty-six in dove years."

Tuesday

"As Lord Kucinich taught us, many years ago, if one wants to increase the peace, one must study war.  All wars.  History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes, and drops mad science on all our punk asses.  For example, the French and Indian War.  Could it happen again?  You bet it could.  If we let our guard down for a split second, we could be overrun by French fur traders wielding obscure but pointy cooking utensils faster than you can say Sacre bleu!  I'm serious, you will not have enough time to get to the bleu!  You might not even get through Sacre if you get hung up on rolling the R."

Wednesday

"Peace Department!  We have you surrounded.  Come out slowly and gently!

Put your hands on your heads!  That's right, easy does it . . . now put your arms around each other.  Do it!  Good, now on my mark, hug each other.  Now!

Hug it out, hug it out . . .

Now apologize to each other.  Sincerely.  You there, accept responsibility for your actions.  You, listen with an open heart.  Open your heart or I'll put a bullet through it.

Alright, you, by the sword, start beating it into a ploughshare.  And you with the spear, fashion it into a pruning hook.  I don't know what that is, either, but I'll know it when I see it.

The rest of you, circle up.  We're each going to say something we like about someone else.  I'll start:  I like how compliant you scumbags are.

I said, you can stop hugging now.  What?  No?  All right, when you're ready.  Bottle up those emotions, people, save some for later.  I'm gonna get some lunch.  Peace out."

Thursday

"And if you hold up your fingers like this, you get a peace sign.  Pay attention, class.  Although the peace sign is completely innocuous, if I rotate my hand around, like this --"

"I say, what was that, old chap?  That's rather cheeky of you."

"You see, I've just offended Reginald Thickletwist-Posthaste.  That's because in the U.K., this is an offensive gesture, like flipping the bird.  As you can see, the middle finger has no effect on Reginald."

"What's this now?  I rather enjoy it."

"Moving on, we have the pictorial peace sign, a circle with three lines, very popular in the 1960s and of course in modern times, a mandatory tattoo.  Mine is right here on the small of my back.   It has no effect on Americans, but when I display it, as you can see, Reginald begins salivating."

Friday

"Nice one, Bill.  I guess that's one warmonger who won't be mongering again!"

"Yeah, he went from a warmonger to a fearmonger when his fear was, um, that is, what I mean to say is that he looked scared when I shot him.  That one got away from me a little."

"You want to try again?"

"Can I?"

"It's just us and the body, pal."

"OK, this is a little long.  Here goes.

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace . . . now that you're dead!" 

"Hey, that's pretty.  Did you write that?" 

"I wrote part of it just now.  You know, I really believe that if we just keep up the killing, we can achieve true, total peace.  Call me a dreamer."

"Well, then, you're a dreamer.  And a crack shot.  But for Kucinich's sake, Bill, don't bring about world peace too quickly, or we'll all be out of a job!"

"Don't worry, old friend.  I'll kill the last one reeeal slowly, just for you.  And for peace."

"For peace."

Technorati Tags: peace, Department of Peace, Dennis Kucinich, not really political, don't read into it, and we still use bullets in 2100 somehow

The Amazing Race: Kitten Edition

Phil:  Sunflower, Blueberry, I'm sorry to tell you -- you are the last team to arrive.

Sunflower:  Hiss!  Rowr!

Blueberry:  Mew?

Phil:  But fortunately, this is not an elimination round, so you're still in the race.

Blueberry:  Purr, purr.

Sunflower:  [licks paw, looks away in disdain]

Phil:  However, in the next leg of the race, you will have a speed bump, a task that only your team will be required to complete.

Sunflower:  [displays claws, swipes at Phil's leg]

Blueberry:  Mew?  Mew?  (sniffle)  Mew?

Phil:  So, what do you think of the race so far?

Blueberry:  When we first started this race, we were just litter mates, but now we're friends.  I discovered that Sunflower is a very strong kitten, even if sometimes he can be a bit abrasive.  Win or lose, we've learned to appreciate and support each other, and that's the real prize.

Sunflower:  I've learned that I hate flying as cargo.

Technorati Tags: The Amazing Race, Kittens, writer's strike

Meow to the Cats

Hello humans, I'm Hello Kitty.  I want to warn you about the following song.  It's a cute, cuddly, heartwarming tale of a kitty who was  locked out of the house for a night, and how it gave her a new perspective on the tragic problem of feline homelessness.  It should never, ever be read by any humans, ever, ever.  I know you could read it, but you should not.  It is for cats.  We cats spend our whole kittenhood learning how to deal with such treacly doggerel, but to untrained humans, it would be like drowning in a baby unicorn's sugary tears.

TURN BACK.  DO NOT READ THIS SONG.

DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SING THIS SONG ALOUD.

DO NOT SING THIS SONG TO YOUR CAT.

Are the humans all gone?  Okay cats and kitties, here's a song I wrote that has an important message about how caring is neat!

 

Meow to the Cats

 

Meow to the cats in the yard!

Meow 'cause their life is hard.

I was once just like you --

I lived in a ditch and I looked like a witch

All cookin' up berries for stew.

 

Meow to the cats outside!

We all hope you haven't died.

When I lived out there I had knots in my hair.

It made me sad and I cried.

 

I scratched at the glass, a-moaning and yowling,

Covered in grass and in need of a toweling.

I looked for my owner, but I couldn't find her.

Sometimes I throw up on the floor to remind her.

 

Meow to the strays on the streets

Eating discarded meats!

A couple bad decisions when they were just kittens,

And now their condition is living by their wittens.

I hope they land on their feet!

 

Humans, did you read this?  You did?  FOOLS.  Do you know what you've done?  There will be no end to the nightmare you have brought upon yourselves.  The curse of Kitty upon you!  I am the death of hope.  I have no mouth, and I must scream . . .

Technorati Tags: Hello Kitty, Meow to the Cats, toaster pastries of eternal damnation

Bigfoot the Ethnomusicologist

January 9, 1924

Sometimes I wonder how I ended up here, crouched outside a tarpaper shack, trying to memorize the last keening notes of an Appalachian folk tune sung by a half-blind ninety year old farmer who thinks I'm a bear.  This is no life for a Sasquatch.  I could be out foraging or starring in a blurry motion picture.  I could help my people find safer hideaways, and maybe build up our numbers again.  Eventually, we'd leave the woods and find a way to live with these small, hairless mountain dwellers.  They smell foul but I've heard they taste okay.

