BANNED IN THE U.S.A.

There are places in the United States where this comic cannot be sold.  

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And rightly so: this comic book is part of the liberal conspiracy to brainwash the youth of America into committing the ungodly acts of sex outside of marriage and outside of race.

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Do you think Archie is carrying a condom?  You bet he is. Do you think that negress (don’t let her light skin color fool you) Archie is clearly in the process of carrying off to his bed is on the birth control pill? Of course she is.  She is clearly utterly unafraid of pregnancy, which encourages her willingness to have sex with Archie, thereby subverting the truth of God’s word.

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And although this mulatto hussy apparently lives the decadent and anti-Christian “rock and roll lifestyle,” Archie still lives with his parents in a Christian home.  So this comic book cover communicates directly into our pure and untainted children’s minds Satan’s message that it is “okay” for two unmarried teens to have interracial sex -purely for the pleasure of it and not for the purposes of procreation – in their parent’s house using tax payer subsidized birth control.

Vote Republican this November and we will put a stop to this evil.

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THE COMING AMERICAN RELIGIOUS WAR

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I consider myself a Republican, conservative Christian man of faith. The problem is that I am Greek Orthodox, which the vast majority of the GOP base does not recognize as being Christian.

I cherish my freedoms, including the freedom to worship the Almighty the way I want. I will be damned if anyone is going to use the political process to impress their religious views upon me – and that is exactly what thehNew Republican Party is hell-bent on doing./

At it’s heart, this conflict is about the same things that caused and fueled the European religious wars of past centuries as well as every Jihadi’s fervor.  This conflict is about power and hate – in particular, the power to hurt those you hate.

The New Republican Party hates women.  Allow me to rephrase that – it hates independent, educated, thinking women who work outside of the home. Let’s call them modern women. And the reason why they hate these women is because their social, intellectual, economic and sexual independence violates a myopic interpretation of antiquated religious doctrine that has nothing to do with the central message that Jesus came to us to teach.

The New Republican Party is waging a war on modern women, and they have corrupted Jesus to do it.  They want to force women out of the job market, out of public life, out of graduate school and back into the four walls of the male dominated homes where ancient Semitic women were imprisoned and enslaved.

The revolutionary message central to Jesus’ teachings – and the reason the political system of his day murdered him – is charity, freedom and love.  This American crusade against women is about selfishness, control and hate.

And, to get the power to hurt the women they hate, these American Taliban have taken over and corrupted the GOP.  They support insurance coverage for Viagra to foster men having sex, but they are dead-set against insurance coverage for contraception or the use of tax dollars to pay for an abortion.

And who pays the ultimate price for this draconian scheme?  Women.  Like a male chimpanzee, a man has recreational sex and then walks away.  The women pays the price for that mutual decision by having no choice but to carry that embryo to term and then raise that child by herself.  She cannot work. She cannot go to school. She cannot participate in any meaningful way in the political process.  She is back where she belongs.

And what is the New Republican Party’s solution to this horrible conundrum?  Just ask Rick Santorum. He will tell you with absolute certainty that his solution is not just correct, but pleases God.  His solution is, essentially, to outlaw sex for any other purpose than procreation.  If Santorum, and the millions of right wing Americans who support him, get their way, the power of government can and should be used to make sure that every single time two people have sex they had better be prepared to have a child, and if they don’t want a baby, then they simply better not have any sex.

This is only one example of what the New Republican Party wants to do to America.  They want to use the power of government to force each and every one of us to live lives no different than the Puritan’s lived in Salem back in the 1600’s.  They pick and choose among the ideals of our Founding Fathers, agreeing with the freedom to bear arms but disagreeing with the separation of church and state.  They want our every day lives, what we do in the privacy of our own homes, to be regulated, to be dominated, by their perverted view of Christian values.

They are masters at self-deception and outright lying.  They try to minimize what they are doing by calling it “social issues.”  When the world found out that the Virginia legislature – dominated by right wing religious fanatics – was passing a bill that would force every woman who wants an abortion to first get a big stick shoved up their vaginas, the outcry was so powerful that those responsible for that repulsive law scurried around like the cockroaches that they are and revised the law.  And the governor of Virginia expressed his disappointment that Virginia’s consideration of a “social issue” would get such a negative reaction.

One person’s social issue is another person’s freedom.  By legislating social issues, the New Republican party is trying to take away everyone else’s freedoms.

Our founding fathers were personally aware of the wreckage the European religious wars caused.  For thirty years, what is now Germany was the battlefield for protestant armies fighting catholic armies. Thirty years.  Our founders decided to spare the people of the new nation they were creating that same pain.  To do it, they manufactured, for the first time in world history, a nation where people could worship God any way they wanted, so long as that worship didn’t mix with political power.

But that separation of church and state our founders created no longer exists.  Santorum – who could actually be elected our next president – actually states publically that there should be no separation of church and state.

The result is going to be the very war the Founding Fathers sought to avoid.  But what the hell. As Tom Petty sang, everybody’s had to fight to be free.

I am prepared to fight to keep these people out of my bedroom and out of my wife’s vagina.  What are you prepared to do?

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STATE MANDATED RAPE – An Interview With Virginia Gov. Bob McDonnell

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[In this frankly fictitious interview, Virginia Governor Bob McDonnell talks candidly about the latest attempt by Republicans in the Virginia State legislature to pass a law requiring women who seek an abortion to submit to having a large, long wand shoved up their vaginas as punishment.]

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"The wand is at least this long," said Virginia Governor Bob McDonnell

 

PEOPLE OF EARTH: Let’s cut to the chase, Governor.  What the hell is this law that everyone is talking about?

 MCDONNELL:  I presume you are referring to House Bill 462.

 POE:  That depends. What does House Bill 462 do?

 MCDONNELL:  It punishes women who want an abortion by mandating that they first get this big thing shoved up their hoo-has.

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 POE:  That’s the one.  How did this happen?

 MCDONNELL:  Through the democratic process that made our nation – and the great state of Virginia – great.  And here is the best part: we got a woman to introduce the bill! Haw haw haw haw!!!

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 MCDONNELL:  How great is that?

 POE:  Why is that great?

 MCDONNELL:  Because it is ironic, you moron.  Whatsamatter? Don’t you appreciate irony? I bet you went to a public school, huh? Are you Italian?  One of them Cath-o- licks?

 POE:  What does that matter?

MCDONNELL:  I take that as a big “yes.”

 POE:  What exactly does House Bill 462 say?

 MCDONNELL:  It requires doctors who perform abortions in the first trimester of pregnancy to perform an ultrasound to determine the age of the fetus.

 POE:  That doesn’t sound so bad.

 MCDONNELL:  Yeah, well, that’s what we hoped everyone would think, but some nosey Jew liberal found out that the only way to determine the age of a fetus during the first trimester of pregnancy is by performing a transvaginal probe ultrasound.

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 POE:  And what is that exactly?

 MCDONNELL:  Well, to do it, a doctor or qualified nurse has to shove what looks like a long pole up inside a woman’s lady parts. The pole is called the “transducer.” He he he. Guys around here are now referring to their Johnson as their “transducer” like “hey, Ted, is that a transducer in your pocket or are you thinking about voting for House Bill 462?”

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 POE:  Is there a medical reason for requiring a transvaginal ultrasound?

 MCDONNELL:  Nope. No medical reason or medical benefit whatsoever. But is sure as hell is gonna make ‘em think twice about getting an abortion, I know that for damned sure.

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POE:  Can the woman refuse?

 MCDONNELL:  Nope.  If she refuses we throw her in jail along with the doctor who did the operation without first shoving a transducer up her.

POE:  So if she wants an abortion she has to first spread her legs for the transducer.

MCDONNELL:  Hey, come on.  This isn’t virgin territory we are talking about.  She wouldn’t be there if she hadn’t had a “transducer” up in there in the first place.

POE:  But she has no choice about the procedure.

 MCDONNELL:  Exactly. Did I mention that the transducer has this bulb at the end? Eh? (Wiggles eyebrows suggestively.)

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Coincidentally similar to this.

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 POE:  Forgive me, but the whole thing sounds like state sponsored and mandated rape.

 MCDONNELL: Now wait a minute, as a Kath-o-lick you should be 100% in favor of a law that punishes women who want an abortion.  Isn’t that what Rick Santorum is all about?  Bringing back the moral foundation of the 12^th Century when the Pope was in charge, no one was allowed to have any fun and witches were burnt?

 POE:  I’m not Catholic.  I am Greek Orthodox.

 MCDONNELL: What the hell is that?

