Banditos! Banditos! Banditos!

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.

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

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

I Am For Real

I really went to England.  I swear it's true.  Some slight exaggerations appear in the column(s) of Banditos!  Banditos!  Banditos! -- I am not currently a member of the Armed Forces, dying of a rare disease, being investigated for murder -- but always in service of a greater truth.  The truth of the soul.  If I believed it when I wrote it, it can't be a lie, and anyway, I didn't write it, the banditos did, and they don't exist, so they can't lie.  That's the central conceit of the show! 

But not anymore.  The banditos came home with a case of the New Sincerity, a little late, realizing that you can't lie, steal and lookout your way out of reality.  Reality is ubiquitous, and you can't get the smell of it out of your clothes.  The other day I was reading the best work of fiction ever written.  There I was, breathing and walking with someone else's mind.

Someone asked me, "Hey, what are you doing?"

"I'm reading a book . . . aw, shit!"

See?  Now, that story's not true, but it's illustrative.  You can tell I took the above picture from my distinctive thumb.  But what about this one?

Those are the Cliffs of Moher, in Ireland, where I also sincerely went.  Looks like a desktop, and currently it is my desktop, but I took it.  I drove to them on an indescribably narrow, switchbacked cliffside road, as insane locals and buses swerved towards me at 120 kph, through an unreal landscape called the Burren, which looks like the remains of a Claymation apocalypse.  Picture below, also mine.  But millions of people have also been there and taken pictures, so unless I have some very identifiable flaws in my photography skills, anyone could have taken that shot.  And I bet everyone who drives there tells a similar story.

But, however.  It was scary!  I'm sure it was all perfectly safe, but it felt perilous enough to bring out the almost-death feeling.  Standing on the edge of the cliff, or inches from a speeding, possibly American driver, I never once thought, this may as well be someone else.  The sun was setting by the time I arrived at the Cliffs of Moher, there weren't many tourists left, and a gray, wet wind soaked and weighted my clothes.  Underdressed, shivering, I wiped off the viewfinder and tried to get it all in.  And of course you can't.  But I believe the failure springs from my amateurish technique, or maybe the camera was low on megapixels.  It's not an inherent flaw in the cliffs themselves.  Don't feel bad, cliffs!

The cliffs did their job well.  I almost died!  (Not really.)  What can the world do but try to kill you and fail for a while?  Works for me.  I'm not saying to live each day as if it were your last.  That's idiotic.  You'd never shower.  But if you have a moment, and you're feeling unhappy, ungrateful, or unloved, why not give almost dying a try?  Remember, just pretend, don't almost die for real.  I said almost.  It's just a way to confirm that it's really you there, even if you're not in the picture.  By the way, that pointing guy is Sir James Thornhill, who painted himself there, not me.  But do you see that palette there behind him?  What if he'd tried to clock me with it!  I almost died.

Next: a transitional England post, and then on to other subjects.  The new New Sincerity.  I'll tell you right now, it involves making stuff up.

Technorati Tags: England, Ireland, Cliffs of Moher, Burren, James Thornhill, Painted Hall, Greenwich, photos, lies, photos lie

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

Captain America's Fictional Burial

So Captain America died?  How did I not hear about that?  You would think that would be all over the front page of the Daily Bugle, with some dramatic photos by that Peter Parker guy.

 So the Daily Bugle is fictional, too?  How did I not hear about that?

This story, found here in Slashdot form (short excerpt followed by bad in-jokes and misinformed people picking fights with each other) claims that the fictional superhero Captain America will be buried in Arlington National Cemetery.  Now, I know that joint ain't fictional.  I've never visited it, but I would like to someday.  I bet it's really dramatic.  I'm just afraid that I'll suddenly hear treacly music coming from nowhere and then I'll have to limp over to some random grave and tell a flashback story of the soldier who saved my life.  It's not even a very good story.  It was April, 1944.  I had ordered some oysters in a restaurant and a soldier dived in front of me, ate all of them, and died.  Suddenly I realized that April is a month without an "R" in it.  I also tell that story as an example of my heroism, because he was a Nazi soldier, and I got credit for the kill.  I went on to heroically kill a lot of enemy soldiers by almost eating things.

The money quote for this story seems to be:

Writer Jeph Loeb has been busy working through the stages of grief in his most recent titles, according to an Associated Press story. A book centered on Wolverine dealt with denial; one with the Avengers covered anger; and Spider-Man battled depression.

Wolverine's denial:  "I just (snikt!) can't believe (snikt!) he's gone.  Uh oh.  Looks like I ruined your couch."

Spider-Man's depression can be seen in Spider-Man 3.  It takes the form of an oily, soul-destroying puddle of goo named Tobey Maguire.

I'd say something about the Avengers here but I don't know who they are.  I guess they avenge things?  Good luck with that.

Anyway, who really cares if Captain America got killed?  I wouldn't read too much into it.  If Marvel Comics wanted to make some kind of symbolic statement about the current political climate, they would have killed someone who represents our political system, like Sergeant Separation of Church and State or Vice-Admiral Vice President.  Although I am a little suspicious of the manner in which Captain America died.  I heard he choked to death on confiscatory tariffs.

Technorati Tags: Captain America, Wolverine, Spider-Man, symbolism, superheroes, oyster danger

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

Sonic RPG

From Kotaku, a story about BioWare partnering with Sega to make a Sonic the Hedgehog RPG.  You know BioWare, they're all about the rich storylines and complex moral choices in their RPGs.  Sonic the Hedgehog would be a perfect fit, especially if they go all KOTOR with it and set the game during the early days -- how about Knights of the Green Hill Zone?  A sample dialogue tree:

Tails: 

I don't know, Sonic.  If we take that ring, is it stealing?  What about the next ring?  The faster we run, the more rings we collect.  Where does it all end?

