By Rhappi Kanasta

Sacramento, Nov. 10 (Ass.Press) – On Monday, ABC News reported that accused Fort Hood shooter Major Nidal Malik Hasan attempted to join al Qaeda prior to going on his bloody rampage.

Al Qaeda did not denounce Maj. Hasan, but was quick to distance itself from Hasan by providing the following rejection letter as proof of al Queda’s lack of involvement:

Dear Maj Malik Hasan:

Thank you for your interest in the joining al Qaeda. We enjoyed reviewing your application very much and passed it around to many people for review. We especially enjoyed the photos you included with your cover letter.

While we were impressed with your background and experience and appreciate your hatred for America, we have concluded that other candidates’ qualifications more closely match our requirements.   We sincerely regret that we cannot offer you employment with our organization at this time.

You have our best wishes for success in locating the career opportunity you deserve.  We will retain your resume in our files to review for future openings for up to six months.  In the event of an appropriate available position as a psychotic killer and/or suicide bomber, we will not hesitate to contact you.  We have many cell phones with pre-paid minutes that we can use, and even though our current location is somewhat remote, our cell phone reception is excellent.

We appreciate your interest and the time you have invested in seeking a position with Al Qaeda.

Very truly yours,

Abu Salla

Human Resources

PS – Although we appreciate your efforts to assist us, we are returning your CD containing your recording of a proposed Al Qaeda theme song.  Although the tune was, indeed, catchy, very singable, and would inspire fear in the hearts of those who serve the Great Satan, we nevertheless believe the music itself is derivative of the theme to the American children’s cartoon “Rocky and Bulwinkle.” We are currently fighting a grim guerilla war against the imperial Crusader and we do not wish to become entangled in protracted – and expensive – copyright litigation at this time.

Ass.Press

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By RHAPPI KANASTA (Ass.Press) – 3 hours ago

BEIJING — Shu Chun Teng, a Chinese scholar persecuted during the Cultural Revolution for smuggling a rare collection of mushrooms out of China before World War II, was honored Saturday when the collection was returned more than 70 years later.

“Now, at long last, this wonderful mushroom collection can finally be eaten,” said Ting Ho, Chairman of the Chinese Ministry of Culture and mushroom enthusiast. “Look at that big one,” Ho said, pointing at a dried morel. “That one has my name written all over it.”

During the Japanese invasion in 1937, Teng arranged for his best mushroom specimens to be removed from a national botany institute he directed to save them from destruction. During World War II, they were smuggled by ox cart to Indochina and then by sea to the United States.

Teng’s daughter, Deng Yi, said she hoped she would share in the official orgy of mushroom eating that would follow the ceremony honoring her father.

I know I’ve been fairly critical of Stargate Universe.

I’ve complained about how it is too much soap opera

and not enough space opera.

but…

I am watching the latest episode of SG-U and I just got to the part where that guy from the spaceship switched bodies with the Lou Diamond Philips character and went back to his wife and she took him back and they were getting busy and then the body transfer reversed for a moment and that guy from the spaceship was back on board the spaceship and the Lou Diamond Philips guy was under the other guys wife and then the body transfer kicked back in and the first guy was under his wife again – and his wife was acting like she never got it that way before – which has to make her husband (the guy from the spaceship) fell a bit awkward – and the Lou Diamond Philips guy was back on on earth and asks “what the hell just happened?”

The Lou Diamond Philips character.

It was great!  I love this show now!

And there is even a chance fat nerd may score with the Senator’s drunk daughter!

The dead Senator's daughter.

The fat guy and an asian chick.

It’s back on. Gotta run-

Little Shannon Dedrick’s disappearance caught the world’s attention.

7 month old Shannon Dedrick

The world breathed a collective sigh of relief when, today, Shannon was found in a box under the bed of her baby sitter – who had apparently abducted the infant.

I am glad the ordeal is over for Shannon’s parents, but someone has to point out that their child is an alien.

That isn't drool.