 POE:  It is the oldest form of Christianity on earth.

 MCDONNELL:  I sort of doubt that.

 POE:  Why?

 MCDONNELL:  Because I never heard of it, and that means it probably doesn’t exist.  Look, I am unusually well-informed about the customs of mud people and I never heard of no Greek Orthodox Jews.

 POE:  We were talking about House Bill 462.

 MCDONNELL:  Oh yeah, the “Stick up the Hoo-ha” bill.

POE: Why isn’t that rape?

 MCDONNELL:  I am deeply offended by any attempt to compare a transvaginal ultrasound to a TSA airport patdown.

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 POE:  What?

 MCDONNELL:  I am on record as saying that the full body patdowns the TSA forces you to endure at the airport crosses the line in regards to concerns about privacy and civil liberties.

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 POE:  So you believe that forcibly patting you down at the airport, fully clothed, to make sure you aren’t carrying a weapon violates a person’s privacy and civil liberties?

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 MCDONNELL:  That’s right.

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 POE:  But forcibly inserting a 10 inch wand up a woman’s vagina doesn’t invade her privacy and civil liberties?

MCDONNELL:  Nope.

 POE:  I mean no disrespect, Governor, but it sounds like the Virginia legislature has its collective head up its collective ass.

 MCDONNELL:  So you’re against states’ rights, huh?

 POE:  States’ rights has nothing to do with it.

 MCDONNELL:   It sure as hell does.  This is another example of Obama trampling on states’ rights.

 POE:  No one in the Obama administration has said anything about this.

 MCDONNELL:  Yeah, but he’s thinking about it.  I can feel it.  He’s got these beady eyes that stare at you.  There’s all kinds of bad stuff he wants to do, a whole bunch of rights he wants to take away, but hasn’t talked about.  That’s why he can’t be reelected.  You know he hates white people, don’t you?

 POE:  Obama has nothing to do with this. States’ rights has nothing to do with this.  This is all about non-consensual, invasive sexual contact.

 MCDONNELL:  You hit the nail on the head, Paul.  And that’s how we’re gonna fix the problem.

 POE:  I don’t understand.

 MCDONNELL:  Well, the feminist lesbians, the Jews, the uppity negroes and illegal Mexicans and the liberal media are all upset about House Bill 462 because it forces women to go through a really horrible ordeal if they want an abortion.  So we’re changing the law so that it is consensual.

 POE:  You mean that women will be able to refuse to have the procedure performed?

 MCDONNELL:  Exactly.  The procedure will be performed only on women who want it.

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 POE: That means the law is dead. No woman will consent to a sexually invasive procedure that has no medical benefit.

 MCDONNELL:  Not necessarily.  There are a lot of freaky women out there. And, as you surely know, women aren’t all that bright.  I mean, look at the facts – we got a woman to introduce House Bill 462. Most women aren’t even going to know what a transvaginal ultrasound is.  So when someone asks them, “hey, darlin’ how would you like a free transvaginal ultrasound?”  I bet 99.9% of the time the woman will say yes, and embarrassment alone will prevent her from saying no once the procedure starts.  Heck, we’re thinking of legally changing the name of the procedure to “personality test” or “pedicure.”  Heck, they got their feet up anyway. Maybe they’ll think they’re gonna get their toe nails polished.

POE:  Why don’t you just buy them dinner afterwards?

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MCDONNELL:  Hey! That’s a great idea!

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POE:  No.   It isn’t.  It isn’t a good idea. Like House Bill 462, it is a very bad idea.

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"Hello, darlin', would you like to take a free personality test or have a free pedicure?"

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MCDONNELL:  You worry too much. Look, if things for the good old boys get too hot, if the public outcry gets too loud, we can always withdraw the bill all together.

 POE: You think that will end this?

 MCDONNELL:  I’m sure of it. Because Americans have short attention spans, short memories and are, more or less, morons – especially in Virginia. God Bless illiteracy and generational poverty.  Look – I am clearly a fascist misogynistic ultra right wing sadist. Most of the men in the Virginia legislature are, too.  We don’t try to hide it.  It is a lifestyle choice. We like it when women feel pain.  They deserve it.  Heck, they want it.

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MCDONNELL: They need to be punished, first, for seducing Adam into eating the Apple of Knowledge and then later for learning to read and agitating for the right to vote and getting jobs outside of the home, which is against the Laws of God.  We’ll just tell the stupid woman who introduced House Bill 462 to withdraw it, she will do what she’s told, and, with enough time, all of this will blow over. And we can try it again when no one is looking.  We know what kind of Virginia we want. We know what kind of America we want. We want to be able to have all the sex we want without any risk of pregnancy because we can afford to buy birth control, but we want to make sure that poor people can’t because we like hurting them. Fun is for us. Suffering is for everyone else. We know how women should think and behave. And we are going to get it all because we are in charge.

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Update at 3:30 p.m. ET: Governor McDonnell said he would sign House Bill 462, The Washington Post reports.

 

Update at 4:19 p.m. ET: The Virginia House of Delegates has approved a substitute bill that would not fordce women to undergo the invasive transvaginal ultrasound before getting an abortion, the Richmond Times-Dispatch reports.  Women could choose to have the transvaginal procedure.  The vote in the Republican-controlled House was 65-32.

 

Update at 5:45 p.m. ET: Virginia State Senator Jill Holtzman Vogel – the Republican senator who sponsored House Bill 462 – now says she plans to withdraw the bill, according to news reports.

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POSTSCRIPT

This isn’t over.  House Bill 462 is a potent symbol of what has gone wrong with the Republican Party, and it will resonate for years to come.  And it’s true. The GOP is being “occupied” by political and religious fanatics who are so outside the American mainstream that it is hilarious, but isn’t funny.

They’ve alienated African Americans. They’ve alienated Hispanics. They’ve alienated homosexuals. And now they’ve alienated women as a class. Even those women, and men, who are pro life are horrified that House Bill 462 was even attempted.  These kooks have alienated the vast middle of America. And that means it is over for the GOP.

And the gaggle of clowns the GOP has thrust in our faces as an alternative to Obama have drifted away from the message of the economy and smaller government. Instead, they are fighting the culture wars again, focusing on social issues like birth control when jobs are all that should matter.  This is a strong sign that even they know they cannot win and are simply pandering to the republican “base” so they can have influence after they lose and make money like Sarah Palin did.

Obama is going to be reelected. Nothing can stop that now. The alternative is simply to horrible to contemplate.  And when that happens, the GOP will fragment into smaller parties that fight with each other for the power to go into people’s homes and tell them how to live their personal lives.

Our hope for smaller government is dead.  And rightly so.  We didn’t provide the American people with a coherent, acceptable alternative.

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SUCH A DEAL

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This is a real advertisement I found on the internet. I bet lots and lots of people jumped at the opportunity for such big savings.

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HEADLINE – Obama offends carnival barkers

MUNCIE – President Obama lost the support of carnival workers and side-show freaks when he compared them to “birthers” – people demanding the President prove he was born in the United States.

“We’re not going to be able to solve our problems if we get distracted by sideshows and carnival barkers,” Obama said after producing a copy of his long-form birth certificate proving he was born in Hawaii.

“It was like a slap in the face,” said Vinny Slimp, owner of the Slimp Family Circus.

Vinny Slimp

“The President’s comparison could ruin my business,” said Alberto Baracho, a carnival barker employed by the Ten in One Freak Emporium in Pensicola, Florida. “When people look at me now, they see Donald Trump or Orly Taitz, which could persuade them not to pay money to see the Bearded Lady or the Human Lobster.”

Donald Trump

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Orly Taitz

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The Bearded Lady

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The Human Lobster

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“I fully supported Obama in the last election, but that’s over now,” said Jo Jo the Dog Faced Boy.

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Jo Jo the Dog Faced Boy

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Source:  http://carnival-barkers-slam-obama html

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HEADLINE – Daily activities could trigger an aneurysms

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They are the things adults do on any given day: exercise, drink coffee, breathe, stand up, sit down, blink, urinate, scratch, eat.

They can also be the very things that cause a lurking brain aneurysm to rupture.

Researchers at the Institute for the Promotion of Irrational Fears and Anxieties in the Netherlands asked patients with brain aneurysms what they were doing shortly before those weakened and bulging blood vessels burst.

They found relatively mundane things like drinking soda, blowing one’s nose, exercising, drinking coffee, breathing, standing up, sitting down, blinking, urinating, scratching or eating often preceded the rupture.

“Anything can cause bad things,” explains Dr. Tad Greenblat.