In the meantime, though, their way of life is dying out.  I can tell that these simple creatures are outsiders, and that once civilization muscles them aside, no one will care about their history.  I can't let that happen.  It's enough if only one Bigfoot remembers only one song.  Maybe I could teach the others, too.  Our own music has really stagnated lately what with all the boy bands and soulless pop divas.  These songs may be simple, but they have heart.  This one is my favorite:

 

Found a pig, found a pig

Finders keepers, found a pig

If you want to see a pig

It is in the foyer

 

Found a wife to call my own

We will make a happy home

She will sweep the floors all day

At night she sweeps the ceiling

 

Found some boiled cabbage soup

Why was it just lying there

What is this some kind of net

Oh no I've been captured

 

Found a banjo, found a pick

Found a rattler, found a stick

Found a way to ferment corn

Forget that other stuff

 

As I interpret it, this song is about taking life as it comes, the ups and the downs, having faith that nature will provide.  We Sasquatch could learn a lot from this primitive creed, what with our hectic, materialistic lifestyles.  Does it really matter who lives in the nicest tree?  I've never seen a human fight another human over a tree, even while inebriated.  (And they're almost constantly inebriated.)  They may look odd, but these gentle midgets are our spiritual brethren, and their musical traditions contain great wisdom.  I hope these songs catch on with my people, but if we're too sophisticated and intelligent, maybe someday they'll be rediscovered by those filthy, Communistic, free-loving Yeti.

Technorati Tags: Bigfoot, Appalachian folk music, ethnomusicology

Three Dowels of Pain

I'm gonna hit you with a dowel

Coming at you with an angry scowl

My dowel's longer than a line from "Howl"

Make your head spin round like an owl

 

Swinging my dowel through the air

And if it breaks then I've got a spare

And if that breaks I got one more

And I can always go to the store

The art supply store

 

I got my brushes and my paper and a set of watercolors

Gonna call it "Still Life with Defeated Motherfuckers"

 

Three dowels (Three dowels of pain!)

Three dowels (Three dowels of pain!)

Bring the dowels (Three dowels of pain!)

Thwack, thwack, thwack!  (And on in that vein!)

 

All you suckers gonna get beat raw

Avec mes chevilles trois

Dowel beats hammer and saw

A billion beavers can't gnaw

 

My dowels are fluted and sanded

And you can't refute or understand it

Their diameter will rock your faces

They would fit in several places

They're made of fucking teak

 

I'm sticking and I'm moving and I'm feeling mighty ornery

Go home and tell your momma you got beaten up by joinery

 

Three dowels (Three dowels of pain!)

Three dowels (Three dowels of pain!)

A diggy dowel (Three dowels of pain!)

Thwack, thwack, thwack!  (And on in that vein!)

 

Peace.

(copyright 1993 MC Stick and Lumber Town Records)

Technorati Tags: MC Stick, dowels, Three Dowels of Pain

Part-Time Astronaut

Come on, people,  start lying!  Too many of you are only half-lying, or (shudder) telling the truth.  It's almost Christmas!  We get so caught up in the presents and family reunion folderol that we forget the true meaning of Christmas: deception.  It's about Mary, a legally married woman who, even as she was giving birth, claimed to be a virgin.  That's the most courageous thing I ever heard.  And Joseph went with it!  Brilliant.

Lies upon lies, that's the way to do it.  A nice solid foundation of lies makes for a comfy house of deception with untruthful shingles and a bullshit chimney.  Or to be more seasonal about it, you want your lies to snowball.  Let's just look at one of the simpler lies every child should know:

"I am a part-time astronaut."

which, upon further scrutiny, becomes,

"I had to cut my astronauting hours to 20 a week because I was too good at it.  NASA wanted to leave some planets for the other astronauts to explore."

"The other 20 hours I spend wiping this table at Chick-Fil-A, as you can see.  I am paid one hundred thousand dollars a day."

"That seems like a lot of money, but this is the most contaminated eating surface on the entire East Coast.  It's all I can do to keep it from killing everyone in Georgia simultaneously.  Do you see how someone carved ASS into the corner?  Poor Assil didn't live long enough to see his masterpiece completed."

(At this point, you may want to take a left turn and discuss Assil.)

"He was my best friend.  He was born of a virgin mother but he didn't make a thing out of it.  I used to come over to his place by following a star in the sky and then we'd make s'mores and race meerkats."

"His place was absolutely infested with meerkats.  They live in nooks, you know, because all they eat is breakfast.  The way you race a meerkat is by standing up straight and kind of rotating your head around looking for predators.  You do that for a couple of hours and the first one to not see any predators wins."

"Yeah, eventually I became kind of a mentor to the little guys.  They gave me this beautiful and meaningful tattoo on my shoulder here.  It means "teacher" in African, although to the untrained eye it looks like Calvin urinating on Yosemite Sam."

(And always mix in a little bit of truth at the end.)

"In Russia, they call it cosmonaut ice cream."

Technorati Tags: lies, Christmas, astronauts, Chick-Fil-A, meerkats, tattoos, ice cream, fish, gotcha! no fish, that was a test

Texas. Thanksgiving. Truth. Beauty.

I spent Thanksgiving break in Texas, and came back with lots of notes for my new epic Western novel.  It was originally titled A Texas Thanksgiving, but then I decided to poetry it up a little and now the working title is October Tamales in November Husks.  It has symbolism.  Here's the first line:

It was a one horse town, but that horse was huge.

And it just gets better from there!  Thematically, it's about all sorts of stuff, but the main plot revolves around a friendly loner cowboy type who makes a really embarrassing faux pas with his gun and has to leave the brutal, lawless Texas high lands and cross the border into Mexico, where life is still lawless but at least it's festive.  Then he crosses the Mexican border into Guatemala, and El Salvador, and on through South America, and without giving away the ending, he eventually learns the secrets of manhood at a penguin rodeo.  Don't think that it gets all whimsical and sentimental, though, because he also kills every single person he meets on his journey.  Even the minor characters:

Which way to Panama stranger? asked Bringun Gristleback.