Little Shannon is clearly a human/alien hybrid.  I am the last person on this or any world to so much as imply that there is anything wrong with that.  At one time some stygma might have attached to parents who gave birth to an alien baby, but recent high profile celebrity adoptions have removed much of that stygma.

As a consequence, caring for an alien baby has become quite fashionable.

Shannon’s parents must realize that raising a human/alien hybrid is a challenging, but ultimately rewarding endeavor.

Every child is a special gift from God.

For example, Shannon’s remarkably large head indicates that she will be telepathic.

Knows what you are thinking.

Telepathic children are unusually challenging because they know when daddy says “no” that he really means “yes” and when mommy says “just wait until your father gets home!” mommy really doesn’t mean it.

Nothing but trouble

As an alien/human hybrid, little Shannon is likely to develop the skill to levitate.

Extra care is required.

Like telepathy, the ability to levitate will be a job skill that employers will appreciate, but in the beginning, the parent of an alien/human hybrid must exercise extra care, such as making sure windows are closed at all times.

Not good.

So, we are all glad baby Shannon is back, but her parents need to pay attention to her special qualities.

Has anyone else noticed that the United States is actively – although quietly – preparing to support an Israeli airstrike against Iran?  The signs are unmistakable. The US and Israel are conducting joint military exercises (Operation Juniper Cobra) they both claim are routine but are unprecedented in scope and scale.

Even more telling, the Obama administration has quietly taken the preliminary steps necessary to tap into the US Strategic Petroleum reserve.

I think time has run out for Iran.

What, me worry?

04-11-09 UPDATE:

JERUSALEM — Israeli commandos seized a ship Wednesday that defense officials said was carrying more than 60 tons of missiles, rockets and anti-tank weapons bound for Lebanon’s Iranian-backed Hezbollah guerrillas.

JERUSALEM, Nov. 4 (UPI) — Hamas has smuggled scores of long-range Iranian missiles into Gaza and tested a missile that can hit Tel Aviv, a top Israeli military intelligence officer said.

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 to to   http://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/opinion/blogs/blunt-instrument/flame-me-if-you-will-but-we-suck-at-grills/20091028-hkr7.html.

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 get s 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.

Yeah, I’m back.  I saw a lot of picturesque streets.

I saw a lot of skinny French women.

I was sometimes confronted by the bizarre and inexplicable.

I spent time with some dear, old friends.

And I spent a lot of time digesting food and assimilating drink.

But right now I am severely jet lagged and need to go to sleep.

More later.

Source: The Ass. Press

Posted: 10/21/09 19:15AM

Filed Under: News

Kate Gosselin’s children are “angry” and “acting out,” because their TLC show “Jon & Kate Plus 8′ (renamed ‘Kate Plus 8′) was shutting down because Jon Gosselin, the children’s father, believes the show is  harming his children.

In an interview with Vanity Fair, Kate described how much her kids enjoy being filmed 24 hours a day, every day.  ”They love our crew, they love the interaction, they love the events. There is nothing harmful about it. They are angry.”

“We want the cameras back!” wailed five year old Hannah, one of a set of sextuplets born on May 10, 2004. “I can’t sleep without the lights and crew activity! I just made a breakthrough with my therapist, and for what? Now I have to start all over again!” she sobbed.

“This is all daddy’s fault!” screamed little Cara, known by millions for her adorable smile. “He willfully breached the original contract, thereby depriving the family of the benefit of the bargain. I hope mommy can obtain injunctive relief,” Cara said, before smiling adorably.

“The gaffer was going to show me where babies come from!” noted nine year old Madelyn.