Greenblat recommends minimizing your risk of suffering a brain aneurysm by doing nothing. ” Don’t exercise, don’t drink soda, don’t drink coffee, don’t breathe, don’t stand up, don’t sit down, don’t blink, don’t urinate, don’t scratch and most definitely don’t eat. Eating is very dangerous,” Greenblat said moving as little as possible.

“Avoiding an aneurysm may mean dying of starvation, but at least a blood vessel won’t explode in your head,” Greenblat concluded.

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Source:  http://www.kob.com/article/stories/html

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HEADLINE – Accidental Falls a Leading Cause of Head Injury

MUNCIE - About 2.8 million children and 2 million people aged 65 and older are treated each year at U.S. hospital emergency rooms for head injuries due to accidental falls, says the Open Head Wound Institute (OWHI) located in Muncie, Indiana.

“That accounts for 15% of all head wounds,” says Dr. Krista Schnurstein, Director of OWHI’s Open Head Wound Research and Development Department. “The other 85% of head wound incidents are attributed to angry wives,” Schnurstein continues.

Source:  http://news.yahoo.com/s/hsn/accidentalfalls-

HEADLINE – European anarchists grow more violent, coordinated

ROME – A loosely linked movement of European anarchists who want to bring down state and financial institutions is becoming more violent and coordinated, security experts say.

“Anarchists have suddenly realized that they can be more effective using organizational methods borrowed from business and government,” says Herb Slovo, Director of World Empire Security Consultants.

“Coordinating with other anarchists just makes subverting the world economic tyrany so much easier,” says Jimmy X, self-described anarchist and unemployed dog groomer.

Jimmy X

“Conventions, discussion groups, ad hoc committees. Even rules of procedure for meetings. Newsletters. Schedule books. All of it. It really helps us get things done without all that bickering and confusion,” X says.

“We are actualising öur potential with blue sky thinking, exploring a different set of paradigms,” says Swedish Anarchist “Therbs” (not his real name).

Therbs

“We have our eye on the prize and will leverage our corporate knowledge assets to achieve our goals within a defined set of core strategic streams,” Therbs continues.  ”We’re cutting across the old silos which have held us back and moving forward we’re looking at a dynamic future with win-win scenarios coming into play.”

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20101228/ap_on_re_eu/eu_italy_embassy_blasts;_ylt=AqM8tkLxzmdTlw1S3trFdtqs0NUE;_ylu=X3oDMTFiMHNnZDNvBHBvcwM1MwRzZWMDYWNjb3JkaW9uX3dvcmxkBHNsawNldXJvcGVhbmFuYXI-

WEBSITE OF THE WEEK: Nietzsche Family Circus

I don’t know if this is taking place in any other part of the world, but here in the U.S. of A. virtually every newspaper has featured a daily cartoon entitled “the Family Circus.”  Here is an example:

I hate this cartoon strip.  Please note that I am using the word “hate” in reference to the Family Circus cartoon series.  First, it isn’t funny.  At most, it is merely cute, and cuteness doesn’t sustain any meaningful interest. Second, and more importantly,  the  Family Circus cartoon series represents – and works to reinforce and therefore perpetuate – just about every evil that slowly works to subvert American greatness.  The cartoon strip champions mediocrity.  It laughs at – and accepts – idiocy in thought, attitude and behavior.

The Nietzsche Family Circus pairs randomized Family Circus cartoons with randomized Friedrich Nietzsche quotes, and by doing so, not only is wonderful parody but brilliant and piercing satire, e.g. -

Man is something to be overcome. What have you done to overcome him?

And, from my very limited and idiosyncratic viewpoint, the random parings are also very dada, which, for me, provides added value and elevates the Nietzche Family Circus to art.

Please enjoy:

http://www.losanjealous.com/nfc/

And, as a bonus for my mate, Flinthart, here is a Family Circus cartoon quoting H.P. Lovecraft:

A Grim Fairy Tale: THE SOMBER TURKEY

Most of you who visit here know that I am an attorney – and a happy one, content in my work and honored to be part of one of the Great Professions.

But before I shook the dust out of my brain and decided to make something of myself, I fancied myself a writer – or at least thought I would write professionally one day.

During that phase of my wasted youth I wrote a series of terrible and really inappropriate children’s stories I called Grim Fairy Tales.  They were told by Brother Grim, an old man who owned and operated a convenience store. One night a bad storm forced brother Grim and a small group of children to spend the night in Brother Grim’s store.  The lights and phone were out, so Brother Grim entertained them with stories told in the dark, while the wind and rain howled and rattled the windows.

Hello, children. I am Brother Grim. Would you like to hear a story?

What follows is one of those stories.  I post it every November as we North Americans get closer to our Thanksgiving feast – which invariably features a big roasted turkey.

It is that time of year again.  My friends, I give you…

The Somber Turkey

Once upon a time, outside of the Kingdom of Woodland, east of Winters, in the Land of California, there lived a happy turkey farmer named Hannigan.  He loved raising turkeys, killing them, and selling them – in part or in whole – to clients all over California – where turkey eating was a big thing, especially during Thanksgiving and Christmas.

On Hannigan’s turkey farm lived a happy turkey named Norman.  Norman was the happiest and most contented turkey the world had ever known because he was the biggest turkey anyone had ever seen.  Farmer Hannigan often brought other humans to marvel at Norman’s size and physical beauty.

“That’s gonna be some big turkey,” the human visitors would always say.

“Yep,” Farmer Hannigan would always reply.

Farmer Hannigan was happy, which made Norman happy. Norman was proud of the fact that he was so big and fat with lots of white meat, whatever that was.

The other turkeys knew how Norman felt, because he was always bragging about himself.

“I’m gonna be some big turkey!” he would say.

The other turkeys got fed up with Norman’s bragging.  One day Leonardo decided to do something about it.

Leonardo was not an especially big or happy turkey. Not being big didn’t make Leonardo unhappy.  He could give a rat’s ass about how big he was.  He didn’t buy into that neo-fascist farmcentric value system.  Leonardo was a fiery-eyed revolutionary with a strong interest in pragmatic Marxism.

Leonardo

“You are one fine, big turkey,” Leonardo said to Norman one day.

“Yes, I am,” Norman preened.

“You know what they’re going to do to you because you’re so big?” Leonardo asked.

“Admire me,” Norman said, meaning it.

“Sure they are.  They’re going to admire how good you taste,” Leonardo said.

“I beg your pardon?” Norman asked.

“They’re going to eat you, buddy.  In a couple of months they’re going to catch you, kill you, cut off your head, pull out all of your feathers and your internal organs, cook you and eat you, and they’re going to pick you first because you’re so big.  Lots of white meat.”

“Oh, my god!” Norman said.  “They’re going to eat me!”

Norman realizing the truth.

“You mean you didn’t know?”

“No!”

“Everyone else knows.  Why do you think that so many turkeys die while they’re drinking water?”

“Because they forget to breath?”

Leonardo laughed. “You believe that?  It’s a lie invented by the Man.  Have you ever forgotten to breath?”

“No.”

“Of course not. You got to be really stupid to forget to breath.”

“But we are pretty stupid.”

“No we’re not.  That’s just a lie to keep us down, to ruin our self esteem so we will be easy to exploit and so we won’t cause any trouble.  I’ll tell you why some turkeys die drinking water. Depression.  They’re depressed.  Why else do you think those other “stupid” things happen?  Why do you think some turkeys kill themselves by opening their throats in the rain and drowning?  Why do you think hens sit on their eggs so hard they break the eggs?”

“Oh my god, they’re killing their babies,” Norman said, in horror.

“Right.  They know what’s in store and they can’t take it. Would you want someone to eat your babies?”

“No,” Norman said.  “What can I do?” he asked, whispering in abject terror.

“Maybe I can get you out of here,” Leonardo said.  “On the outside there is an underground network of birds and humans who can take you to a place where you will be free.”

“Interested?”

“Of course!”

“Okay  I’ll see what I can do.”

Time went by.  Leonardo often spoke with Norman, teaching the bigger bird the truth about the world, teaching him hatred for the seemingly unbreakable power structure that doomed him and his race to be imprisoned, enslaved, slaughtered and devoured by killer apes.

“But remember,” Leonardo cautioned one night. “Not all humans are ravenous cannibals.  Some are good, and eat only plants and bugs.  These are the ones that help some of us get away.”

“How?” Leonardo asked in the star lit darkness.

“Every now and then there is a condition called Dark of the Moon, when there is no moon out and the darkness is as total as it can be.  During this time, a human jumps the fence and opens a big box. As many of us run in as we can.  We call it the Box of Freedom.”

