Outrage at Piney Point Gypsum Stack

To the editor:

I cannot believe the criminal audacity of Florida Governor Ron DeSantis, to forcefully remove hundreds upon hundreds of residents from their God-given homes over some pond leak. What in the world gives him the authority to employ such dragonian (which is totally illegal) over-reach? Does he not realize that Floridians are capable of determining their own destiny? They should be allowed to choose whether or not to hunker down at home and weather the “possible breach” of something called a gypsum stack, which might not even be a thing, from what I understand. But probably they’ll be burglarized for sure while they’re paying jacked up rates for a room at the Bradenton Motel 6. 

They say a stack is leaking? So is my kitchen sink. And who are these so-called experts that cry like Chicken Little about the hazards of what is rumored to be “small amounts” of “slightly radioactive” material in what is basically fertilized water if you think about it. If anything, everyone’s lawn is going to look a whole lot better when this hoax is over.

What about radio activity? Isn’t that how the dentist checks for cavities? Isn’t that what makes our clocks glow at night so we don’t stub our toes on the way to the toilet? And how about cell phones, huh? It’s all fake news by the fake media trying to distract us from the real problem, which is harmful magnetism that’s buzzing in the power lines right outside my bedroom window. That’s all I ever hear is buzzing buzzing buzzing.

I looked it up and gypsum is a natural substance used to build homes, the very homes Ron DeSantis is kicking the owners out of. He should be kicked out of office, is what. As the Radical Left eats more and more into our unalienated rights (led by that commie green dealer AOL), we must be willing to fight back with everything in our family arsenal. What happened to the man who stood up for us and President Trump when Fauci tried to trick us all and shut down our Conchy Joe’s with all his mask back and forths? It seems he’s sadly forgotten the role of government, which is to shut up and leave us all alone. Shame on you, Governor. Shame.

Signed,

Ned Gaetz (sadly no relation)

 A Movie Trailer Inspired by One of those Movies 

(deep-voiced narrative over pulsing techno music track)

He gave them everything he had to give, only to lose everything that had ever mattered to him. If he could only find a way to quit “The Company” so he could pick up the pieces of his life and build the one he’d once imagined would be his. 

Now they want him for one more job, and it could ruin his only chance for redemption. If it’s his only option, then it’ll be on his own terms. There’s just one problem: his teenage daughter.

From the creators of “Max Mayhem 4,” with an international cast that includes Xavier Von Klaus…

“I believe, Jack, you’ll find yourself… quite disappointed shall we say? if you decide to turn down this job.”

“I believe I’ll find myself quite disappointed no matter what I decide to do.”

“You sound like an easily disappointed man, Jack.”

“What a disappointing assessment.”

Featuring Amanda Peete’s next door neighbor Abigail Wornoffsky:

“Jack, please just say you’re not going to take this job.”

“If I just say those words, is that going to fix all this?”

“All what?”

“You know. This.”
“What if I said it might?”

“Said it might… what exactly again?”

And introducing Kristen Noel Johansson as “Lisa”:

“Daddy?”

“Lisa, honey, is that you?”

“Daddy, is that you?”

“Lisa, sweetie, it’s Daddy.”

“Daddy, it’s Lisa.”

“I know, sugar. Don’t you worry. Daddy is coming for you.”

“Oh Daddy!”

“click”

“Lisa, NOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The Company had used him. But they didn’t count on him using what he’d learned to use them back. A guy who maybe reminds you a little of Bruce Willis is Jake Jackson, taking on the Company and his own demons in “One Last Thing.” 

Filmed in digital 2D MaxiVision and coming soon to a streaming service you don’t pay for.

Breaking Story from the Fox News Desk

Fox News has just received an exclusive tip from a high-ranking White House source that points to far-reaching voter fraud on the planet Mars. This source revealed previously unknown details involving possible Deep Space involvement in solar system chicanery.

While Mars has historically been regarded a solid “Red Planet,” the source claims that with all Martian votes tabulated, early indications reveal that every vote sent via highly suspect radio telecommunications have been suspiciously cast for Joe Biden. 

“This is absolutely astounding,” claimed the source, who is said to be closely affiliated with the Trump legal team. “Just think of it. Not a single Martian vote for our President? What are the odds of that? Do you think we’re f**king *ss l*cking re*ards?”

