Human Footprint: I Hope Mine Is 44 Triple E

National Geographic premiered the new show, Human Footprint tonight.

Before either of my two readers roll their eyes and call me a wing nut, understand that I am a subscriber to the magazine, watcher of the channel, and in general, a liker of the good images that National Geographic provides us.

Now, with that out of the way, let me sum up Human Footprint for those who were busy at the barbecue roasting a pig and slugging back milk or beer. So what?

The show features Elizabeth Vargas counting the pints of milk we drink, the tons of pork we eat, the thousands of eggs we eat, and on and on and on. And, in Elizabeth Vargas voice, it's all too damn much! She is disgusted with each of us. Our dinner plates, our breakfast choices, our preference for chicken. Elizabeth TV. We've seen it all before and heard her shock and disgust while she delivers just about every story she's ever delivered.

So, we eat a lot, we drink a lot, and apparently, we boink a lot or there wouldn't be so many of us pissing Elizabeth off.

By the way Elizabeth and Nat Geo, we are animals that are born as a result of procreation and when we arrive we're frickin hungry and need diapers and clothing. Big surprise.

We will either make it or not. It makes no difference. If we consume more than the world can give us, we die off. Then things change, the world goes on without us and without so much as a hiccup. If we don't consume more than the world can give us, we live on, we adapt, we spread out and make even more babies. End of story.

If it is too hard for National Geographic to understand that human beings are just another species, in an old world of trillions of species, then they might want to search for another hook. I know, plenty of my two readers will point out that because we can reason, think, calculate, then we should apply all of that to our lifestyles and... what? Eat less fish? Have one egg for breakfast instead of two? Take half the showers we now take?

The arrogance of the whole idea that we use too much is that we think that we are so damned important. We are not. We will live and die, and if we do it sooner than later, what of it?

Mother Earth isn't charmed with our visit and will do just fine, even better, without us. And I'm way okay with that.

In An Absolut World of Phony Victims

The Absolut Vodka print ad has pissed a lot of people off and gave others a phony sense of smug superiority.

The print ad, which appeared on billboards and in magazines in Mexico, made it's way to a wider audience via the Internet. The strange ad has been the subject of countless blogs and has sparked fiery arguments between those who find it funny and those who see it for what it is.

To the Mexicans that whine about the theft of their land by the United States, it doesn't matter that it was Mexico that started the war, and lost the war. It also doesn't matter that after the war Mexico sold the land to the United States in a treaty deal. All that matters to them is playing the phony victim where the big bad Americans bullied them out of what was rightly theirs.

Perhaps those Mexicans are unfamiliar with their own history: Mexico was never native Mexican.

The land that they are crying over was taken from the real indigenous inhabitants by the Spaniards. From Europe. Over there, where the Spanish language originated. But, for the sake of playing victim, it is better for the Mexicans to forget that.

So, let's play along with the victims. It's 2008, and through some tortured channel of convoluted logic, many Mexicans blame their unfortunate situations on America 'stealing' their land. To many of these people this imagined theft makes it perfectly justifiable to invade America illegally.

Well, what say they had all of that land back? Even though it was not their land originally, let's say that in 2008 they can lay claim to it and all of it is suddenly under Mexican rule. Would that scenario make their situations any better?

Or would it simply be a larger geographic area from which to flee?

Book Signing Location Moved Again

Michael Todd, author of the book My Cat Is An Asshole, announced today that his "scheduled" book signing has once again been moved to a new location.

"I don't know. Somebody said that if I set up another table in the parking lot at Barnes and Noble I could get arrested again," said Todd, as he threw grocery bags full of spiral bound books into the hatch compartment of his '76 AMC Gremlin.

"It's funny. I write the single most important piece of literature since Mariel Hemingway's over-rated "Old Man and The C-Note," and suddenly I'm Persona Non Gotti."

Todd was referring to an incident earlier this year when he backed his Gremlin against the doors of the local Barnes and Noble and tried to force incoming customers to purchase his previous book, Most People Should Be Locked Up.

"It was a good publicity stunt," Todd argues. "I mean think about it, my book was about how most people really ought to be locked up, so I back my car up against the doors to, you know, lock 'em all up on the inside. Then the police come and guess who actually gets locked up? I mean what kind of irony is that?"

Of course, nobody will answer that, or any other of his many questions.

When asked about the new location for the My Cat Is An Asshole book signing, Michael Todd throws his cigarette to the ground, rubs it out with his shoe, and says, "What difference does it make? After April 18th nobody's got no books to sell anyway."

Democratic Party Unveils Unified Convention Slogan

YES, WE CAN'T.
Democrats 2008

News Flash For Chelsea Clinton

Back when Chelsea was a kid it was easy to defend her against bunghole Repubs like Limbaugh and narcissistic megalomaniacs like Bill Clinton, but now she is an adult who chose to wade into the polluted waters of American politics.