“Just one box?”

“Yes, one box, but it is a big box, and it is better that some of us escape to keep the flames of hope burning.”

“I hope we both make it, brother,” Leonardo said.

“Me too, brother.  Me too.”

Then came the Dark of the Moon.  The turkeys were all quiet, making sure that there was no reason for Farmer Hannigan to investigate.

Suddenly the man with the box appeared.  He placed a big box on the ground and opened the side.

“This is it, brother!” Leonardo said, running.  Norman followed.

Leonardo made it into the box.  Norman didn’t get in before the man closed the box.

“Don’t worry, brother!” Leonardo cried from inside the box. “I’ll be waiting for you in paradise!”

But it didn’t happen.  The friendly human with the big box didn’t come back.  And Thanksgiving approached.  Leonardo was right – they came for Norman first.

Farmer Hannigan and his employees placed Norman in a big wooden crate built out of slats so that Norman could see and breathe.  Then Norman was carried to a truck, to an airport, into the belly of a jet, into another truck, and onto a large lawn next to a big white house.  Eventually, humans came to set up a lectern, chairs and cameras.  More humans came.  Some talked at the lectern in front of the crowd.

And then Norman’s cage was opened and gentle hands removed him from the crate.

“My god,” one human said.  “This had got to be the biggest turkey I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s why the President is getting it,” another human said, not trying to make a joke.

Norman was brought to the front of the crowd.  One human in a black suit made a short speech to another man, also standing in front of the crowd.  Humans in the audience took pictures with still and video cameras.

And then Norman did it.  He thrust out his neck and tried to bite the man who wasn’t giving the speech.  Norman knew that he just couldn’t go gently into that good night.

The man giving the speech reached out, grabbed Norman’s long neck and choked Norman.  Other humans helped stuff Norman back into the crate.

“That is one feisty bird,” the President quipped, and the reporters laughed.

In those days it was customary for the President to display generosity, and pardon the White House Thanksgiving turkey.  So Norman was taken to a farm in Virginia, where he lived for the rest of his natural days.

Leonardo was not so lucky. He ended up as dinner for the man with the big box, who was nothing more than a thief who just couldn’t get over how stupid those turkeys were and how they would be so quite and just waddle into the box, as if they wanted to be eaten.

Which was, from the thief’s point of view, always possible.  After all, turkeys are so stupid.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

MY BLOG IN GERMAN!!

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THIRTY-FIVE people just used google to translate my blog into German:

http://translate.google.com/translate?hl=de&langpair=en%7Cde&u=http://paulboylan.wordpress.com/page/3/&twu=1

Überraschen! Unglaublich! Wunderbar! Es macht mich fühle wie ein kleines mädchen.

I hope it isn’t these people:

 

Studious and thoughtful Germans.

I would, however, welcome this fine individual being among them:

From the 2003 Berlin Love Parade.

Ich habe auf Beleidigen von meinem teutonischen Bruder und Schwestern nicht vor, aber wenn ich Zeit mit Ihnen verbringen muss, zu sein, bevorzugt ich dann, mit schönen Frauen. (Entschuldigen Sie bitte mich; mein Deutsch ist sehr, sehr schlecht. Fair dinkum.)

HEADLINE – FRITO-LAY ISSUES DORITOS WARNING

ST LOUIS – The Frito-Lay corporation is warning the public not to eat the new Doritos variety Extra Spicy Nacho Cheese Extreme.

“Look, I said to stay away from those things,” said Eric Paulson, Frito-Lay Vice President, hurrying out of his office with a box stuffed with personal belongings. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t know this would happen. No one could have known,” Paulson said as he ran off.

In response to Frito-Lay’s warning, the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) posted the following advisory on the FEMA website:

“Close and lock or barricade all doors and windows.  Close all blinds and/or window coverings.  Turn off all lights.  Move everyone as far from potential threat areas as possible.  Take cover behind heavy furnishings or structures. Stay down.  Do not open doors unless instructed to do so by FEMA or positively identified public safety personnel.

If possible, shut off building ventilation systems. If it is safe to do so, provide first aid and appropriate care for the injured or ill person.  Whenever possible, if blood, vomit, or other bodily fluids are present, avoid contact with these and use appropriate Personal Protective Equipment (gloves, mask, etc.).  Do not move seriously injured people unless movement is necessary to protect them from immediate, life-threatening danger.  Consider the possibility that injured persons may have been contaminated and take appropriate precautionary measures.”

“We will survive this,” said said Janette Hemply, Acting Frito-Lay Board President from an undisclosed location. “We will rebuild.”

“It’s in the trees!  It’s coming!” yelled an unidentified person behind Hemply.

Source:

http://www.walletpop.com/blog/2010/06/15/fake-doritos-coupon-warning-from-frito-lay/

FEAR OF THE UKNOWN

As I sat in my study ruminating on deep and important matters, my wife interrupted me to ask a question.

“You know the question,” she said to me. “It’s the question that drives us. It’s the question that brought you here. You know the question, just as I did.”

My wife knows that I am powerfully attracted to her when she quotes Trinity from The Matrix.

But I digress.  After repeating dialogue from one of my favorite movies, she placed an item in front of me and asked “what does this mean?”

I am going to show you the object and ask you the same question. Here is the object:

What you are looking at is an exact reproduction of an information tag on a pillow my wife purchased.  The questions she asked – that I now ask you – is:

What the f**k does “ALL NEW MATERIALS consisting of TEXTILE FIBERS OF AN UNKNOWN KIND” mean?  Are the people who made this pillow actually saying they don’t know what is in this pillow?

Somebody must know what kind of textile fibers are stuffed into that pillow.

More importantly, why would there be a law that requires a manufacturer of pillow products to inform me that my pillow is filled with a substance that cannot be identified?  How is that supposed to protect – much less reassure -me?

Well, that’s it for me. Like Yobbo, I am out of here.

I am going to find my wife and listen to her as she explains that the Oracle told her she was going to fall in love with me, and then tell me with the very next breath she wants pizza – and I am going to try not to think about the unknown and likely unknowable.

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HEADLINE – Doctor dies in chimney

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Dr. Jacquelyn Kotarac

BAKERSFIELD, Calif. – A doctor involved in an “on-again, off-again” relationship apparently tried to force her way into her boyfriend’s home by sliding down the chimney, police said Tuesday. Her decomposing body was found there three days later.

Dr. Jacquelyn Kotarac, 49, first tried to get into the house with a shovel, then climbed a ladder to the roof last Wednesday night, removed the chimney cap and slid feet first down the flue, Bakersfield police Sgt. Mary DeGeare said.

“It was a good plan, and might have worked, but Dr. Kotarac apparently forgot that, when she became a physician, she lost the powers of Santa Claus,” DeGeare said. “The same thing happens to lawyers, accountants and professional writers.”

Source:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100901/ap_on_re_us/us_woman_in_chimney;_ylt=AtbQBQyyKtOwWcjgF.pksXGs0NUE;_ylu=X3oDMTFpZWZrdGI2BHBvcwMzOARzZWMDYWNjb3JkaW9uX21vc3RfcG9wdWxhcgRzbGsDY29wc2NhbGlmZG9j

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THE PARENT FILES: History Repeating itself (again)(sort of)

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Some of you know a little about my past, in particular, how I graduated high school only because my math teacher, instead of failing me, was kind enough to give me a D, which allowed me to avoid repeating my senior year.  I suspect she was pressured by the school district superintendent to improve my final grade so that I would not return to high school.

Such pressure wasn’t personal – I wasn’t a behavioral problem. I was taught never to embarrass my family, which meant never getting caught, and I always made sure that any mischief for which I was responsible could be backed up with plausible deniability.

So it wasn’t personal. My teachers and their superiors hardly knew I was there.  But my illiteracy was a problem that could only be solved with time and distance.  There is a de facto practice in American k -12 education commonly referred to as “passing the trash’ – i.e., moving academic failures through and out of the system to make room for others who might do better, and upon whose coincidental achievement administrators could claim responsibility and point to as proof that they were doing a good job.

I was one of those who could not be used to ensure job security, so, as a purely pragmatic alternative, I was allowed to graduate high school.

But I did not go on to university. My guidance counselor, Dean Rothy, told me bluntly and often that I was not “college material.” There were probably hundreds in my senior class like me, and untold thousands over the years. Like me, they were unsuited for university because, like me, they could barely read and write and needed the fingers on both hands to accomplish simple math calculations.