The source also claims with evidence soon to be forthcoming that many of the votes cast have originated from Martians that are no longer living, as well as ex-Martians known to have left the galaxy entirely, and in at least one case a Martian family pet was alleged to have cast a vote. 

When asked about the pet in question, scientists held over from the previous administration seemed perplexed. One representative of the scientific community responded, “If one were to postulate such a thing, it would be highly unlikely the pet was something like a dog or cat. Much more plausible would be an entirely new species previously unknown to mankind.”

The Trump administration did not respond to requests for a statement, though Attorney General Barr has pledged to send a legal team to “litigate every very real threat to our precious democracy.” 

Among the President's advisors, Donald Trump Junior tweeted “Oh, like nothing nefarious is going on in among the Deep Space Conspirators?” before amending the tweet to read “We're going full on war… dammit it! Forgot about the bone spurs!” That post was subsequently deleted. Ivanka Trump, for her part, posted a series of Instagram pictures of her family enjoying a baby seal clubbing expedition to the Aleutian Islands: “Culling the weak so the privileged may succeed! Go America!!!” 

With conspiracy theories swirling amidst the QAnon Twittersphere, the Commander in Chief tweeted at 2:14 am, “CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? IF TRUE OUR NEWLY FORMED SPACE FORCE WILL PUNISH THESE INTERPLANETARY FRAUDS WITH SECRET NEW WEAPONS THE LIKES OF WHICH YOU’VE NEVER SEEN BEFORE!” 

Asked for responses, Senator Lindsey Graham stated, “Our President has a right to do whatever he sees fit as long as he doesn’t reveal my deepest darkest secrets,” while Mitch Mc Connell’s response was lost in the sound of his passing gas, which overwhelmed the recording device.

We are obliged to post that the ostensible president elect Joe Biden has cautioned for general calm to prevail until all votes have been tabulated and verified, offering this odd caveat: “It would sure be nice to hear we’ve flipped Mars and she’s gone blue. That would be something to see in the night sky.”

Stay tuned as we update this fast-breaking story.

Friends

At my wife’s behest, I removed from my Facebook wall what I considered to be a witty, incisive political cartoon that one of my newly minted “friends” considered offensive. This is a person from my past who less than a month earlier had solicited friendship, chose to visit my wall and post her critique of my choice of artwork. It once again calls into question my decision to revisit the social platform.

The word used by said offendee to describe the artwork was “disgusting,” though she did choose to temper her assessment by afterword employing the quasi-apologetic, “Sorry”. Well okay then.

Dear Facebook Friend,

What you refer to as disgusting is generally referred to as political satire, and it happens to have been published in a nationally syndicated newspaper thanks to the protections our First Amendment presently guarantees.  The First Amendment is the amendment that comes right before the one everybody (which is to say Ted Nugent, that bearded duck-calling family, and the rarefied group busying themselves with the stacking of Spam and ammo in their root cellars) seems most concerned about.

I will, however, tell you what I myself do find disgusting. That a morally vacant carnival barker, a modern day snake oil salesman, a tax-dodging (and war-dodging, but who’s monitoring?), race-baiting faux philanthropist, a pathologically lying peeping Tom, a tangerine-tinted clown unqualified to preside over a Chuck E. Cheese kiddy soiree managed to con a significant minority of the American public into casting their votes for him. So an imbecile will now inhabit the White House thanks to an archaic scheme devised by our founding slave owners to ensure that "real Americans" out there in God's country receive favored representation. 

That is what I find disgusting. Sorry.

The man, of course, was not chosen by the people. Even he, in a rare fit of cogency, was convinced he would lose his biggest takeover attempt ever, and so he droned on ad infinitum over how “the system” was rigged, all the while exploiting galaxies of free ad space with which to pitch his private brand.

Rigged. There’s the one thing the moron and I agree on. More accurately, the election was gamed, so it seems fitting that a robber barron whose signature contribution to American society has been the erecting of casinos now profits from the gaming.

He employed the most shameless of allies, “surrogates” (can we petition the OED to have the term waterboarded to death please?) of all denominations, from voracious ladder-climbers chosen for their tenacious debate skills, amoral proclivities, and tits, to the desperate irrelevance-avoiders (let’s give them superhuman names: Lispor and BridgeBlock). Then there’s Kelly Anne. Beelzebub is preparing a special room for this broad.