Last week, when that college kid asked if she felt her mother was all the stronger for weathering President Clinton's predatory behavior in the Oval Office (for those of you who are too young too remember, that was the scandal where Bill was having sex in the Oval Office with that young intern, Monica Lewinsky), Chelsea responded with the "None of your business" spin.

Well, guess what Chelsea, it was his business. It's everyone's business when a President of the United States uses the Oval Office like a cheap motel. The Oval Office is public real estate.

If you don't want to be confronted with real questions about real issues, then sit down and shut up. You are an adult now and you are fair game when you choose to use your last name as a platform to influence an election cycle.

Get used to it or go home.

You have entered the arena of Politics of Personal Destruction that your two power-hungry parents invented.

All you managed to do with your 'answer' is show the American public that your family is choosing, once again, to nurse the infected sore that is 'The Clintons' in full public view.

Had your mother possessed a modicum of self-respect or even a feigned concern for you, she would have left the philandering predator years ago.

Lost Gilligan Island Episode: The Professor Gives Mrs. Howell A Boob Job

It's happened again.

Just discovered in a nearly forgotten film vault somewhere in Hollywood is the never before seen Gilligan's Island episode where the Professor convinces Mrs. Howell to let him give her a boob job.

The lost episode, which is scheduled to appear on HBO on April 2nd, begins with the Professor's contrived story about the need to give each of the castaways a routine, thorough physical. He tells them about an island fever he once read about that, if it goes untreated, can cause delirium-related orgies among perfect strangers. While the Skipper isn't exactly troubled with the possibility of having both Marianne and Thurston at the same time, Mrs. Howell masks her fears by pretending she doesn't know what an orgy means.

The Professor then jumps on the bamboo bike and pedals up enough electricity to project a couple of his porn films against the bed sheets that are hanging on the clothes line. Gilligan, who, unlike Mrs. Howell, has never participated in an orgy, begins to say dopey things and make dopey faces which then gets Ginger all hot.

Anyway, everyone agrees to the physicals and they form a line outside of the Professor's hut which he has somehow managed to decorate like a doctor's office. At one point the Skipper tries to cut in line in front of Mrs. Howell and the Professor knocks him out.

When Mrs. Howell makes it into the hut, the Professor is already naked and is playing a Barry White album on a portable turntable that is being powered by a monkey turning a crank. He hands Mrs. Howell a martini and then cuts her dress off with a box cutter that he stole from a tackle box on board the Minnow.

During the examination Mrs. Howell confesses her embarrassment to which the Professor replies, "It's all perfectly natural Mrs. Howell. I'm a professional and you're a patient and I'm am going to wait until the exam is over before I oil up."

I don't want to ruin the show for you, but somewhere in the episode the Professor implants two medium-sized coconuts and Mrs. Howell becomes way over confident and a bunch of cat fighting breaks out.

Elaborately Carved Wooden Object

I have no idea what this is for. I cannot interpret the intricate hand carved symbols because I lost my secret decoder ring.

My plumber suggested that the symbols are the formula for what holds the universe together and I believe him because he always wins when we play the home version of Wheel of Fortune.

It is wooden and large and on the back it says it is from Krakow, Poland. I think that's in Europe. $19

Outdoor Uses For Your Refrigerator

I went political. I mean like in the postal sense, which is not good because anything that makes you crazy might possibly alter you permanently, like my aunt.

In an effort to change the subject, I took the refrigerator out of the kitchen while my wife was at work and laid it down in the driveway. I stood back and looked at it a while, trying to think of at least a dozen different things that it could be other than a refrigerator. I came up with a pretty impressive list that I am going to share with my two readers and then I will email it to each of the Presidential candidates.

As you can see from the picture, a refrigerator makes a really nice work bench. Just lay it on it's side and put a piece of plywood on it and you're done. Problem with that is nobody gets to see it but you and your cat, if you let your cat come in your workshop.

Another idea, and this one's really good because you can color coordinate, is to use your refrigerator as an outdoor planter. Without too much thought you can find certain colored plants that will bloom the same color as the refrigerator.

I also like using a refrigerator outdoors to attract wildlife. Just set your refrigerator up on a six foot pole (laying down with the door area up but with the doors removed). Then fill the inside (freezer area too) with black sunflower seeds (about six 50lb bags should do), and watch what happens. Drink a couple of beers while you're waiting for the birds to arrive.

One night, after finishing off a couple of bottles of Red Label, I dragged my refrigerator over to my neighbor's house and laid it down in his front yard. Then, using his water hose, I filled it (the freezer area too) with water and added fish from another neighbor's pond. Pretty impressive.