My long-absent father appeared and offered me an alternative. He offered me the chance to accompany him as he drove from Amsterdam through Europe and the Middle East (he lived and worked in Saudi Arabia, and would pay for his trip by selling the car once he arrived back in Dhahran), to be left on the Jordanian/Israeli boarder to then make my way wherever I wanted for as long as I could afford to stay.

I jumped at the chance. I stayed seven month, primarily in Europe.

That alternative – the opportunity my father provided – was the first in a series of events that ultimately lead to community college where I learned how to read and write (math still escapes me), to university, to law school where I met my wife, to a home and family and now a son who has graduated high school and on his way to attend university in Montana.

Even before my son was born, I resolved to travel with my son, or daughter, as my father once traveled with me – even if for a shorter time.  I arranged such a trip, but my son could not go with me because of unforeseen and unplanned for pre-university examinations. So I cancelled his plane ticket and cut my trip short, returning when my lecture tour was finished.

Now, those exams are over. At the end of August my wife and I will be loading up our van with my son’s stuff and driving across the Rockies to move my son into his dorm room.

Which gives time in the middle to take my son to Europe.

It will be expensive, but what the hell? The cost of my regret for not doing it will be greater than the cost of the trip, which will, in time, be utterly forgotten.

So a few hours ago I booked the flights.  Like last time, we will arrive in Dublin, take a train to Galway, see some friends, travel back to Dublin, see some friends, then to London (to see some friends and visit with Jeremy Bentham) then the Eurostar to Paris and on to Caen to see some friends and to visit Omaha Beach – which will fulfill one of my son’s dreams.

Desire is destiny.

NEXT:  My awful experience with Travelocity trying to cut expenses by obtaining a credit for the tickets (my son’s round trip and my flight from Paris to San Francisco) to subsidize the cost of this new trip. To make a long story short, I gave up on the idea of a credit and booked our flights through Orbitz for half of what it would have cost me using my credit through Travelocity. I will never, ever use Travelocity to purchase anything.

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WEBSITE/VIDEO OF THE WEEK (Must See)

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This vid shows off a website that allows you to write a script for two animated  characters who speak your dialogue in electronic voices.

I can’t wait to try it.

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REMEMBERING THE 2000 SAG COMMERCIAL ACTORS STRIKE

If you are anything like me, then every so often – when the winter wind blows clean and fresh from the north – you are overcome by nolstagia for the halcyon days of the 2000 Screen Actors Guild Commercial Actors Strike.

Ah, those halcyon days! – when men selling things on television had to do without actors because actors who acted in television commercials wanted more money for their labor, but the major studios wouldn’t give them more money.  And so they went on strike.

Commercials got made and were broadcast without professional acting, and sometimes the results were simply wonderful.

The Discovery Channel used accounting and technical employees to act in a series of commercials that have since become legend, the first of which I feature below.

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AHHH!!!   THE ATMOSPHERE!!!!  AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!

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DEEP THOUGHTS: UPON MY MORTALITY

As some of you may have noticed, this column has been missing from you local newspaper for the last few months.  Let me tell you why.

I’ve spent my time away trying to put my life in perspective.  I am at that age when the days ahead are fated to be fewer than the days behind.

Younger men don’t worry about time running out.  Boys are always blind to their own mortality and, as a consequence, they rarely think ahead.  Deep down, young men just don’t believe they are ever going to die, and so they live from day to day, moment to moment. They drive fast, live fast, and – like my son – waste huge amounts of time playing video games instead of looking for a job.

But the older a man get, the more he begins to see the world differently.  He tends to begin slowing down when he drives because he knows how easy and suddenly it can all end.  And, more often than not, he begins leaving the turn signal on.

And even if he remembers to turn the turn signal off, he cannot help but realize his time on this earth is limited.  He begins to see himself as Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, trapped in the Wicked Witch’s castle as the sands within the big hourglass slowly run out.

Okay, not exactly like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.  Older men don’t see themselves as teenage girls.  Some may, but I truly believe that most do not.  I am not saying there is anything wrong with it.  If a guy wants to be a teenage girl from Kansas that’s his business.  But, if so, I certainly hope he keeps it to himself.  Don’t ask, don’t tell. That’s my motto when it comes to such things.

The less said about it the better.

I admit I am being a bit selfish in not wanting to hear about any Dorothy fantasies, but I have enough problems dealing with a sudden sense of encroaching mortality to manage the social awkwardness that would surely follow if any guy I know tells me in confidence that he wishes he was a girl from Kansas who befriended a talking scare crow, a lion and a tin woodsman, whatever that is.  I mean, really, what IS a tin woodsman?  Ever see one?  Not me.

But I digress.  The point is that the older a man gets, the more he sees the days of his life as sands running through an hourglass.  And that is what happened to me.

So as I enter the last phase of my time on this planet, I spent some of that time reevaluating how I spend my time.  After careful reflection, I concluded I use my time poorly – especially the time I spend writing.

Most of what I write is, in all honesty, kind of silly.  For example, just look at my most recent article about homosexuals. Who really cares which homosexuals I favor and which ones I disapprove of – like that awful Rosie O’Donnell?  I mean, seriously, Rosie O’Donnell’s celebrity and resulting wealth is proof that there is something fundamentally wrong with the universe.

Rosie O’Donnell’s mere existence causes me to ask questions I never, ever asked before. Every time I see or hear Rosie O’Donnell I ask myself “what kind of a God would shape reality to include Rosie O’Donnell?  Can a truly loving God do such a thing?  And if so, why?  Why would the Ruler of the Universe say to himself  “I, the Creator of Everything, the Prime Mover, have decided to begin a chain of events that will result in the rise of a really, really annoying lesbian who will, in addition to being fat will also be a slob, and yea, verily, she will have her own talk show.”

I just can’t accept that God would do such a thing. The very concept of Rosie O’Donnell has upset me so much that, out of spiritual desperation, I consulted with my priest, Father Stavros.  I asked him “Father, if God loves us so, why did God send Rosie O’Donnell to live among us?”

Father Stavros is a wise, old man with a long beard and a funny hat.  Well, it looks funny if you aren’t Greek Orthodox.  To us, it looks fine.  But, to those of different faiths, the hats Greek priests wear can look sort of weird and their names can be difficult to pronounce.  I knew a priest named Father Papahartogeorgoudisfylakakopoulos. I felt bad for the guy.

Father Papahartogeorgoudisfylakakopoulos

 

Well, Father Stavros (who’s last name is thankfully easy to pronounce) listened to me and then said “maybe God put Rosie O’Donnell on earth to test the faithful.”

But I digress.  The point I am trying to make is that I have spent the last few months reevaluating my life, and have decided that, if I am going to continue writing this column, I need to concentrate on more important things.  Our world and our nation are facing dark times.  I want to make a difference.

So get ready, People of Earth, for the greatest and most meaningful series of articles you have ever experienced.

I will begin by exploring the hidden wonders and important parables for our times revealed through professional Mexican wrestling.

HALLOWEEN AT MY PLACE

Culturally speaking, the United States has contributed two things to the world – popular barbecue and Halloween.

Why not both at the same time?

By “popular” I mean widespread.  No people on earth have popularized cooking outdoors over live fire the way we Americans have. For a more serious discussion, please click here. l

Considered good eating in Perth.

By “Halloween” I mean an unabashed annual celebration of the spooky.

Other cultures celebrate death.  They do it in China. They do it in Mexico.  But those celebrations are essentially spiritual and/or religious.  But not Halloween.  Halloween has nothing to do with the spiritual. It has nothing to do with religion.  It has everything to do with fun.

Every year on October 31st – when the wall between the worlds is thinnest and most easily crossed – kids and adults dress up in costumes and, when it gets dark, they go door to door essentially begging for candy – which they receive in large, monstrous handfuls.

This completely non religious festival is becoming part of the international scene.  American style Halloween is now celebrated all over the world.

Halloween in Costa Rica

Halloween in Singapore

My favorite expression of this spread is Sandra’s haunted balcony in Hamburg, Germany.

It makes sense that the Germans in particular would embrace Halloween.

Admirable Teutonic exuberance.

But I digress.  I am here to tell you – to show you – what Halloween is like here in Northern California in the small town where I live.

For me Halloween began with a knock on my door early in the morning.  My neighbor and his son came by to ask is they could install a portal into a dimension of evil in my front yard.  My lawn was destroyed when my home was remodeled, so I figured, heck, when would there be a better time to have a portal into a dimension of evil installed in my front yard?

A hole was dug.

The device was installed.