Ass. Press has obtained a transcript of Kate Gosselin telling her children that the show has been placed on hold:

“Gather ‘round, kids. Hannah, get that out of your mouth; you don’t know where it’s been.  Kids, I have some good news and some bad news.  The good news is that the nice and very handsome judge ordered your good for nothing, cheating, stupid, smelly father to give back the money he stole from you and mommie.  The bad news is that all of the nice camera people and show people with the candy and the toys are going away because you daddy doesn’t love you. Thats right. Your daddy doesn’t love you and he took a gun and tried to shoot the nice people with the candy and toys. Alexis, stop crying; I said stop crying you little bitch.  Mommy’s had a bad day meeting with producers and attorneys and hair stylists and fashion consultants and astrologers and she need just a little support right now, okay? But it’s okay to be mad. You can be mad all you want at daddy for leaving you and ruining eveything I worked so hard for. Did you know your daddy is sleeping with a teenager? And that he takes drugs?  And that he comes here at night when we are all fast asleep and steals your toys so he can give them to other boys and girls he likes better than you? So the next time I hear you cring for your daddy or saying that you miss him I want you to remember – and I’m talking to you, Collin – I want you to remember that your daddy hates you and that he ruined a multi million dollar, multi-year deal. Okay? Now go be mad for the cameras like to I showed you.”

Last week TLC filed a lawsuit in Maryland seeking damages from Jon Gosselin for failing to do what he is told. “Look, all he had to do was put up with her abuse for a while,” said a Hollywood insider on the condition of confidentiality. “So it was a failed marriage. So the show put his kids in a fishbowl of nonstop publicity. So what?  All he had to do was keep looking stupid and let her bitch at him on camera and everyone would get rich.  But noooooo, the moron couldn’t do it.  He totally screwed the pooch,” the insider concluded.

Ted Himmel, who represents Nala, the Gosselin family dog, denied any improper relationship between Nala and Jon Gosselin. “Although Mr. Gosselin has been commonly referred to as Nala’s ‘master’ and her ‘owner’ it would be a mistake to imply any kind of D/s or BDSM relationship between my client and Mr. Gosselin, said Himmel.

Nala is currently negotiating with TLC to be the subject of a reality show tentatively entitled “Nala Gosselin: Life After Jon.”  Himmel was quick to point out that Nala’s relationship with Jon had nothing to do with the breakdown of Jon and Kate’s marriage and pending divorce.

TLC is currently negotiating with Jon Gosselin to host a new reality show tentatively entitled “Jon Gosselin’s New York City Bachelor Sex Pad.”

For me the internet is a strange thing I am still not quite sure I like. Because I have cultivated a cyber beachhead reaching into the world wide web, people all over the world know that I am, yet again, in France playing the role of Professeur Boylan, drinking great wine, eating great food, enjoying great company and – somewhat as an afterthought at least and an excuse at most – corrupting young minds with worries of the looming New Cold War and the long term implications of the Franco-Russian agreement whereby a Russian company will assume the responsibility of disposing of French nuclear waste (or “nuclear bonus material” as so many of my friends in the nuclear energy industry prefer to call it).

The fact that thousands of people – both good, bad and indifferent (actually, if there are three categories, I am not sure “both” applies) – know these specific details about me and my life trouble me in ways and for reasons I cannot articulate, primarily because I am drunk, and I find it is often difficult to articulate fine, if not dicey, concepts when sufficienly drunk

ssssssssssssfffffffffffffffffffflllllllllllllllllllllllllllgggggggggggggggggggggg

[ brackets]

But I digress.  The point of all of this is that I don’t really want to be here. I don’t mean to sound like an ingrate, but I am homesick and want to go home. At the very moment I am finally comfortable typing on this damed European/French keyboard, I can think of nothing but home.

John Mcleod is credited with first saying “home is where the heart is.”  I don’t like McLeod because his last name sounds Scottish and, as evey decent, God fearing white person knows, the Scotts – as a race – are cheap. And the men  wear these dresses they call “kilts” but, hey, a dress by any other name would be just as gay, if you get my drift. And they talk funny. I don’t mean funny in a “ha ha” sense; I mean funny in a “hmmmm…” sense – if you get my drift.

But I digress.  If home is where the heart is, then my home is with my wife and son. I miss them and I want to go home.

I have three more classes to teach. Then I drive to Paris; visit the Louvre, spend the night in my favorite hotel (the identify of which I keep secret for security reasons) and then fly home.