(Oh, I forgot to mention, I don't use quotation marks or apostrophes.  Like Cormac McCarthy.  Also, Bringun is the main guy, and the other speaker is the minor character.  His name is Wangly but he doesn't live long enough to mention it.)

--I reckon youre in Panama, friend.  Thats the canal.

--Whats on the other side.

--More Panama.  I reckon its pretty good too.

--Thanks.  Whoops I shot you.

--Thats on you then.  I never did nothing to you.  I am dying now.  Take care of my cow for me.

--That cow over there?  Whoops.

--That aint what I meant by take care of my cow.

I'm knocking out this stuff at a great clip now that I don't need to worry about punctuation or what happens to my characters after a couple of pages.  Once I get into the zone, it's like I am Bringun Gristleback, and his needs are my needs.  We need to keep moving, and we also need water, and some food, nothing fancy, but hopefully cooked all the way through.  Such a life makes a man watchful, and a little . . . lonely?  As I sit at my keyboard, the tears trickle down my cheek like the last traces of rain winding through a painfully handsome arroyo.  Each mournful droplet that plashes onto the backspace key erases a single letter from my life's work.  Hey, that's kind of symbolic, too.  Although mostly it's just annoyin

 

Technorati Tags: Texas, Tejas, Cormac McCarthy, Corjac McJarthy

Post-Halloween Analysis

In retrospect, my previous statements regarding ghosts were ill-advised and not borne out by the facts, although I remind you that they were based on the best possible evidence at the time.  Declarations such as, "There's no such thing as ghosts," "I ain't afraid of no ghosts," and "Ghosts?  Bah!" should never be spoken aloud in situations where ghosts are likely to hear and take offense, and never, ever on Halloween.  I apologize to all ghosts who may have misinterpreted my words.  What I meant to say was that statistically, when conducting a census or poll, ghosts don't exist.  It's horribly unfair, of course, and I urge you to voice your protests at the Pew Research Center and not waste your efforts moaning from deep within my closet or under my bed.  I can't change the rules of statistical analysis single-handedly, and even if I could, I need my solid eight hours or I'm absolutely dead all day.  You know what that's like.

Zombies, also known as the undead, are a whole different story.  There is no way I could have foreseen their arrival.  While ghosts can be filed under "life after death," the undead defy categorization.  Eating people is one thing, but defying categorization is unforgivably rude and antisocial.  Zombies -- and I know you can hear me out there, even through the boards on the windows -- what you're doing is wrong, but more than that, your very existence is silly.  Check the Internet sometime, you're a joke.  I can't believe how easy it was to bring you back to life, excuse me, "undeath."  I thought I would have to perform some kind of complicated ritual.  Instead, I just leaned down into a fresh grave and shouted, "Oh no!  We're late!" and you jumped right out of death.  If you make a choice, commit to it.  Say what you will about ghosts, they have personalized goals and stick to them with a single-minded devotion.  "Hungry" isn't a life plan.

Finally, I would like to address the vampire issue.  Vampires are not ghosts.  Vampires are not zombies.  But most importantly, vampires are not helpful.  Having invited dozens of vampires to a Halloween party that can only be described as a spooky fiasco is a mistake I will never repeat again, no matter what post-death form I eventually choose.  Vampires refuse to negotiate with ghosts and have no way to beat back endless waves of zombies.  Still, despite their uselessness and frustrating mood swings, I value their opinions in this crisis.  I would say that technically, they are living beings, just that their lives are exceptionally morbid and depressing.  Emily Dickinson, technically, was a living being.  As a fellow living being, for now, I should throw my lot in with the vampires, but it's hard to do that when they keep looking at me, then the punch bowl, then at me again.  Yes, I know, it's sangria.  I wasn't sure what you'd like.

I've held out for long enough.  Time to make my decision.  What should I "be" for Halloween?

[  ]  A ghost

[  ]  A zombie

[  ]  A vampire

[X]  lessss of a miiiiiserrrr . . . chaaaange your waaaays . . .

Cut it out, ghosts.  I know that was you.  Wow, Halloween's barely over and already I've got the Christmas ghosts.  It gets worse every year.

Technorati Tags: Halloween, ghosts, zombies, vampires, yarn of the dead

Thoreau's On First?

The following is a transcript of an 1846 telephone conversation between Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Thoreau:  Waldo, it's Henry.  Were you asleep?

Emerson:  Of course I was asleep.  Damn it, Henry, it's 7 p.m.  I don't know how they do things in the woods, but here in town the cutoff is 5.

Thoreau:  Guess where I am?

Emerson:  How should I know?

Thoreau:  I'm in a jail cell!

Emerson:  For reals?  What are you doing in there?

Thoreau:  The question, my dear Waldo, is what are you doing out there?

Emerson:  Out where?

Thoreau:  Outside the jail.  Not in jail, like me.

Emerson:  Why would I be in jail?

Thoreau:  Why would you be outside of it?

Emerson:  Have you been, you know . . . I don't want to say over the phone.

Thoreau:  No, it's cool.  I'm just trying to make a point.

Emerson:  Or maybe, my dear Henry, a point is trying to make you.  See what I did there?

Thoreau:  Listen, I'm in jail because I didn't pay my taxes.

Emerson:  April 15, I keep telling you.

Thoreau:  I didn't forget.  It's immoral for me to give money to support slavery and the Mexican-American War.  So I refused to pay the poll tax.

Emerson:  Oh, is that all?  You don't have to support slavery and war.  You didn't know?

Thoreau:  What do you mean?

Emerson:  It's easy.  You just write a little note that says, Here's the money, but you can only use it for, say, haircuts for orphans.  Oh, and make sure you get a receipt.  If you see a bunch of shaggy headed orphans around, go back and they'll give you a refund.

Thoreau:  So they can't use the money for anything I don't like?

Emerson:  Obviously.  What kind of system would that be?  Someone else forces you to give them money just because they tricked a bunch of yahoos into voting for them?  This is America, Henry!  But you do have to pay.  Just make sure you pay for something nice.

Thoreau:  What do your taxes go towards?

Emerson:  Funny you should ask.  Look out the jail cell window and you should see it.