We now hear chants of “give the man a chance.” Seriously? For the past near decade and beyond the Republican party to a man (having failed to derail their presumptive standard-bearer, the starving supplicants are presently cued up and down 5^th Avenue groveling for a Fed cubicle) has proclaimed as their raison d’etre the obstruction of a legitimate president’s attempts to govern. The hell if I give the spray-painted simian a chance to fling his feces.  As far as I’m concerned, a domestic terrorist will shortly be holed up in the West Wing. I say ship him to Guantanamo and test on him the efficacy of the techniques that got him so wet on his soapbox.

Who are these characters railing for this chance? With what bizarre amalgam of noozefeeds and internal voices is their personal worldview Crayola'd? Troubled patriot, if you’ve ever had the blinkered gall to spout the “Benghazi” epithet, learn how to count bodies. Get all lathered up over leaked emails, do you? Tell it to your porn purveyor. Spousal infidelity gets your knickers in a twist? Allow Newt, Rudy, and Don the Con himself to explicate the sanctity of the marriage contract. 

You bought into Ms. Conway's "substantive" bob-and-weave, did you? Tell you what you do: Crack open that piggy bank next to your Star Wars action figure collection. Check behind the couch, under the car seats, rummage amongst the dust bunnies for loose change... then go buy yourself a fucking life.

How does a sane citizen describe the symphony of lies spat from a Riefenstahlian propaganda machine and trumpeted by a bogus press that includes our precious Facebook feed? Or the willful ignorance of those who feast on the garbage like cattle at the trough? What’s the word I’m looking for? Oh, yeah. Deplorable.

This Too Shall Pass

Mein Gott! I forgot to wear my cologne today!

So strident was the hullabaloo over the event, that even I was there to gawk in the end, as my fellow Deutchlanders plucked victory from that vast lawnscape known to the Third World (of which we are all members) as futball.

An attempt by some metrosexual at Esquire Magazine, that bottomless repository of advice on such male essentials as how not to piss off your barber (Hello? He's a fucking barber!) and why pit bulls are misunderstood (simple solution: exterminate the monstrous breed), to elucidate the geopolitical reasons soccer is not the favored sport of America, world headquarters to sport-as-religion, fell woefully wide of the mark.

The truth is that soccer is a colossal bore. Charmingly referred to as the “beautiful game,” what it excels at is the innately comical. Denying humans the use of their only dexterous appendages, it reminds me of a group of cosseted dogs squatting to take a communal dump. While admittedly getting some kind of job done, there is something painfully unnatural about the look of it.

Much has been made of America’s exuberant acceptance of the game the rest of the world is positively rabid over. But make no mistake - in the land where the news cycle lasts a day, futball will enjoy the same precipitous fall from interest any Justin Bieber faux pas would merit.

What was I talking about again? Oh! The sporting world narrowly averted the most common of soccer maladies: ninety-plus scoreless minutes plus two fifteen-minute scoreless overtime periods plus Yahweh knows how many scoreless minutes tacked on so nobody watching has a fucking clue as to when it will all come to an end. Seriously, I watched two professional teams try to decide whether they should continue playing or head for the shower rooms. There’s an audience-riveting formula for you. We were only watching here in the North American Continent because LeBron hadn’t made his mind up about Cleveland. And the Redskins don’t know what to call themselves.  And Tiger. And other shit we can’t remember anymore because it’s been like forever.

One thing the networks did get right was cutting away to barrel-chested chiquitas looking for a solid shoulder to cry on. Works every time at the sports bar. Other things worked too, actually. One was Germany’s entertaining evisceration of Brazil in the semi-finals. It resembled what a real game should look like: visual intrigue driven by recognizable strategy, with scoring coming at reasonable intervals. For the Brazilian proletariat recently paupered to pay for the proceedings it seemed tragic, but this kind of anomaly can display itself on any field whether participants are aged three or thirty. Demoralization is pandemic, and here was a mismatch where the losing team folded because they were met with insurmountable odds. For Brazil, it happened around five minutes into the match when they found themselves down two goals to zip. In soccer, that’s game over, mano.

The game’s myriad weaknesses are betrayed by modern technology. Instant replay reveals to all what referees cannot or refuse to see: the ruthless theatrics of players desperate to get somewhere near a scoring opportunity after having all their reasonable skill sets denied them.  What handy analogy exists for this? If Proust were required to author a novel on a manual typewriter with his nose while having any sentence revoked through a single misspelling, by an editor who doesn’t speak the language. Add to these parameters the distraction of a potted James Joyce flailing about the desk, claiming plagiarism at every paragraph.