After I’ve recovered from jet lag (don’t laugh: it is really a horrible ordeal for me) I’ll post some pics from my trip and a couple of essays.  I especially want to write about how the French are “managing” their Muslim minority and the global supremacy of (skinny) French women.  They really have “pulled a fast one” (as we quaint Americans are want to say) on the world.

I’m a little ticked-off it wasn’t awarded to me.

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.

Especially this.

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 (yes, those cheese eating, surrender monkeys) 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.

JOE WILSON AND THE AMERICAN WAY

I want to talk to you about Joe Wilson, the guy who heckled Barak Obama by yelling “you lie!” when the president was addressing a joint session of congress.

He looks retarded, but he is more than that.

The liberal media has expressed extreme outrage over this incident, accusing Wilson of being everything from a boorish idiot to a racist.

Victim of the liberal media

Don’t let that outrage fool you. What Wilson did is no big deal – especially when viewed through the lens of American history.  A congressman yelling “you lie!” at the president during a presentation to congress is not only a trivial event, the event itself fits well within the American traditions of political free speech.

The American Way

To begin with, allow me to remind you what it means to be an American.  More than anything else, being an American means having the constitutional right to speak your mind.  Many Americans take this important freedom for granted.  But those outside our great nation know how special and precious it is. During the great wave of immigration that took place near the beginning of the 20^th Century – the time my Greek ancestors came to this country – immigrants wrote home saying that the streets of American cities were “paved with gold.”

In a literal sense this wasn’t true.  But to people escaping tyranny, oppression and poverty, the freedoms and opportunities that came with merely walking on American soil were priceless.  Where they came from, no matter how hard they worked they could never hope for a better life for their children.  In America, men and women who are willing to work hard can shape their own futures.  In their homelands, these immigrants could be arrested and imprisoned for saying the wrong thing.  But in America they could argue in the streets and express their opinions freely.

What the liberal media wants us to forget is that the right of free speech includes the right to get angry.  When Joe Wilson interrupted the President of the United States by shouting “you lie!” Citizen Joe was merely exercising his rights as an American and was taking part in a tradition that spans our nation’s noble history.

The American Founding Fathers were notoriously cranky, rude, angry men who openly hated each other.  Benjamin Franklin hated Thomas Paine. Thomas Paine hated George Washington. George Washington hated all French intellectuals – who, in a very real sense, gave birth to the American Revolution.

Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr hated each other so much they fought a duel – and Burr killed Hamilton with a bullet that pierced Hamilton’s liver.  Thomas Jefferson – the man given credit with drafting the American Declaration of Independence – made loud, unmistakable noises simulating flatulence – often using his hand and armpit – every time he encountered his political rival John Adams.  Adams never hesitated to accuse Jefferson of “preferring the company of young boys” and of stealing the design for the swivel chair from Nathaniel Swivel, a Boston furniture maker and brewer.

Nathaniel Swivel

As our republic grew and matured, so did the salty nature of American political discourse.  Martin Van Buren – our 8^th president – and the first American president born in the United States – won the 1832 election in a landslide.  But the Whig Party (now defunct) despised Van Buren and refused to recognize his legitimacy.  They spread rumors that he was born in Holland and that he was secretly a Quaker.

Quaker

In conjunction with this rumor campaign, the Whigs engaged in a rhetorical attack utilizing misleading vocabulary. For example, Winfield Scott – a Whig Party organizer – gave a speech in Buffalo, New York accusing Van Buren of vague charges that no one understood but everyone believed.  Scott is quoted as saying:

“In addition to the many crimes Martin Van Buren has committed against the American people as a whole – nay humanity – perhaps most disturbing, if not revolting, is the indisputable fact that Van Buren is a notorious masticator.   Reliable sources close to Van Buren – if that is his real name – confirm that he masticates at least three times a day, often in the presence of his wife. As monstrous as this may seem, Van Buren has also been known to vacillate on numerous occasions.  I put it to you that, not only is Van Buren a vacillator AND a masticator, he vacillates WHILE he masticates! The man has practiced vacillation and chronic mastication ever since he was a small child in Holland!”