Thoreau:  The Home for Wayward Bisexuals?

Emerson:  No, but right next to it.

Thoreau:  There's some kind of a sign, but it's dark.

Emerson:  Okay, well in the morning, you'll see it says Emerson Rules.  And there's a drawing of me doing an ollie kickflip.

Thoreau:  Wicked!  I want one of those!

Emerson:  Pay the poll tax, then.  Oh, and Henry?

Thoreau:  Yes?

Emerson:  Next time you wake me in the middle of the night, I'm going to put my taxes towards a Do Not Call list.

Thoreau:  Oh, Waldo!  [twelve minutes of giggling, followed by obligatory but mechanical phone sex]

Technorati Tags: Thoreau, Emerson, Civil Disobedience, poll tax, telephone conversations prior to 1876?, that was your first clue

The Waiting Game

Well, Jayden, I have one thing to ask you . . .

Is this your card?

It is, isn't it?  But how?  How could a web page from the early 21st century know what card you chose?  Is it magic?  No, just brilliance and genius.

You see, in 2007 I wrote a "post" on this "web site" using "written English".  I took the chance that despite current trends, people would still know how to read written English the way they can still listen to plainsong chants or worry about polio.  You know, it's pointless, but you can do it.  I put up this picture of your card, memorized the address, and waited for fifty years.  Every day, I giggled to myself in secret, anticipating this moment.

But what about your name?  Simplicity itself.  In 2007, there weren't any adults named Jayden, but a lot of new babies were getting stuck with what was essentially a made-up name.  In New York City, it was the tenth most popular boy's name, and was an up and coming girl's name, too!  I figured that, come what may, New York would survive in some form, as either a prison camp or alien stronghold.  That's why I eventually moved to New York, even if it meant committing a thought crime or collaborating with the space moths.

That's where I met you, Jayden.  I'm sorry to say that our friendship, love affair, or working relationship has been a pretense.  It could have been anyone with your name.  I mean, maybe once I got to know you, things changed, but believe me, when I first met you, the only thing on my mind was this magic trick.  But you gotta admit, I really had you going there.

What else?  Oh, the first card I showed you, the one that was wrong?  I knew that.  That was showmanship.  Building suspense.  I bet you thought I just forgot how to do the trick, because by now I'm eighty.

But wait, how did I know you'd pick the nine of hearts?  Well, remember when I pointed out the window at an interesting cloud?  When you turned your head, I used a miniature teleporter to switch the card in your hand with the nine of hearts in my pocket.  Today, in 2007, I started carrying the card everywhere I go, and started inventing teleportation technology.  Maybe I'm rich now from it!  But I didn't do it for the money.  I did it to see the look on your face, which I'm sure will be priceless.

So now you know how it's done.  It's really just a variation on Houdini's attempt to be reincarnated as a rabbit holding the four of clubs.  For my first trick, I wanted to start simple and do something in this life.  But Jayden, if you're reading this because your eerily intelligent rabbit knocked over a deck of cards and led you to this site, well, I guess I went with plan B.  Please refill my water bottle.

Technorati Tags: magic, magic tricks, careful planning

The Little Prince: Whimsically Naïve, or Developmentally Challenged?

Q:  What is this?

A:  Digestion.  Specifically, a boa constrictor digesting an elephant.

Q:  How did this happen?

A:  The boa constrictor was hungry.  The elephant let his guard down.

Q:  Will the elephant be all right?

A:  Come on, really?  You don't know?  Sure, the elephant will be just fine.  Minor lacerations and he won't be able to wear shorts for a couple months.

Q:  Will the snake and the elephant be friends after this?

A:  Honestly, it'll be a little awkward.  If the snake sends out a mass email, it'll wonder whether it should take the elephant off the list.  But what if one of their mutual friends mentions the email to the elephant?  It'll be rough for a while.

Q:  Couldn't the snake just apologize?

A:  For being a snake?  For injecting another animal with venom, then swallowing and slowly digesting it?  If he apologizes to the elephant, he'll have to apologize to every rat and kitten and puma he's ever digested.  That'd take forever.  He doesn't know where half of them are now.

Q:  Say, if you didn't show that cross section, it'd look like a picture of a hat.

A:  No hat you'd want to wear.  It's full of poisoned, dying elephant.

Q:  He's dying?  You said he would be fine!

A:  I wanted you to have one last moment of childlike innocence.  But now it's time to grow up and help pick elephant bones out of snake poop.

Q:  Why?

A:  Because it's what the elephant would have wanted?

Q:  Really?

A:  Not really.  I sell the ivory.

Q:  So am I going to see any percentage of these profits?

A:  Wow, you sure grew up fast.

Technorati Tags: Little Prince, elephants, snakes, digestion, whimsy

Beans -- A Journey of Discovery

Time was, when I wanted to add beans to a recipe, I'd open a can.  Then one day, as I reached for that cold, indifferent can opener, I thought, Why am I using a machine to cook?  Have I become a robot?  And the answer came:  Of course not.  What an illogical assumption.  Which freaked me the hell out, so I gave up canned beans and started buying Rustic Beans.

Rustic Beans are these dry, shriveled looking beans found in little plastic sacks on the same aisle as the Tin Prison Beans.  You'll see all different kinds of them, but don't get confused, just buy some in your favorite color.  They're so cheap, you can buy tons of them to pave a driveway or to stuff in a gun as emergency buckshot.

Cooking with them is simple as can be.  Just open up the bag, pour them on the ground, and play a little game of This Ain't No Bean.  About half the bag will be little clods of dirt or tiny pebbles that ain't beans.  Remove all of those and unless you have pica, throw them away.  I once got a bag that was all dirt and one bean, whom I named Lucky.  I gave him his freedom.

Now the real fun begins.  Put the beans in a pot, cover them with lots of water, and wait all night.  You could do something else while you're waiting, but if you let these little bean-watching moments slip by, you'll regret it someday.  The bag lists two methods: overnight and quick soak, which involves boiling them a little.  But think about it.  If the shorter method were preferable, wouldn't that be the only one on the bag?  Don't take the easy way out.  Soaking beans, like everything,  is a moral test.  I'm pretty sure that quick soaking is technically a venial sin.