While my neighbors tinkered with the field densities between the universes, a flock of wild turkeys strolled down my street foraging and decided to spend some time on a roof at the end of the block.

It was a good omen.

I decided to carve a pumpkin, but the pumpkin bin at my local market was somewhat bare with slim pickings left.

Nevertheless, I was able to find a reasonably decent pumpkin and was able to exercise the minimal artistic talent every American is born with and which is useful only for carving faces in pumpkins.

The dirt from the hole that housed the portal into the dimension of evil made a couple of fine impromptu graves.

All we had to do was wait for darkness and some unsuspecting Trick or Treaters.

Actual Trick or Treaters who came to my door.

I went out and bought candy to give away to the little boys and gouls who would come to my door that evening.

In addition to the usual treats, I included in my selection the very finest fake glow in the dark sour worms I could find.

The perfect Halloween treat.

And then it was time to get our collective freak on.

The device in my front yard worked nicely.  I had a switch inside the house that triggered the device whenever someone rang the door bell, causing much shouting and the occasional scream.

It was a most satisfying Halloween.  But I’m beginning to wonder if that portal is going to harm the value of my property.

 

WHY I TEACH (IN FRANCE)

As many of you know, I am more than just an attorney.

In addition to being an amateur gas dynamics engineer, cheese fermentation expert and an antique podiatry tool enthusiast, once a year I travel to France to teach negotiations to law and business students at the University of Poitiers.  I am leaving at the end of this week to do it again.

On first impression, it seems like a bad idea.  It takes a few weeks to prepare my lectures.  My classes last two weeks. Together, this means I must put my legal practice on hold for a month or more.  The University of Poitiers pays me a little for my efforts, but it doesn’t make up for the income I lose during that month.

In addition to an income drop, I feel a profound sense of isolation when I am in France.

I don’t speak much French (my students are from all over the world and my classes are taught in English).  Poitiers is off the beaten path for English speaking people, which means that, for the most part, my time in France is very lonely. Sometimes I find myself asking directions to destinations I know just for the interaction.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I cannot locate the train station on my map."

And then there is the weight problem.  Every time I teach in France, I come home weighing 10 pounds more.

French food tastes great and, frankly, when I am there I eat a lot of it.

You have no idea how good it is.

So why do I do it? Why not teach closer to home and avoid loneliness, jet lag, weight gain and income loss?  Well, I tried that but I didn’t like it very much because my American law students were just too darned lazy.

The L1 class I taught at Harvard

Over these years I’ve experimented with many teaching methods.  I’ve discovered that the best way to teach negotiations is through lectures combined with exercises where groups of students practice negotiating.  This method works extremely well to teach negotiations theory and practice.  However, my American students constantly complained about it. They grumbled about the effort the exercises require and repeatedly asked: “why don’t you just give us the answers?”

None of my foreign law or business students ever asked for easy answers. None of them ever complained about the amount of effort it takes to learn how to negotiate effectively.  All of them are in class on time and participate enthusiastically – and they do it in a foreign language: English.  A big reason why I go to France to teach – and am willing to experience sleep deprivation, weigh-gain, income loss and isolation – is because I prefer teaching non-American students.  I wish it weren’t true, but they are just better students.

There is another reason why I travel so far to teach. I believe that the American Empire is in decline. In addition to being an amateur gas dynamics engineer, cheese fermentation expert, antique podiatry tool enthusiast and a teacher, I am also a student of history – and history shows that the great empires of the world declined and atrophied when their governments became so corrupt that they became unable to solve even simple problems.  It happened to Imperial Persia. It happened to Imperial Rome. It happened to Imperial China. It happened to Imperial Brittan.

And it is happening to us.  Lobbyists for special interests are so influential that our local, regional and national elected officials cannot get anything meaningful done.  For example, there is no question that our health care system needs fixing. We spend more for less than even some Third World nations. But there is no chance our health care system will be fixed because there are too many people making money off of the system, and they are using this money – billions and billions of dollars – to pay lobbyists to buy politicians who work hard to keep thing exactly the way they are.

The same is true for any number of important, pressing problems. Name it: if it is important and pressing, nothing will be done about it.  There will be plenty of talk and maybe a law or two will be enacted, but nothing will change and the problem will definitely not be remedied. Our political system is corrupt, the corruption cannot be fixed, and so we have no chance of effectively solving the important problems facing our nation.  Our standard of living is falling. Our international power is slowly slipping away.

However, where we are falling, I believe that Europe [lead by France, Germany and Britain] is rising.  I am included in the faculty of one of the oldest and best universities in Europe.  My students will be decision makers in business, law and government. In my own small way, I am trying to influence these new Masters of the Earth.  When they are voting on treaties and drafting trade agreements that will affect American lives, I want them to remember Professor Boylan and, hopefully, judge Americans more kindly than they would have if not for my example.

I realize this sounds simplistic, even hubristic, probably illusory. But it is why I do it.

And so, once again, I will be tolerating the many indignities of international travel.

I will rent a car in Paris and make the 3 hour drive down the A-10 past Orleans, past Tours to Poitiers. That night I will have dinner (salad, duck, a glass of wine and profiteroles for dessert) at Le Serrurier, my favorite café.

Let the weight gain begin.

A Short Story Inspired by WITHOUT WARNING by John Birmingham

[This next piece is “fanfic” that takes place in the world depicted in Without Warning -

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- a novel by the illustrious – and dare I say it, charming? – Australian author, John Birmingham.

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Not his best photo.

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I reviewed Without Warning in this blog.  I cannot recommend it more highly as a very good read. If you want to see the review, click here. /.

The novel was inspired by a question: what if the world woke up one day to find out that the United States (and adjacent parts of Canada and Mexico) were gone – and, in the novel “gone” is shown as a mysterious energy barrier surrounding the United States (called the “Wave”) behind which everyone has died and that kills anyone who tries to travel through it.

The novel is devoted to following characters who live in a world without America and describes what happens to the world when the US is suddenly gone and depicts what is left of the US – in Seattle and Guantanamo Bay – struggling to survive and rebuild.

I was interested in exploring how the Wave might affect people who are not part of any heroic scenario and who are, essentially, inconsequential in the scheme of things in every way a person can be inconsequential.]

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AFTER THE WAVE: JIMMY’S TALE

Chapter One:

It happened when Jimmy was in Calgary, rummaging through an alley behind a strip mall on 1^st Street: he found a crate labeled “Novelty Nose and Glasses.”

Jimmy opened the crate and found it full of rubber noses attached to black plastic horned-rimmed glasses frames.  His hands shook as he placed a pair on his face.  He ran into an empty store and found a mirror and, as he looked at his reflection, Jimmy suddenly knew what he was supposed to do.

The Wave killed Jimmy’s parents.  They were out of town visiting family in Calgary.  Jimmy’s parents left him with his Aunt Mona.  Then the Wave hit.  Jimmy’s Aunt ordered him to stay with her in her house.  But when the riots began, Jimmy left, hell-bent on protecting his home.  He left his Aunt and ran across town to his house. He used the key hidden in the garden to get into the house and he went right to the closet where his father hid a gun.

“Guns are dangerous,” Jimmy’s father explained. “And no one is supposed to know we have this one.  But I want you to know how to load it. Just in case.”

Jimmy loaded the gun like his father showed him and then sat vigil in the darkened house, ready to use deadly force to defend it against anyone entering without his consent.

He almost shot his aunt who came by in the morning to make sure he was all right.  Three days later he returned to his aunt’s home, taking only his father’s gun and collected ammunition in a brown grocery bag.

Then the Wave vanished, and the need to find his parents overcame Jimmy. He stole his Aunt’s car and drove south on Highway 2, teaching himself how to drive as he traveled.

As he drove, he watched the needle on his gas gage slowly drop towards empty.  He stopped at gas stations along the way, but none of the pumps functioned.   He ran out of gas near Leduc.

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Jimmy hiked back to a gas station he passed just prior to running dry.   He found a Mercedes sedan parked at one of the pump islands under the canopy with the pump handle sticking out of the fuel fill tube as if, just before the Wave hit, the Mercedes owner left the pump to go into the mini mart to buy a cup of coffee while the pump continued to gush gasoline into the Mercedes’ gas tank.

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The doors was unlocked.  Jimmy ignored the crusty piles of clothing in the front passenger seat.  By then such refuse was nothing new to the little boy, even if he had not yet completely accepted what it meant.

Food became a problem. The residual smell of rotting meat and decaying produce made every supermarket unapproachable.  Eventually hunger superseded Jimmy’s revulsion, and, after that, it was an endless feast of junk food that evolved into a diet composed primarily of canned goods.