These Whig tactics worked: the public turned against Van Buren, with many refusing to shake his hand for fear of where it may have been.  Whig congressmen and senators began pelting Van Buren with rotten vegetables whenever he spoke publically. The threat of violence became so pronounced that Van Buren would carry two loaded pistols whenever he addressed congress.

Packing heat

More recently, Republicans unhappy with Franklin Delano Roosevelt – a polio victim confined to a wheel chair – accused Roosevelt of being born in Norway and of secretly being a Free Mason. They would yell “cripple!” and “gimp!” during Roosevelt’s State of the Union addresses, pretending that they were sneezing.

He killed and ate this child.

So, when seen through the lens of history, Joe Wilson’s yelling, “you lie!” at Obama really isn’t very important.  It is just part of the American way.

Maybe it was tourette's.

Endangered Ugandan gorillas join Facebook, MySpace

By Rhappi Khanasta, Ass. Press Writer – Sat Sep 26, 10:53 am ET

KAMPALA, Uganda – Around 340 mountain gorillas — nearly half of the 740 remaining worldwide — have joined Facebook, Myspace and Twitter in an attempt to live it up before the end.

“I figured, what the hell?” explains M’bitah, a male silverback weighing 400 pounds (180 kilograms) who lives in Uganda’s lush Bwindi Impenetrable Forest National Park. “Maybe I can hook up with a willing female and have a little fun before I am shot, killed and eaten,” M’bitah said.

Despite their size — a male silverback can reach over 7 feet (2.1 meters) — the gorillas are threatened by poachers who kill them for meat, farmers and charcoal-burners who encroach on their habitat, and the indiscriminate bullets of rebels on the run.

“We Mountain Gorillas will probably be eaten into extinction within a year or two,” said Kampanga, a female adult mountain gorilla. “But I just got friended by five people on Facebook and 28 people responded to my tweet about scratching my stomach,” she said. “How cool is that?”

“We support efforts to include gorillas within internet based social networks,” said N’kita “Ernie” Ruzigandekwa, President and former Treasurer for the Ugandan Bush Meat Advisory Board, a nonprofit, corporate sponsored interest group that promotes eating gorillas. “The Ugandan mountain gorilla is an elusive creature that is much, much easier to sneak up on when concentrating on updating their Facebook profile,” Ruzigandekwa said.

Do yourself a huge favor: view this vid.  I could write a book (a fairly good book) analyzing what is depicted here.

Its funny because it’s true.

To be more precise, it’s funny if you are a citizen of the United States of America. Anyone in France, England, Germany, Italy, Switzerland, Denmark, Ireland, Sweden, Finland Spain – well, just about everyone who isn’t American – won’t get it.

Has no idea why the video is funny.

“I don’t get it,” said my good friend Benedicte, who lives in France.  It took my about fifteen minutes to explain before she got the joke, but she never laughed.

“So,  women in your country without health care must resort to prostitution to see a doctor?” she asked.

“Why do you hate America?” I snapped back.

Benedicte: can't understand why anyone would have sex with another person in order to obtain health care.

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

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

Not his best photo.

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, go to http://paulboylan.wordpress.com/page/4/.

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.]

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“You’re welcome to share my fire,” the  old man said.  His voice was like steel-cut rolled oats and reminded Jimmy of his third grade teacher, Mr. Henderson, who was fired after he played the “nude movie star” game with the class one afternoon.

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

“Ed Finklestien?” Jimmy asked.

Ed Finklestein

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

Artos

“No. I’m Jimmy.”

Jimmy

“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.

CONTINUED

If you are interested in any other Without Warning inspired fanfic, go to  http://miniburger.wordpress.com/category/without-warning/

Henry Gibson died on Monday, September 14, 2009, from cancer at the age of 73. Most remember Henry as a cast member of the 1960’s television comedy Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In and an actor in movies like Nashville and The Blues Brothers. I personally and vividly remember him as a good father.