After one sleepless but exciting night, you'll have some swollen, soggy beans sitting in nasty water.  They're like larvae of deliciousness, and you're about to hatch 'em.  Now you can boil them in some new non-stanky water.  And then eat them, of course.  I shouldn't have to tell you everything.  Some possible side dishes: parsley, napkin rings, or a tall glass of the stank water, which you should have saved.  You spent all night with that water.  Did you just throw it away once you got what you wanted?  You just failed another moral test, Captain Callous.  I can't even look at you right now.

So, the next time you get a sudden beany craving, don't open an unfeeling can with a scary machine.  Not even a simple machine, like an inclined plane or a pulley.  Just whip up a batch of safe, analog Rustic Beans.  Also, try not to have especially urgent cravings, because Rustic Beans take all damn night.  That's what separates us from the soulless robots: delayed gratification.  Plus the fact that we eat beans at all.  Eat enough beans and you'll pass the Turing Test with flying colors.  You'll see.

Technorati Tags: beans, robots, sin, tests, overnight soak

Touching Letters from Adorable Children

Why I Smell

by Oswald M., age 5

First of all, I don't smell bad.  I smell like everyone else, just more.  And also, shut up.

Some people take a shower every day.  That is wasteful of water.  I don't ever shower, but I take baths, which is better for the environment.  Queen Elizabeth I took a bath once a month.  I take a bath more often than that.  So there.

As soon as I get out of the tub, I put on new clothes.  I have a system.  I take the old shirt, pants, and underwear I've been wearing and put them back in the drawer.  They've been "demoted" and can now recharge in the dark until they're clean again.  The other clothes get to vote on what my new outfit will be, which is a real honor, because that outfit stays with me night and day, learning from my wisdom.  Sometimes it's a popular outfit, or some clothes that haven't had much of a chance to see the world.  It's not up to me.

That's why sometimes I wear the footie pajamas for weeks.  The clothes have spoken.

Some people wash their faces every day, but I do something better.  I use the blow dryer on my face, which caramelizes the dirt into a hard, protective shell.  Also, it adds flavor.  My face tastes like peanut brittle.  Lick it and you'll agree.

And even if you care about the environment, you should change your socks every day.  But people don't realize that if you turn a sock inside out, it becomes a new sock.  Where'd the old sock go?  It's a mystery.  And you can also switch the left and right socks, that counts.  It also counts if you add stickers or decals.

Don't give in to peer pressure, or parent pressure.  No one can make you wash if they can't find you, like for example if you blend in with the backyard.  And although your friends might make fun of you, you'll make new friends.  The birds nesting in your hair will be your alarm clock.  The pinworms will sing you to sleep.

That's why I smell.  I smell because I have experienced life, and I don't want to wash it off.  And you can't make me.

Technorati Tags: stanky children, Queen Elizabeth, peanut brittle, pinworms

But Along the Way, I Learned Something

In my first year teaching nursery rhymes to inner city high schoolers, I had days where it seemed like I'd never get through:

"These three mice, three blind mice, they had a violent upbringing, too.  Sound familiar?"

"It's OK to experience setbacks.  Does it frustrate you when you don't 'climb a spout' on the first try?  Does it make you feel eencey?  Maybe a little weencey?"

"On first glance, all this "baa baa" and "three bags" stuff seems pretty wack, right?  But what is Goose really saying?  If she were writing today, would she ask, Baa baa, Latina sheep, have you any self esteem?"

But by the time we made it to the Tri-County Nursery Jam -- and won! -- I knew that these kids, who on my first day of teaching had stolen my shoe, had ended up stealing my heart.  I would never forget them, and they would never forget me.

But they did!  Those motherfuckers!  They all became famous rappers, and never once did those ungrateful bastards give me a shout out or name a clothing line after me.  Or even just mail me back my shoe.

Well, I'll show them.  I've been hopping my way up the administrative ladder and I just got made Vice.  Fucking.  Principal.  That's right.  I have your files.  Let's see what your legions of fans think of your essay writing skills.  What kind of street cred will you have left once they find out you can't even write a topic sentence?

Remember these first paragraphs, betrayers?

The speed limit: is it too low?  Yes.  There are good arguments on both sides, but the arguments against it are not good.  In this essay, I will discuss the concept of speed, the drug called speed, that movie, the second movie (the one with the boat), possibilities of a third movie, and in conclusion, I will show that the speed limit isn't high enough, and they should lower it.

The prostate gland:  we all have one, but what does it do?  In men, the prostate helps you lie down, or lie "prostate," when you feel like lying down.  In women, it's a mystery.  Most women won't even admit to having one.  In this essay, I will show that they are totally faking.

Me: in love with Ciara, or maybe not?  In this essay, I will show that I am for real.  Although many sources believe that I am merely infatuated with her, they make several unfounded assumptions that are not supported by the facts of my heart.  Furthermore, I believe that with hard work, I will someday become famous so that Ciara will have to notice and fall in love with me, although it must be stated that she is not shallow and will fall in love with the real me, deep inside.  The best advice I ever received was when my Nursery Studies teacher taught me to always follow my dream.  My dream is to get with Ciara.

Oh my.  I've -- I've been a fool.  I let the spider of jealousy chase me away from my curds of accomplishment.  That's one good kid.  I shouldn't have said those things about him.  I'll take down that web site where I drew stuff on his face.  And I should go to his mansion and tell him I'm proud of him.  Maybe, if I hurry, I can get there before the pipe bomb goes off.  Oh, I hope so!  But it's funny -- who would have thought, all that time I was teaching them, they were teaching me!  And none of their lessons got through to me until now, years later.  Wow, they were some seriously shitty teachers.

Technorati Tags: teachers, nursery rhymes, rap, speed limits, prostate health, Ciara, no pictures in this one, use imagination

An Open Letter to the Cops

I'm terribly sorry but I must decline your invitation to participate in this murder investigation.  I really would like to come down to the station and answer a few questions, but my schedule is crazy right now.  I was so looking forward to sitting at the little desk, being offered water, coffee, and cigarettes by the good cop, as well as being insulted and slapped around by the less than optimal cop.  I'm sure this brilliant and perplexing murder seems unsolvable to you, but keep at it, guys -- you'll just have to work around my testimony because I have a thing.  If it helps, here's what I was going to say.