One time when I had way too many empty beer cans to fit into my recycling receptacle, I filled my refrigerator with them, hooked it to the back of my Prius, and dragged the cans to the recycling center.

Another idea (and I may patent this one) is to pull up your old mailbox and replace it with your refrigerator. Note: You MUST remember to paint your house numbers on the side or the mailman may not deliver your mail. After adding your house numbers, grab a beer and wait for the mail man. When he arrives tell him that the top (freezer area) is for regular envelopes and the larger area is for packages. This can work just as well if you have a side-by-side, but it may take your mailman a couple of days to get the hang of it.

Finally, refrigerators are good traps. Say your neighbors have impolite children that scream and carry on while they play outside. Just put your refrigerator on the lawn (remember to leave the doors on) and it will usually trap the little bastards within just a few hours. You can then take it out into the woods and release them.

Tomorrow we'll look at using a washing machine to mix cement for your paving project.

Democrats Escalate Suicide Bomber Attacks...

...Against Democratic Party

In what appears to be a concerted effort to vaporize the Democratic Party before November’s Presidential election, Democrats are strapping explosives to themselves and barreling into the ongoing fist fight known as the Democratic Primary.

The latest self-sacrifice in the Democrat’s genocidal campaign to destroy any chance of cohesion against Senator John McCain, Geraldine Ferraro wheeled herself onto the battlefield, yanked out her feeding tube, and puked explosive racial bile into Democratic party foxholes. To make certain the fuse was lit and to guarantee maximum damage, Ferraro refused to apologize, clearly demonstrating that she is incapable of distinguishing why her statements were racial and demeaning. Senator Clinton refused to “denounce” or “reject” the elderly martyr, but magnanimously accepted her resignation from the Hillary ’08 campaign.

It is expected that some party loyalist will roll Ferraro off the stage and into the sunset of her thoughts. Or maybe it’s the sunrise of her thoughts. Hard for Ferraro to tell the difference.

These intra-Democratic-party suicide attacks have been going on for sometime now. The largest, and by far the most destructive of these internal eruptions occurred back in 2006, when Hillary Clinton wandered onto the Democrat’s freshly groomed track for the 2008 Presidential race and shrieked out her announcement that she, by God, was running, “in it to win it,” and everybody better stay the F out of the way. Most experts believe that the Democratic party first began to reel from that venomous strike and that many high profile party members are now deliriously mad from the poison injected at that moment.

Since that announcement, Hillary Clinton has successfully managed to maintain 100% alienation penetration among Republicans while reaching out and alienating an additional 52% of the Democratic party. If her party could stop cannibalizing itself for ten minutes, she might get the recognition she deserves as Alienator-In-Chief.

Seems No One in the Party is Immune

While other top party members have been happy to sacrifice themselves to the unified call of complete and thorough annihilation (Howard Dean, Jennifer Granholm, Bill Clinton, Eliot Spitzer, Gloria Steinem, Ed Rendell, et al.), the destructive fever has been so fast, furious, and viral in its spread throughout the party, that even the thoughtful, even-tempered grass roots bloggers have fired up the flamethrowers and are running headlong into battle against fellow Democrats. The internet is lit up with intentional barrages of friendly fire aimed at destroying dissenting opinions within the party itself, and it appears there is no end in sight.

About the best the Democrats can hope for is that the Republicans, just like our fearless Marines, will swoop in with general election issues sometimes later this summer and rescue the Democratic party from itself.

If it's not too late already.

Eliot Spitzer: What A Dick

Just take him in for a while. Maybe I'll add my thoughts later.

Clintons Plumb New Depths of Shame, Disgrace

Clinton Couple Desperate to Swing (For Any Votes)

What do you do after preaching for weeks that your opponent in the Presidential race is unfit to be President? Why, you offer him a spot on your ticket as Vice-President!

After engaging in a series of blistering, cross-country tag-team attacks on the competence of Senator Barack Obama, the Democratic party’s front runner for the Presidential nomination, Bill and Hillary Clinton are now floating yet another schizophrenic trial balloon. This week, it’s, Hey, how ‘bout we split the ticket. Obama can have a seat at the back of the bus and we’ll take the wheel!

Well, all right Mr. Impeached President and Ms. Wannabe. Let’s see if we can sift through your new shell game.

Senator Obama has no experience. Senator Obama can’t be trusted. Senator Obama hasn’t been ‘vetted.’ Senator Obama’s entire platform is a 2002 speech. Senator Obama is incapable of making hard decisions in the middle of the night. Sounds like a great VP choice to me!