I attended high school with his sons.  One of them, Jon, was a friend of mine.  I lived in Santa Monica with my mother and sister.  Jon lived with his family in Malibu.  Like the children of other Hollywood celebrities who lived there, Jon was bussed each day (or driven) down the Pacific Coast Highway to Santa Monica High School. At the end of the day he was bussed (or driven) up the PCH back to Malibu.

It isn’t easy being raised in the shadow of Hollywood and being buffeted far too early by media dreams.  This is especially true for the children of people who are moderately successful at making a living being part of the Dream Machine.

I remember Jon making early plans to become part of that. His father encouraged him, but always made sure that Jon understood that making a living in front of or even behind the camera isn’t easy.  Mr. Gibson told his son that there are good years, but there are also many lean years.  He encouraged his son to follow his passions, but also encouraged him to formulate a back up plan just in case.

That plan was law school.  First, UC Hastings. Then UCLA, where Jon studied copyright taught by the legendary David Nimmer.  After that, De Laurentis Entertainment Group, Tri Star Pictures, and beyond.

I watched all of this happening from the side.  While Jon was going to school, I was wandering from odd job to odd job.  But I watched Jon struggle with the hard choices a young man faces when confronted by seductive and pragmatic competing futures. I watched as his father’s wisdom manifested itself, with the back up plan becoming the road traveled.

In time I was inspired by my friend’s example and took the advice his father gave him.

Over the years we’ve lost touch. The last time I saw Jon was when he was visiting Davis, where I was studying law, to see mutual friends. That was a long time ago.  I don’t know if Jon is happy or content, but I remember him and, through him, I remember his father.

I remember you, Mr. Gibson. I remember you as a very good father.  Rest in peace.  Your children, and their children, prosper.

Today I couldn’t help but notice homosexuals all over the place.

I saw three while I was watching television as I made coffee for my wife. I saw half a dozen as I drove my son to school. I saw another two or three in the supermarket where I stopped to buy milk on my way back home. And, when I parked outside my house, I waved to Ted, my gay neighbor, as he was leaving his house to go to work.

My gay neighbor, Ted.

We chatted a bit and both agreed that the weather was fabulous for this time of year.

It wasn’t always this way.  At one time, not so long ago, I could go for months without encountering a homosexual or even noticing one on the street. Other than Richard Simmons, you almost never saw one on TV.

Richard Simmons. Very gay.

But things have changed.  The media today seems jam-packed with homosexuals – both real and imaginary. For example, on the television show Will and Grace, Eric McCormack – a fine, upstanding heterosexual actor – plays the part of a homosexual lawyer.

Eric McCormack: not gay.

While on the television show How I Met Your Mother Neil Patrick Harris, who is gay, plays the part of Barney, who isn’t.

Neil Patrick Harris: totally gay.

(Harris also played the part of Doogie Howser, which disturbs me.  Somehow I cannot accept that Doogie is gay.)

It wasn’t always this way.  In the old days, you could go your whole life without noticing a homosexual.  You could be in the middle of a crowd without realizing you were surrounded by them. Your best friends could have been gay – and probably were – but you would never have known it because they did everything they could to look, sound, dress and live like heterosexuals.  And they were pretty good at it.  Some – like Senator Larry Craig – got married and even had kids just to avoid anyone knowing they were gay. You gotta admire that kind of effort.

But now it seems that more and more homosexuals go out of their way to appear “gay” by embodying gay stereotypes.  I see lesbians every day with short hair, often wearing bandanas on their heads, dressed in flannel shirts, wearing extra-long baggy cargo/plaid/khaki shorts and walking in Doc Matins or Birkenstocks.

(If you are a woman and I just described what you look like, and you are not gay, I’m sorry, but it isn’t my fault: you look like a lesbian).

Every day I see effeminate, lisping, mincing, fastidious, fashion-forward, musical theater loving guys who “simply adore” Betty Davis, and who go out of their way to demonstrate that they throw like a girl. (“Here! Catch!  Don’t I throw like a girl?”)