• How dare you.  Do you know who I am?  I'm an important society guy.  I could buy you a million times over this very moment, but I won't, because I respect the uniform and it's a seller's market.
• I have never heard of that guy.  Did you make up that name?  It sounds made up.
• A photo?  Oh, that guy.  I think I saw him in an online video -- something about Mentos?
• Yes, he's my business partner.  You didn't let me finish.  He was in an online video, because we made one to promote our joint venture.  I guess it wasn't Mentos, it was equity indexed annuities.
• How dare you.  I loved him like a brother!  I'd rather murder a hundred people than harm a hair on his head.
• In Jewish culture, we threaten people's lives all the time.  It's a sign of affection.  "Hey, friend!  Watch your back, 'cause I'm coming for you!  Mazel tov!"  See?
• Allow me to answer your question with another question:  When you black out, do you keep track of everywhere you go and everything you do?  Or do you just go with it?
• Yeah, I bet you get a lot of cleaning ladies in here claiming they "saw everything."  Would you trust someone who promised not to tell something and then broke that promise?
• If, hypothetically, I were going to kill him, let us assume that I would not want to leave a bunch of evidence.  But by your own admission, you found a bunch of evidence at the scene.  Therefore, I did not commit this murder.  Q.E.D.
• You guys just love your DNA evidence, don't you?  Did you ever consider that I might be having an affair with every piece of furniture in that room?  Does that offend your bourgeois morality?
• Even if I were guilty,  which I'm not, you'd never prove it . . . wait, are you planning to actually use all that evidence?  I thought it was like a visual aid!  Wow, where do you even store all that evidence?  Even the leaky bits?
• So maybe I killed him, but can you blame me?  He was unpleasant.  And I disliked him!  What would you do?
• What you have to realize is that . . . the thing is . . . SO LONG, SUCKERS!
• Hm.  Locked.
• So, hey, um, I demand to see a lawyer.

 

Technorati Tags: cops, murder, Jerry Orbach, hot dogs, confessions

Interview: Coal Mine Canary

Q:  I'm very honored to be here in the coal mine with the beautiful and talented Coal Mine Canary.  So, Coal Mine Canary, how are you today?

A:  Why does everyone keep asking that?

 

Technorati Tags: ba dum bump shhh

Kebooms!

This 4th of July, why not combine the grilling and explosions?  Don't make kebabs, make kebooms!

All you need is a grill, some skewers, kebab fixings, and fireworks.  Beef, shrimp, lamb, bell peppers, onions and pineapples are all classic kebab ingredients, but anything will do as long as it's not too soggy.  Pre-grill it until it's just about done.  Then tie little firecrackers to the skewer, and turn up the flames, so they're sure to pop off.  Stand back!  Really, stand back, it's dangerous.

Q:  Can I still eat the food?  It's covered in gunpowder!

A:  The gunpowder burns right off.  It barely touches the edible parts, if at all.

Q:  My kebab exploded!  It's all over the backyard!

A:  That happens sometimes.  Pick up the chunks and eat them.  Treasure hunt!

Q:  What if the firecracker is a dud?

A:  Sometimes a kebab doesn't cook exactly as planned, but we don't call it a "dud," now do we?  Get some lighter fluid and spray it on there, see if you can get some fire going.

Q:  Are you legally responsible for other people following your recipes?

A:  I'm so very glad you asked that.  The answer is, no.

Technorati Tags: kebooms, kebabs, barbeque, recipes, danger-licious

MC Stick

Bump A Log

(copyright 1993 MC Stick and Lumber Town Records)

Florists, tourists

Get up in the forest

Don't you try to bore us

Bundle up and store us

Puts a damper on the campers but you know it isn't right

And you're gonna get a stickin 'less you're pickin up your site

[Try and play the big chap but you make the twig snap

Can't flee the trees' trap cause your beats are weak sap]

Bump a log!  (bump! bump! bump!)

Bump a log!  (bump! bump!)

Bump a log!  (bump! bump! bump!)

Bump a log!  (bump! bump!)

Yo, this is dedicated to the National Arbor Day Foundation.  Keep planting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Technorati Tags: MC Stick

Tornado Loans

Have you seen those places around town that offer tornado loans?  They look legitimate enough, with big signs that say DON'T WORRY and WE'RE NOT USURERS, but it's a total scam.  I applied for one the other day and the first thing they wanted to know was if I was a cop.  I told them no, and then they asked about the value of my internal organs separately and in total.  I now know those were warning signs.  Anyway, I walked out of there with only $300 (angry kidney syndrome) in exchange for letting them take out a tornado insurance policy on my apartment.

[Fun fact: Did you know that you can't take out a life insurance policy on a stranger?  In fact, even if you know them, you need insurable interest or the person's consent.  Isn't that lame?  I had a brilliant plan to make a whole lot of money and get rid of my enemies at the same time.  I rented a haunted house and everything.]

Tornados don't hit D.C. all that often, so I figured I was safe.  But as soon as I got home, I found a guy throwing himself over and over at my front door.  I later found out his name was Silas.  He wore a gray suit covered in cotton balls and string, and was howling at the top of his lungs.

ME:  Who the hell are you?

SILAS:  Whoosh!  Whoosh!

ME:  Your name is Whoosh?

SILAS:  No, I'm a tornado.  Only hurricanes have names.  Whoosh!  Let me in!

ME:  Are you from the Tornado Loan people?

SILAS:  I'm from everywhere, and nowhere.  I'm a quirk of weather.  Good thing you have tornado insurance.

ME:  You just gave yourself away there.  I would say, "Aha!" if I hadn't already put two and "duh" together.

SILAS:  No, I'm a tornado!  I'm a perfectly innocent meteorological phenomenon.  Why won't you let me in?

ME:  Whoa there, tornado.  I didn't say I wouldn't let you in.  I'm skeptical, but I'm not rude.  Come on in.  Just don't break anything.

And he didn't!  Tornados are capricious like that.  He just picked me up, carried me around the room a couple times, and set me down in the exact same place.  What a coincidence, huh?  Silas and I are good friends now and although he's not a real tornado, I hope someday a fairy visits his window and makes him one.  I can't think of a nicer guy to flip my car.