He found companionship.  Jimmy stopped at every supermarket he passed and he fed the feral dogs and cats lurking near each supermarket, drawn to the death stench.  There was plenty of cat and dog food in every market Jimmy plundered and, before he drove off, he broke enough windows to let the dogs and cats into the stores to scavenge what they could.

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After two weeks in Calgary, Jimmy gave up searching for his parents.  By then he knew they were dead –  he knew that everyone was dead – but he kept looking for them, harboring the romantic notion that it was his duty to find and bury their remains. When he could no longer hold onto that illusion, he finally grieved his parent’s death and the end of the world.  Great tremors battered his very small, very young mind and body as he sobbed and screamed, completely alone and utterly terrified.

The next few weeks were dark indeed.  Jimmy discovered the numbing virtues of distilled ethyl alcohol in many varieties and the incredible pain associated with drinking too much of it.  He somehow lived through the ordeal, and slowly began devoting his days to exploring any part of Calgary that caught his momentary fancy and wasn’t on fire.

In an alley behind a strip mall on 1^st Street, Jimmy found a shipping crate he decided to open, and when he did he discovered it was filled with novelty nose and glasses.  Jimmy never saw such things before, but he wasn’t stupid; he realized they were some kind of joke.  He slid a pair from their clear, crinkly cellophane packaging, unfolded the black plastic frame arms and slid them onto his face.

He found a mirror and looked at his new refection.  He didn’t notice his filthy skin and ragged, filthy clothing.  All he noticed was his eyes staring out from the black plastic frames and the large flesh colored rubber nose covering his.

And, at that moment, Jimmy knew what he was supposed to do.  He found a bag and stuffed it with nose and glasses.  Then he drove about three miles north on Macleod until he reached those stupid statues.

There, on Macleod, between 5^th and 6^th, stood ten statues of what looked like people who were starving.  They were three times as tall as Jimmy, standing in a circle, holding hands, and dancing.

Jimmy hated those statutes.  He didn’t fully appreciate the concept of irony, but he instinctively understood what he was too young to intellectually grasp, and that basic understanding encouraged him to hate those emaciated, faceless, tall dancing human caricatures.   Every time he drove past them he hated them  more, until eventually he worked hard to avoid them.

But now he avidly sought them, and when he found them, Jimmy used a tall ladder to climb up and place a novelty nose and glasses set on each of those ten statutes. And when he climbed down and walked far enough away to see them all standing there sporting his handiwork, he laughed and laughed until he fell to the ground holding his stomach and rolling on his back on the grass.  Eventually he stopped, only to start up again.  Jimmy gleefully convulsed thus until long after the sun set.

That night, sleeping in a home he chose at random in the bedroom of people who were surely dead, Jimmy dreamed.  In his dream he found himself walking down a path towards a shadowy figure sitting on a rock next to a campfire.

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As Jimmy drew closer he saw that the figure was an old man with shoulder-length hair, a cropped iron-gray beard and wearing old nondescript clothes.

“Call me Wanderer,” the old man said and smiled.  “I knew your father.”

“Ed Finklestien?” Jimmy asked.

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Ed Finklestien

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“What? No, not Ed Finklestien.  Mike Havel.  Wait – wait a minute – aren’t you Artos?”

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“No. I’m Jimmy.”

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“Hold on a second.“ The old man stood, reaching into a pocket and removed what looked like a cell phone. He flipped it open and rapidly punched a series of keys on the phone face.  The old man peered at the small, glowing display screen.

“Damn it,” the old man hissed and rapidly punched another series of keys, lifting the phone to his ear.  “Cindy?” the old man said into the phone.  “Yeah, its me. It happened again.  No.  Listen.  Wait… look , I want her fired, okay?  It happened again.  I know.  It’s a hard job.  More alternate realities every day.  Right.  Uh huh. Yeah, the Assiti.   Look, I don’t care.  It’s the wrong universe again, God damn it.  I want a new appointment secretary right away, okay?  Okay.”

The old man angrily snapped the cell phone shut, shoved it back into his coat pocket and looked at Jimmy.

“Sorry, kid,” the old man said, “but this mystical experience is over.

Jimmy woke up.  He was a little afraid and didn’t understand what happened, but somehow the dream stiffened his resolve to continue defacing statues.  He drove back to the alley where he found the packing crate.  He loaded up his car with all the novelty nose and glasses he could find and, with a long ladder tied to the car roof, with no regrets, and armored with a sense of purpose, he left Calgary driving south on Highway 2.

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CONTINUED

If you are interested in any other Without Warning inspired fanfic, go to

http://miniburger.wordpress.com/category/without-warning/

RECENT FAN MAIL

One of my regular readers – who goes only by the name “Penelope” – recently wrote:

“you think you’re so smart but I am smarter than you and I rarely leave my house I spend all day doing research on the Internet looking up stuff about people I don’t like and then I spread gossip about them on the internet  I hate you I hate Jews and the Pope and illegal aliens why won’t they speak english like normal people english is the national language and they should be forced to speak it or they should go back where they came from but as I was saying before you interrupted me  you are a criminal and I bet all of your clients are criminals and you help them do criminal stuff I hope you die soon.”

Before you rush to my defense, sit back and think about what Penelope said.  He may be an under-medicated, uneducated, cross-dressing racist kook, but he raises one valid point that is worth discussing.  Most of my clients are not criminals, but some are.

A thought criminal I would be proud to represent

Why do I represent criminals? It isn’t the money.  Representing criminals doesn’t pay as well as you might think.  Believe me, criminals rarely ever pay their bills.  I don’t want to stereotype anyone, but I can tell you from experience that criminals are incredibly cheap.  They hate spending money. 

Hated paying his attorneys.

I imagine it is because crime doesn’t pay as well as it once did. 

Trying to bundle and sell hand job derivatives.

Whatever the reason, more often than not, my criminal clients do everything they can to avoid paying me for my time. So it isn’t the money that prompts me to represent them.  I do it because I believe that there is only one thing more dangerous than organized crime – and that is disorganized crime.  There is nothing that poses a greater risk to the public than a disorganized criminal.

Let me give you some examples (all of these really happened):

First: the Case of the Disorganized Jewel Thieves. Neiman Marcus is a high-scale department store in Beverly Hills that offer valet parking to its customers.  Three masked gunmen robbed the Neiman Marcus jewelry department, but they forgot they parked their car with the valet, and so had to take off on foot through residential Beverly Hills to escape the police. 

They were easily apprehended, but I think we can all agree that disorganized armed criminals running down the street dragging bags of money, jewelry and expensive shoes for their wives presents an extreme hazard to the community that could have been avoided if the criminals in question were a bit more organized and planned the robbery out in advance.

Next: the Case of the Disorganized Bank Robber.  Some poor fool tried to rob a bank using a paper bag over his head as a maks to hide his true identity.  But he forgot to cut holes in the bag so that he could see what he was doing and where he was going.  To compensate for his failure to properly plan the heist, the robber kept lifting the bag up so that he could see – which allowed the bank’s surveillance cameras to get a good look at his face.

Didn't think it through.

This idiot used a gun to rob that bank – which is dangerous enough without the person holding the gun blinding himself by putting a paper bag over his head.  An organized bank robber would have presented less of a threat to the innocent bystanders in the bank.

Next: the Case of the Disorganized Drug Dealers.  A police car in a nearby town noticed a car weaving back and forth as is traveled down a city street.  When the car was pulled over, the police officer discovered that the car was weaving because the three men in the car were watching a video on a portable player while they were driving.  More importantly, the video was an instructional tape designed to teach the viewer how to grow and sell marijuana.  The police officer discovered one hundred pounds of marijuana in plastic bags piled on the car’s back seat.

Organized criminals would have watched the instructional video before getting in the car, which means the drug dealers would have been able to keep their eyes on the road.These are only a few examples proving the point that disorganized crime can be far more dangerous and presents much more of a threat to the health, safety and well-being of the public than organized crime. I do not condone criminal acts, but I am far more afraid of disorganized criminals than I am of the organized ones. An organized criminal would never think this would work.

I represent criminals because there always comes a time when I am sitting with them face to face and, after they tell all about what they did and they didn’t do, I get the chance to look them straight in the eye and ask “what are you, stupid?”   Maybe, just maybe, they will realize they are too disorganized to be a criminal and, knowing that, they will give up their criminal aspirations.

Feels better than it looks.

And maybe they will pay their defense attorneys.  That would be good, too.

I can dream, can't I?