There is a more insidious side to this game. I’ve now heard the pundits yammer on about how the waxing of Team Brazil in no way diminished the wondrous job its nation did to bring this spectacle to the world. Indeed! It had robbed it’s own treasury and displaced its citizenry, killing many of them in the process, while crushing public dissent with its only well-funded institution – the military. Well played, Brazil!

Letter To A Friend Irate Over Message Machine Decorum

Dear Mike,

Forgive me for having taken so long to respond to your woeful request for an answering machine rant. Forgive me even further, because I can’t comply with your request. Actually I can, but I’m not going to, because I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

  

You really seem worked up over this whole recorded message thing. I do remember that awkward break-in period for users back in the mid Seventies maybe, where newbies to the late-breaking technology followed to the letter the stern instructions of the manufacturers, who warned that our messages must not divulge that the reason we weren’t answering our phones was because we weren’t home, and so the caller was free to break in and steal our Magnavox with the newly-installed Pong game. No, the words to be employed were, “Hi, we can’t come to the phone right now…”

  

The lame implication was that we might conceivably be sitting on the crapper with a loaded assault rifle resting across our knees, waiting for someone to misinterpret the message. I imagined teams of unlucky tele-burglars making random calls, in the hopes of hearing that message before hopping into their panel vans. Then off they’d scramble to the listed address, to be mowed down by a Rambo with a case of the runs.

   

Those days are long gone, unless you have one pathetic group on your “family and friends” list. Or, sadder still, those family and friends are in yet another awkward phase of their lives, having succumbed to the enticements of childrearing. They’re now proud parents of a kid that can almost speak English and is so darn cute trying that it would be a shame not to put his squeaky voice on their machine taking an ice age to burble out the fractured message you so hate hearing. Doesn’t it just make you want to coo like a damn pigeon? My brother says he knows of one such family, and he hates calling them for fear they may not be home.

  

If you still do have phone acquaintances who insist on being cutesy with their messages, disown them. Nobody does that anymore. We all learned that lesson the second time we heard the one where the message-maker pretends he’s there, and then reveals himself to be a recording. Har-dee-har. And here’s the recording of a five-minute dial tone, asshole.

  

What you’re being spared is the real abomination, which is that you can never actually get a human on the phone when calling a business anymore. What you get is a computer voice programmed to sound like it wants to help you out, but is in fact designed to sap you of resolve with an infinite list of useless options…

“Press 1 if you are completely happy with our service. Press 2 if you’d like to take a survey about how completely happy you are with our service. Press 3 if you want to add services that will triple your monthly bill. Press 4 if you’ve forgotten why you called in the first place…”

So you figure, what the hell, let’s just hit any number and get the ball rolling. But that solves nothing, because it sends you into yet another hierarchical list of questions taking you further from the source of your problem. So then you start yelling into your phone, and because voice recognition technology has come so far, the conversation starts to sound like a couple in a failing relationship (not far from the truth, in fact), where the one who wants to stay in the relationship is acting infuriatingly reasonable. Let’s begin with the reasonable one:

“Let me see if I can help you today. Try to tell me what your problem is.”

“I’ve got no internet service.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get that. Please try to tell me what it is you’re calling about.”

“My internet doesn’t work.”

“I’m sorry. I still don’t understand. Would you like to speak to someone in billing?”

“No.”

“Okay. How might I help you?”

“Talk to a human being.”

I’m sorry. I didn’t get that.”

“Internet broken you bastards are crooks I want to TERMINATE SERVICE!”

“Let me see if I understand. You’re calling about a problem with your internet service. Is that right?”

“Damn right.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get that. What seems to be your problem today.”

“I hate you!”

“Okay, let me connect you with someone who might be able to help…”

(long pause)

“Welcome to customer support. We are experiencing unusual wait times due to high call volume. The average wait time is twenty minutes. Did you know you can have most of your questions answered online at our website?”

And you think you have problems, Michael? For the record, here is what our machine says: “Hi, this is Paul. Deb and I aren’t in right now so leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.”

I say this quickly, and I enunciate clearly. It’s over like that. I think it’s nice to leave our names, because that way people know they’ve called the right number. Strangely enough, I still get messages from people asking for Tony, or Dr. Papsmere, so go figure.