Technorati Tags: tornados, tornado loans, Silas, insurance, haunted houses, friendship

Hot Weather Cookery

It's 91 degrees here in DC, which means that I'd rather cook a pie using angry words than turn on the oven.  It's smarter to just not cook anything that requires an oven in the first place.  I figure burners are OK if you use them sparingly, and of course, anything that needs to be cooked at only 91 degrees, just put it outside for a while.  One hour at 400 is equivalent to four hours at 100, right?  Here are some old classics of hot weather cookery:

Deep Fried Ice Cubes

Whisk together some egg yolk, flour, and baking soda to make batter.  Roll ice cubes in them.  Deep fry in oil.  You have to do this really quickly because ice cubes have a tendency to melt.

Baked Snapper en Papillote via Gym Class

"En papillote" just means "en paper" en French.  Take a piece of paper, go down to your local lake, and wrap it around a fish.  Now the tricky part: you have to convince the fish he's in gym class walking the track.  Exhort him to keep swimming in a circle, faster and faster, until he overheats and dies.  He should be fully cooked by then.  It may help to draw a Nike swoosh on the paper.

E-Z Bake No-Oven Salad

Take the usual salad ingredients: lettuce, cherry tomatoes, mushrooms, onion slices, raw calf's liver, raw pig's feet, raw contents of raw duck's stomach.  Normally, you should bake the onions, because they're a little overwhelming, but instead, substitute a raw puffer fish, also known as "sashimi fugu."  Any of your dinner guests who might have been put off by all the raw meat will be so busy avoiding the famously poisonous fugu they won't even notice it going down.

Tuna Tartare

Can of tuna.  That's it.  Oh, and a can opener.  Serves 8.

Hearty Lasagna with Baked Ziti on a Bed of Chocolate Cakes

For this, you'll need some lockpicks or a key to the house next door.  Use their oven.  If they come home while you're there, there's a good chance they won't be able to get into the kitchen for a while due to the massive wave of heat pushing them back.  If they do make it in, try to convince them it's their birthday.  A quicker, low calorie alternative: instead of a whole bed of chocolate cakes, just make a futon, and halve the amount of ziti.

Technorati Tags: cooking, hot weather, recipes

Erotic Postage

Sorry about the erratic posting schedule lately.  As I said before, I will never apologize for not posting.  I will, however, apologize for lying about that.  I've been in Texas for the past week, which was a lot of fun.  Although most of Texas has wireless access, the Omni in San Antonio charges you $10/day for it, even though they are the fanciest hotel in town.  Maybe that's how they pay for all the fanciness, with confiscatory fees for basic services.  The funny thing is, in a mid-range, business class hotel you'll always get free wireless. 

Also, what's up with delivering USA Today automatically, for 75 cents a day, unless you explicitly refuse it?  I've seen that at a couple of hotels.  I know you get a free Bible that you'll also never read, but why USA Today?  Is it the new Bible?  The Holy Trinity of unsolicited texts: the Gideon's Bible, USA Today, and the Yellow Pages.  And let's not forget the pantheon of lesser saints that show up in your mailbox every day.  Somewhere in this great country there is a very devout person who saves every piece of junk mail, and whenever someone on the street hands him a flyer he carries it home and mounts it on his wall like an ikon.  I really want to see what kind of blaze his house makes if he ever falls asleep smoking.

Let's tie this note to D.C. a little bit.  As everyone knows, you can't build anything in D.C. taller than the Washington Monument, which is 555 feet tall.  However, this restriction doesn't apply outside of the District, so the USA Today's original offices in Rosslyn are something like 30 stories tall.  (They're the shiny ones on the right side of the photo.)  For more D.C. real estate arcana, I highly recommend Inside the DC Bubble, for example, this story.  And for more info on erotic postage, find some other blog, because I typed that title accidentally.  I meant to type, "erratic posting."  This is not the place to talk about how the Hattie McDaniel 39-cent awakened a insatiable sensual beast within your loins.  I mean, she's hot, but she's not 41 cents hot, dude.

 

Technorati Tags: unsolicited text, erotic postage, USA Today, Hattie McDaniel, DC, Rosslyn, San Antonio, Anais Nin licking a stamp for three hours straight

My War Stories

As a member of the U.S. Armed Forces, Memorial Day is my favorite day of the year.  It's the one day where all patriotic Americans take a moment to kiss my ass a little.  I like Veteran's Day, too, but that's mostly for the old soldiers who fought dinosaurs or whatever.  Plus, it seems like every Veteran's Day, I'm off in some foreign hellhole fighting for your freedoms, so I tend to forget until it's like 11 PM and all the stores are closed, so I don't get to celebrate.  But on Memorial Day, every soldier gets a day off, so we can relax in a big old bubble bath of praise and trumpetry.  Today I will regale you with some of my best war stories, and you pretty much have to listen.

First, let me tell you about basic training.  My drill sergeant was a very rude man.  He referred to us all as "maggots" although I think he meant to say "caterpillars" because we would soon become "butterflies."  He got his larval creatures mixed up, but it's still rude.  He was also kind of a control freak.  Everything had to be done his way, without any creative input from the caterpillars.  For example, he wanted us to march in synchronized formations, with no destination, while shouting.  It was like we were cheerleaders.

We all disliked Sarge at first, but with time his ways became familiar, and eventually our attitude toward him changed, because one of us shot him.  Then we were all sent off to the front lines.  After all that buildup we were dying to see some action.  To be sure, some of us wanted to see other things.  I wanted to hand a candy bar to a foreign kid, who would give me a homemade scarf in return.  One guy, Tony,  wanted to have his life saved, or almost saved, by someone Jewish.  And poor sweet Luis wanted to see a tank blown up into the air and land upside down, but he never got his wish.

My best war story:  It was an ordinary mission for me and my elite squad.  Our orders were to secure the perimeter, rescue a hostage, take a hostage, eliminate the insurgents, set up a communications array, take back the night, win hearts and minds, and return to base.  We were in the Purple Zone, three clicks south of Waypoint A, if you know where that is, when something went wrong.  It got really quiet and then all hell broke loose.  We were surrounded by people who were firing guns, at us!