NAKED BRITISH WOMEN

I am not a gambler.

I rarely take chances.

I prefer to engage in activities that I can either win or know that I can fix to win.

I cannot help but wonder if my European and Australian brothers and sisters truly know what “the fix” means to an American.  “The fix” is part of who we, as Americans, are.

Send us your tired, huddled masses, yearning to be free, and in just one generation they will be eating turkey on Thanksgiving and grilling meat and vegetables on Labor Day – and they will understand “the fix” as a cultural connector within a culture that rejects connection.

“The fix” is cheating.  Pure and simple.  When a sporting event is “fixed” someone has bribed the players or the officials to an extent that the result is certain.  “Putting the fix in” is as American as apple pie and vote suppression.

I recently got involved in an endeavor that provided not one chance or opportunity to put the fix in.  I wandered into Simon Bedak’s blog and found a bunch of people guessing on the results of  sporting events.  Despite my lack of advantage – both legitimate and illegitimate – I joined in and chose Port Adelaide to win against St. Kilda, whatever that meant.

Totally alien to me.

 

Prior to that, I experienced just one moment of non-American sports culture.  It happened in 2002 in London when Arsenal won the double.

Equally alien to me.

 

To this day I have no idea what Arsenal is and I am even more clueless about what “winning the double” means.

All I know is that I was walking down a street somewhere in London in the early evening when – all of a sudden – the streets erupted with happy people.  Really happy people. People so happy some of them took off all of their clothes.

Apparently this happens a lot in Britain.

 

As memory serves, I saw buck naked women running around the streets hugging and kissing other men and women.  I had the distinct impression that they were all drunk. I found out later that it was all part of a spontaneous celebration of Arsenal’s winning the double.

I admit joining them.  I may be a barbarian, but I am not a fool.  If a mob of people are celebrating and naked women are among them only a fool would not rush to join.

I had a great time – even though I still don’t know what it means to “win the double.”  Whatever it is, it inspired social magic. I am a big supporter of social magic.

But even while I was lost in that meandering crowd, flowing through the narrow London streets, somewhere inside I wondered what the f**k was wrong with my life that I was only an accidental participant of such an event.  A mass of ordinary British men and women spontaneously celebrated with abandon that I had never experienced before.

Abandon that I have not experienced since.

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HEADLINE – POLICE APPREHEND BIGGEST SERIAL KILLER

By Rhappi Kanasta, Ass. Press Writer – Thu Apr 30, 9:59 pm ET

LOS ANGELES – Police believe a 72-year-old insurance claims adjuster arrested earlier this month is the biggest serial killer in the city’s history.

“This guy is huge,” Capt. Denis Cremins said. “When we say we caught him laying around the house, we mean “around” the house.”

The suspect weighs over a metric ton and is so large that his arrest required two specially trained SWAT units just to put him in improvised handcuffs originally used to restrain emotionally unstable, bipolar hippos at the Los Angeles Zoo.

“We trained in Iraq, so my men are familiar with morbidly obese perpetrators,” Denis said. “But this is way beyond my experience.  How could he let that happen to him? He should be ashamed of himself.”

Serial killers often over-eat, said FBI profiler, David Carr. “It really is a big problem and it can lead to clinical depression. Without counseling and medical intervention, a serial killer’s uncontrollable appetite for fast food eventually interferes with their predatory activities, and when that happens suicidal thoughts are not uncommon” Carr explained.

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Source for headline:  http://largest-ever-serial-killer-captured.html

HEADLINE – PALIN SLAMS OBAMA FOR BOWLING COMMENT

Alaska Governor Sarah Palin

 

WASHINGTON (March 21) – Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin said she was “shocked” to hear President Obama’s offhand comment referring to the Special Olympics in an appearance on the Tonight Show on Thursday night.

“This was a degrading remark about our world’s most precious and unique people, coming from the most powerful position in the world,” Palin said just before walking into a closed door.

“Ouch,” Palin quipped, rubbing her nose and winking.

After winking again, Palin struggled to open the door until an aide showed her that, to open the door, Palin needed to pull, not push at the door.

“The sign on the door says “pull,” the aide noted.

The special aide to Governor Palin is paid for by the Republican National Committee from a special fund devoted to providing special aides to special Republican governors. The RNC provided George W. Bush with similar special aides during the eight years Bush served as Governor of Texas.

“I don’t know what I would have done without ‘em,” Bush quipped. “I gave them all nicknames so I could rememorize who they were so that I wouldn’t order them shot as spys,” Bush said before walking into a closed door.

“Dang it, I thought this door was open,” Bush said as he pulled on the door handle and made a goofy face. “Now, if I was still Governor of Texas, some guy would step up and open the door for me,” Bush noted.

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REVIEW: WITHOUT WARNING by John Birmingham

I just spent the last two days putting off high paying work to read WITHOUT WARNING, the latest novel by John Birmingham.  I’ve never reviewed a book before, so I am compelled to enact what I imagine a book reviewer would say, and this is it:

I experienced John Birmingham’s WITHOUT WARNING in the same manner I would have experienced a full glass of a good California zinfandel: it began strong in character, getting better with each taste and ended with a big finish, making me sad it was gone and leaving me wanting more.

No kidding. It was a really good read. The zinfandel analogy is spot on.  I highly recommend WITHOUT WARNING to the thousands of people who read this blog. Go out and buy it. I promise you won’t be able to put it down, and when you are forced by time and fate to do so, you will be scheming to find time to pick it up and continue.

Okay. I’ve done my book reviewer thing. Now it is time to get back to what I do a little better.

All of the characters – other than Fifi – were memorable. I especially enjoyed seeing the Rhino and a cameo by Murphy.  But the one character I enjoyed most – but didn’t quite get enough of – was Stavros. I LOVED that guy, and I believe he was more pivotal than would appear on first reading.

John Birmingham, where ever you are, please continue to develop this fine, Greek character (whom I suspect also has an Irish ancestry).

The guy on the left has an Irish last name.

As a matter of fact, please consider adding additional Greco-Irish characters, perhaps one that is an attorney with a small liver.  Yeah!  Wouldn’t that be great?  I mean, really, who doesn’t want to read about a character who is half Greek, half Irish – and is an attorney – who gets drunk really, really easily? And, while you’re at it, give him (has to be a guy) Attention Deficit Disorder. And flat feet.  Oh yeah, and he has to be bald.  I mean, that is a must, don’t you think – for verisimilitude and pathos?  Bald middle aged attorneys of Greek/Irish ancestry just reek of pathos. At least I hope that reek is pathos.

I am not a professional writer, but I can tell you that this is a very good idea.

The author of WITHOUT WARNING writing down my idea for possible future reference.

 

And remember: the Wave eats people.

 

BIG IN JAPAN

Havock, my Aussie friend, if you were frightened by my ability to find the theme song to UFO on YouTube, then this clip of a Japanese game show will positively terrify you.

This is one of the strangest things I have ever seen – and I’ve spent my life seeking out strange things.

Let me know what you think.

A BOYLAN NEW YEAR’S FAMILY TRADITION

I must say I am somewhat shocked and surprised – but not yet astonished – by how many visitors this, my new blog, has seen.  I see many familiar faces from the now legendary JournalSpace diaspora. But I see an unexpected number of new faces, too.

My new friends are asking me some of the same questions my old friends asked me when they first encountered the grandure of my bearing.  That isn’t a another way of saying they were shocked by how overweight I am. That is not what I am saying.  To be honest, I could use to lose a few pounds.  But who couldn’t, especially after the holiday season when we cannot escape from running into food that we really aught not eat?

But I digress.  I have recently been asked “what happened that made you this way?”

I am forced by habit and custom to interpret questions like this to mean “what are the forces in your life that shaped the man you are today?”  I, too, have asked myself this very same question many, many times.  The answer is always the same: my family made me what I am today.

In particular, it is the family traditions handed down from generation to generation that have engendered the – person – that writes these words.  And no time are my family traditions more apparent  than at the start of a new year.

I am not sure how it started or why, but it has become a tradition throughout my family that, on or before New Years Day, we share with each other photos or videos of our pets eating.  You may find this strange, but it is a tradition, okay? And that makes it worth respecting.  Traditions are the bedrock of moral values, and it is moral values that made America great.

My Great  Aunt Hilda has a pet snake.  A really big one.  This is a vid of her snake, Princess Precious, eating a rabbit.

From my family to yours, have a very happy new year.  When all is said and done, we are only that which is reflected in the collective face of our family.

Which is why I’ve taken steps to cut myself off  from mine.  I have a big family. It is going to take time.

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