My message is quick and polite, which is my way of saying, “I might be monitoring this call because I’m not driving in dense fog right now (you’ll get the reference later), but I might not be home, so break in if you feel lucky, douchebag. In any event, please do start by talking to the answering machine.”

My older sister uses the programmed robot voice option, because she’s, well she's a little kooky, and clearly has paranoid leanings. Come on, say hi! What are you, in the witness protection program? Oh never mind. I have another sister. I’ll call her instead.

One thing I don’t understand is the message, “If you’d like to leave a call-back number, press 5 now.” What the hell is that about? Does that absolve me of the responsibility of having to talk? Isn’t that what I was planning to do when I dialed your number in the first place? Should I leave my number shrouded in mystery? I might be a pal wanting to shoot the breeze, or I may be the IRS. You decide.

One of these days I’ll have to hit 5, just to see what happens. I have to say, when I get a call on my cell phone and don’t get to it in time, and I don’t recognize the caller (which is to say the phone doesn’t), I’m highly disinclined to call back if the caller doesn’t bother to leave a message. I guess it just wasn’t important enough to say why he wanted to waste my time. So I won’t waste mine either.

While I’m on the topic of talking on the phone, here is my observation of what I consider one of the strangest of human behaviors, and I’ve noticed it more than once. Say I’m a passenger in a car, and the driver’s cell phone goes off. It then seems as if no amount of clear and present danger will stop the driver from answering the phone that very second. Said driver could be driving at high speed in crowded traffic at night in dense fog (get it now?), and they’ll go digging through whatever pocket is emitting the sound of that ridiculous ringtone (ringtones are a whole other topic).

Yet once that driver is happily ensconced at home with nothing better to do, and the landline (that’s what you call your home phone now, if you have one) rings, he or she will sit there for the interminable four rings (the default setting for answering machines before they pick up), then the message (which as we know, you despise) and then find out who’s calling, at which point it’s a race to pick up before the caller hangs up. It’s just weird, man.

So there you go. I can’t say as I’ve satisfied you, but I’ve satisfied myself, and that’s the important thing. Next time we go after messaging.

The Irrelevant Quiz

Give yourself 312 points for every question answered

1. When you detect an unpleasant odor, you A) search high and low, sniffing all around until you’ve discovered the source, and then deal with it appropriately, B) spray room freshener indiscriminately, open all windows, and wave your arms around like a fawning eunuch, C) leave and hope it will be gone by the time you get back, D) I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t smell anything.

2. If the only thing you could eat ever again would be potatoes, would you: A) bake them, B) mash them, C) wonder about the Irish, D) go to Whole Foods, because they’ll definitely have something other than potatoes in stock.

3. Toilet paper: A) One-ply, B) Two-ply, C) It’s not about the plies, it’s about the softness of the tissue, D) Was that Mr. Whipple a character, or what?

4. A man’s tie… A) should just reach the belt, B) should make a bold statement about the wearer’s social status, C) should compliment the color and pattern of the shirt worn with it, D) Do I look gay?

5. Global warming is: A) the most monumental problem facing mankind, B) a leftist media hoax, C) just too confusing an issue to understand and it makes my head throb D) Awesome, because now winter is like another autumn tacked on to the first one.

6. Paper or plastic? A) Paper, B) Plastic, C) Actually, I use eco-friendly bags I bought from my grocer in a vainglorious attempt to save the environment, D) Damn it, I forgot the bags in the trunk again. Just give me whatever.

7. Three businessmen board the 6:15 Stamford train for Manhattan. They… A) Stop right there. I took the SAT’s when I was in high school and I’m not doing that again, B) Four hundred and twelve miles per hour. Am I right? C) False. There is no 6:15 Stamford train to Manhattan, D) Romney

8. If I could have guilt-free sex with one person, it would be A) Sophia Vergara, B) Sophia Vergara, C) That hot chick on “Modern Family.’ What’s her name again? D) Sophia Vergara, as long as she doesn’t make loud noises in Spanish with that nasally voice of hers.

9. One should attempt to eat food that is A) certified organic, B) locally grown, C) full of diverse nutrients, D) beer

10. If you found yourself on a life raft with seven other survivors… A) First thing we’d do is kill and eat you. That would solve our main problem.

If your score was:

0 - 320 points, congratulations, you just may have a life

640 or more, you need to step away from the “work station” and get some fresh air.