But I am not one to judge.  I mean that in a literal sense.  I tried it, and I was a terrible judge.  I couldn’t really accept the whole “innocent until proven guilty” slogan.  I mean, if the accused might be innocent, then why were they in jail?  They must have done something wrong, right?  When I found out judges are supposed to be “impartial” I realized I am not one to judge.

Neither am I here to debate the issue.  I am not here to say whether the advent of open homosexuality is good or bad.  The last thing I want to do is get involved in a argument over whether homosexuality is a naturally occurring condition – like red hair and freckles – or a mental disease that can be treated with intensive psychotherapy or drugs, like acute schizophrenia.

As far as I am concerned, both positions have merit, but I don’t want to get involved.

In all honesty, there is a limit to my ability to embrace this brave new world.  I feel I speak for many heterosexuals when I say that there is a certain “ick” factor associated with the concept, if not the practice, of homosexuality.

We heterosexuals are trying to keep open minds, but we are wired this way and cannot help it.

And let’s not forget the problems inherent in the persistent argument that the gay lifestyle is an abomination in the eyes of God.  I mean, Leviticus 18:23 really complicates the whole discussion, doesn’t it?

But I digress.  The point I am trying to make is that there are lots of homosexuals out there and I might as well point out the ones I like.  Here is a quick list of the homosexuals I approve of:

Ellen DeGeneres:

Ellen is American’s Gay Sweetheart.

She is smart.  She is funny.   She is replacing Paula Abdul on American Idol. When you see Ellen it is easy to overlook that she prefers to have sex with women.

Karl Rove:

Karl is one of my favorite homosexuals because he defeats the gay stereotype that male homosexuals are fastidious, well groomed and fashionable.  He does this by being fat and sloppy.  Snap! You go, Karl!

And, to give balance to this column, my least favorite homosexuals are….

Elton John:

Elton hasn’t had a hit for years and that thing on his head is clearly a toupee.  Come on, Elton: spend the money.

Rosie O’Donnell:

I detest Rosie O’Donnell.  She is a loud-mouthed, annoying, pompous, self-important, corpulent idiot.  She discredits all homosexuals – especially the fat, ugly ones.

Well, that’s it for my thoughts on homosexuality.  I think I’ll have a beer and watch High School Musical. That show is totally gay.

I was eating lunch at La Tête de Chat on Little Santa Monica Blvd just outside of Beverly Hills when I first learned about the new Helium cable network. I was just about to dig into my usual filet de cheval when I eavesdropped on two high-powered entertainment law attorneys discussing Helium’s pending debut.  I was both intrigued and excited by what I overheard. Helium seemed like a real opportunity for innovative television programming.

Logo for the new Helium Cable Network

Helium began broadcasting last night, and I was right there from the beginning to watch this new and exciting form of television entertainment.  I wanted to be among the first to watch classic television programs reengineered electronically so that all of the characters say their lines in high, squeaky voices.

And it worked.  I cannot tell you how much funnier Gomer Pyle and The Golden Girls are when everyone talks like they just inhaled helium.

Much funnier after inhaling helium.

But the concept just didn’t work when it came to more serious shows like Mannix,  Marcus Welby, M.D. and Bonanza. It felt weird and even irritating to hear Dan Blocker say “Little Joe got himself shot, Pa” in a high, squeaky voice.

No added benefit from helium.

Although I give Helium an “A” for effort, I am forced by pragmatic necessity to give them a “D” for dismal programming.

Posted in Media Review ]]> http://paulboylan.wordpress.com/2009/09/14/disappointed-with-the-new-helium-cable-network/feed/ 5 paulboylan Logo for the new Helium Cable Network Much funnier after inhaling helium. No added benefit from helium. http://paulboylan.wordpress.com/2009/09/13/please-dont-eat-my-brain-heidi-klum/ http://paulboylan.wordpress.com/2009/09/13/please-dont-eat-my-brain-heidi-klum/#comments Sun, 13 Sep 2009 00:55:41 +0000 paulboylan http://paulboylan.wordpress.com/?p=1040 ]]>

Yes, she is beautiful, but I think she is a zombie.