Sonic: 

1)  You're right, Tails.  Let's leave the ring for needier hedgehogs.

2)  Screw you, shitfox.  I didn't bitch about it when you went back for seconds at the tail store.

3)  How about this?  If I get hit even once, I'll spray rings all over like an exploding jewelry store.  Then anyone who wants can pick one up.

4)  [Try to hack into Tails and make him less of a goddamn pussy.]

5)  [Say nothing.  Run toward the right side of the screen.  Continue running until you hit something or win the game.]

Technorati Tags: Sonic, hedgehogs, BioWare, RPG, Sega, Tails, things that cannot possibly be true

We All Go Blind Together

Get ready to get scared!  This is a 100% real conversation I had at with my optometrist yesterday.  Full disclosure: while it is 100% true, it is paraphrased from memory, as I don't write transcripts of my conversations while I have them.  I used to do that, but people were distracted by my personal style of shorthand, which looks just like doodles of hunky Logan from Veronica Mars.  (I'm as baffled as you are.  Imagine how freaked out I was when that show first came on the air.)

Full full disclosure: At one point during this 100% true account, I will start making up lies.  This is for dramatic effect.  But it will be very clear to the reader when I have started lying.  Let's begin.

"So, doc, and this is me talking, how do my eyes look?"

"Well, as your optometrist, I would say they look fine.  Have you experienced any problems?"

"Nary a one.  By the way, I haven't been able to find my usual contact solution, Amo MoisturePlus, lately.  Isn't that the stuff you said would be best for my type of contacts?"

"Oh, you didn't hear?  You should stop using it.  Also, throw away any you have left, and your case, and put in new contacts immediately."

"Do what now?"

"The CDC recalled it last month, due to Acanthamoeba infections.  It's an amoeba found in all sorts of water supplies that doesn't get killed by contact solutions, so if you get it on your contacts, you're at risk for a rare condition called Acanthamoeba keratitis."

"I'm somewhat distressed!  Should I see a doctor?"

"Oh, you would know.  You would have gone blind already.  It takes about 48 hours without treatment, and it's very painful, so you're in the clear.  No worries."

"Yes, worries!  What am I, Leonhard Euler?  Actually, I think I'll just think this, rather than saying it."

"Did you know that Acanthamoeba can be found in swimming pools?  Chlorine doesn't kill it.  I always tell my patients that if you go swimming in your contacts, it's like playing Russian roulette.  It's even in tap water, so you could get it from showering in contacts.  Didn't you ever hear about it on the local news?"

"I don't watch the local news.  I don't like being scared over nothing."

"How's that working out for you?"

[At this point in the transcript, a pterodactyl swoops through the office.  It chases down and eats a leprechaun HINT HINT.]

"Well doc, continuing our conversation, is there anything else I should be worried about?  What about those Jamaican beef patties I love so much."

"Oh noes.  You have teh Jamaican patty fever.  There is no cure for it other than constant infusions of delicious beef."

"But however will I afford such a costly but necessary treatment?"

"You must rely on the kindnesses of the internet peoples.  Maybe if every 1 who reads this sends you just 1 beef patty and then frowards it 2 nine other peoples yor life will be saved.  IT WILL BE A BLESSING UPON THEM."

 

Technorati Tags: CDC, contact solution, recall, acanthamoeba, euler, health, Jamaican beef patties, charity, trickery

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.

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
Principals only.  Recruiters, don't contact this job poster.
Phone calls about this job are ok.
Please do not contact job poster about other services, products, or commercial interests.  (Unless that's all part of your plan.)

Adventures in Walking to Places

I was walking down the street today and a guy started to spange me.  He was white, and I don't give money to white people, so I told him, "I can't help you."  That's my patented not-giving-money to people phrase.  I use it almost every time.  It's better than "I'm sorry" because I'm not, but it's not as rude as just "No."  And it's much, much better than a three-sentence excuse that, even if true, won't convince him, and besides, he's not your therapist.  Sometimes I add a little oomph to "I can't help you" by looking very earnest and voluble, as if I were about to continue with: "But you know who can?  The Lord King Christ Jesus!  He has a dollar . . . of love!"

Anyway, the only problem is that I happened to be going to the liquor store.  I really couldn't deny a guy money and then walk back ten minutes later with a bottle of aquavit and not share.  I always give liquor to beggars regardless of race, it's just something I do.  And the liquor store's little trick of putting the bottle in a paper bag and then a plastic one doesn't fool anybody.  Why do they do that?  It's silly.  If they really wanted to disguise the bottle, they should put it in a teddy bear or tape it to the bottom of a skateboard.  If they found a way to make beer lighter than air, they could hide it in a toy dirigible ironically shaped like a beer bottle -- kind of a Purloined Letter sort of thing.

Anyway anyway, I ended up walking back to my car by circling around two whole blocks on a hot day, just so I wouldn't have to share a drink with some guy who I'm sure is perfectly nice and probably has a lot of magical wisdom to teach me.  On the way, some other guy asked me for a cigarette, and I made sure to smile at him as I replied, "I'm sorry, I don't have any.  I don't really smoke.  But it's OK that you do, and I hope you find a cigarette soon.  By the way, no pressure, but would you like some aquavit while you wait?"