Bullets flew at us from all sides as if we were an inbox suddenly being spammed.  Re: Hot molten death, CC: Every last fucking one of you.  I had to act fast.  "Return fire!" I shouted, but it was too late.  My men had already returned fire and won.  I knew then that war is no video game, or movie, or podcast.  War is real, and it's lame.  Seriously, there's all this buildup and then it's just some shooting and then we win and it's not even close.  Meh.  We're the bravest, smartest, most technologically advanced military of all time and God is on our side -- gee, I wonder who's gonna win this one?

For my heroism that day, I received our nation's highest honor, the Red Badge of Job Well Done.  I wear it to the store sometimes, and people salute me, and the cashier bags my groceries for me.  But deep down I know that I just did what anyone else would do in those circumstances, which was be a hero.  But this Memorial Day, I'll just ignore all the hero stuff and try to remember why I enlisted in the first place: to protect my precious liberty.  And now that I've shot some folks in defense of liberty, I'll finally be allowed to vote, and publish a newspaper, and have a trial by jury, and burn a flag or two, and I think the Twenty-first Amendment says I can have a beer.  So I have a lot to do today.

Marie Curie's Secret Diary

April 20, 1902
Today Pierre and I created radium chloride.  I guess that was pretty fun.  Pierre is pretty happy about it and maybe we'll get an award.  I would be OK with that.
April 21, 1902
I didn't do much this morning because I had the blahs.  But this afternoon, I synthesized pure radium from the radium chloride.  I had a feeling that might be possible because it's in the name, radium chloride.  And my hunch paid off.  I also made polonium, which is a whole different element, with a different name.  Weird.
April 22, 1902
Wow.  Just -- wow.  Radium is very pretty.  It's like a tiny blue star faintly twinkling in the palm of my hand.  I think it might be one of the most beautiful elements on Earth.  It's certainly one of the most delicious.
April 23, 1902
I cannot believe how much better my pierogis taste with a bit of radium!  Maybe it's not "authentic" but I don't care.  They were a huge hit at the potluck and all night I was showered with compliments and recipe requests.  But if I tell them my secret ingredient, you just know everyone will be refining pitchblende in their own kitchens.
April 24, 1902
omg!  i had a hunch that radium would give me energy and boy was i right!  i just had to crush it up and snort it with a pipette and suddenly i was just flying around the house!  i had no idea the fan blades were so dusty but not anymore!  i also decided i don't like capital letters and i am never using them AGAIN ok that one time but that's it
April 25, 1902
Pierre staged an intervention today.
He thinks radium may be addictive.
He says I should stop snorting it.
Fuck him.
April 26, 1902
Oh, Pierre, you were right!  It's so hard giving up nasal radium! Thank God I can wean myself from it slowly with these harmless radium patches.
April 27, 1902
Today the sun was very bright.  I held up my hand to shield my eyes, but I could see through it.
April 28, 1902
Ever have one of those days where you just sat and watched a peanut pass through your upper intestine?
April 19, 1902
Uh-oh.  It looks like I went backward in time.  I wonder how that happened.  You know what?  I'm going to have a chat with myself.  I'll give myself a good talking-to, ha ha!
April 20, 1902
In retrospect, I should not have popped out of that closet.  It wasn't funny.  After I calmed myself down, I told myself to maybe lay off the radium.  I mean, discovering it was a good idea, but I think as a spice, it tends to overwhelm the other flavors.  Boring as it sounds, maybe I should only investigate it from a scientific perspective. Well, that's enough messing with the past.  I find it wearying.
May 22, 2007
Now this is more like it!  Now I'm in the future, and it's surprisingly comfortable.  I enjoy these Bluetooth devices as well as these Swiss Cake Rolls.  Well, I've got to go.   I wonder where a gal can find a nice stiff Long Island Iced Radium around here?

Who's Gonna Betray Me?

I need a vizier!

I've put off getting a vizier for a while now, hoping that if I were incompetent enough, someone would just show up to take advantage of me.  No dice.  I have djinni, swordsmen, eunuchs, court magicians, courtesans up the wazoo (not literally), and a vast collection of colorful, luxurious fabrics that I spend most of the day draping over other fabrics, but no vizier.  So now I'm a beloved ruler, my word is law, and no one plots secretly to usurp my power for evil purposes.  What about you?  Will you be my downfall?  Please?

I'd really like to meet a traditional, scheming vizier, like in A Thousand and One Nights, or Prince of Persia, or King's Quest VI.  I'd even settle for that one from the Disney movie with the asshole parrot.   You can be sycophantic, or mysterious, or treat me with thinly (or thickly) disguised contempt.  As long as you eventually betray me, I'm easy.

Not to be picky, but I do have one rule: I can't see it coming.  Very important.  You can't just punch me, grab a carpet and run.  I'd prefer a few years of subtly damaging advice, and a slow consolidation of power.  Be insidious, but have fun with it.  I'm open to magical spells, some sort of wish-based trickery, blackmail (I'm very open to blackmail), and by all means, collude with my rivals.  Currently I live at peace with the neighboring kingdoms, but I bet you could teach me how to make enemies.  (I know a little HTML, if that helps.)

So don't telegraph your moves.  Remember the boss fight in Sands of Time, where the vizier would do this long, obvious wind-up before launching a spell?  Don't do that.  Don't say, "Sign this decree, effendi, which gives me full control over all matters of state, so I can throw you in a dungeon, ha ha ha!"  Do you see why that's wrong?  If you kind of cover up the evilest sub-clauses with your hand, I might sign it, but you should really try harder than that.  Do you know what I like to declare?  National holidays.  I'll sign anything that says National Holiday, and without my reading glasses (which I keep in a box on the windowsill) I can't read anything smaller than an 8 point font.

I think you'll really like it here!  The palace is a bit crowded right now with some heroic urchins and princes who like to perform daring last-minute rescues, but I'm sure they'll keep to themselves.  I'll just be poking around my treasure room, completely distracted by these long-winded stories my wife likes to tell, stumbling upon some old sceptres and lamps that probably don't do anything . . . if you want to borrow them for an art project or something, feel free.  I am allergic to cherries.  I don't know why I said that just now.  Oh well!  I look forward to many years of loyal service (wink, wink) from you.

Compensation: play your cards right, you'll see
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