Let’s get real Mrs. Clinton. You need Barack Obama, he doesn’t need you. You two Arkansas Carnival Barkers got yourselves stuck in your poorly built House of Mirrors and can’t find your way out without the help of Senator Obama, because he brings new voters to the process. Now there’s an area where you have surely been vetted. You have clearly demonstrated a highly refined level of incompetence in this arena. Any questions on that one?

Do you two really expect the voters to play dumb for you? Do you think we haven’t watched you attack Senator Obama like two rabid dogs? And now, because you need him, voila!, what a great VP he would be!

You have both reached new depths of shame and disgrace. It’s easy to imagine the argument that you will make to Senator Obama: “I’ll tell ya, Barack, we got some pretty high-powered super delegates on our side. We’re gonna git that nomination one way or another, so you might as well join up as VP. Hey, coming in 2nd ain’t all that bad.“

News flash to the Clintons: Obama is too smart for both of you. The voters are too smart for both of you. While your stagnant base of followers close their eyes and shut their ears, the rest of us are paying close attention.

And by the way, this is one Republican who will trade out his vacation days to get out the vote for Senator Obama on April 22nd in the state of Pennsylvania. There is just no way she’s going to waltz through this state shrieking and lying and whooping and hollering and insulting decent people and then walk away with a win. Won’t happen.

Incestuous Feast of Deranged Cannibals

The Fairy Tale

This was to be the year of the Democratic Feast of Thanks, of sweet kisses, and bleary-teary cheers as the Queen of the United States of America floated with the rose petal fairies over blankets of mist from the castle in New York to the waiting throne at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

This was the year that those out-of-touch, selfish, intolerant, abusive, exclusive, and evil Repulicans would be banished from the scene and scores of angelic harpists would descend from the Heavens and pour out woven melodies of silk and gold to wrap our new Queen as she began eight years of harmonic reign over worshipping followers both here and abroad.

Rivers of Blood

Now we witness the warships launch on new rivers of blood and soldiers of the Armageddon swing hatchets and swords. At any and all costs, regardless of the will of the people, the throne will be hers. Rose petals wilt and melt into the black glaze of the road now paved with bodies of party detractors. Who are these voters that dare to deny Her Majesty her golden tiara and pearl throne? Arrows loose! Full out assault! Bring me no prisoners!

Deranged Clan of Cannibals

Watching the party of tolerance and inclusion eating their young, we now see through the thin veneer of party lies. The Mighty Thanksgiving of 2008 is revealed to be a feast of cannibals. And the Queen has made it clear: She will reign or every guest of the feast will fall in her fury. And when the party is over, half the battlefield will smoke and stink and ooze, while the enemy waits quietly across the field, no swords drawn, no soldiers wounded.

An Inconvenient Truth

And so goes the party of the Democrats. Angry, acerbic, lashing out at one another. Name calling and hate-filled attacks is the filthy flatware of the cannibal's feast. Rage and accusation is the music of the souless chamber orchestra. As the party leaders gorge and choke on their smorgasbord of eager voters, the party consumes itself from within.

And this is just March.

A Letter of Sympathy to 67% of NY Voters

You meant well.

I mean those 67% of New York voters who formally filed the adoption papers in November of 2006. Despite the warnings from the others, you were good foster families for the first six years and when the time came, you proudly became the lawful parents. Who can fault you for meaning well?

Now, oh my goodness.

The child gets a little older, a little louder, a whole lot more demanding. Screaming and shrieking and breaking breakables.

Over coffee, you glance at one another with worried looks. And this is just, what, 2008? Another five years before you're free of it?

It really was going so well. A prodigy. The unquestioned ascendant to the throne. Proud parents indeed. Until this February, when the tea party took the ugly turn and invitees were discounted. Scorned. Humiliated. When the tea party partiers suddenly didn't mean anything to the party itself.

On the one hand I sort of feel sorry for you. For over-believing. For placing your faith and having it betrayed. For wanting and being denied. For having to digest the lie the morning after.

On the other hand, maybe you had it coming. You ignored all the signs. You bought your own little lies. You waved it off as over-analytical. But that's not so genuine for a letter like this.

So, upon reflection, I offer up my sympathies to all of you who cared, who decided it was worth the long haul investment. To those of you who chose to believe that words were good enough, and that deeds would surely follow.

Hang in kids. You've only got five more years.

Sen. McCain Elected President A Little Early

Although he'll have to wait until January 2009 to move his things into the White House, Senator McCain has become the next President of the United States.

The race can be called today, February 17, 2008.

Just a few short months ago it would have been laughable to say that the Republicans can feel certain about keeping the White House. With the war going 'badly,' as many have put it, with President Bush's poll numbers at historical lows, with a cranky economy about to be pushed into full fledged foulness by the mortgage meltdown, and with many saying that the Republican party was lost and in need of a rebirth, a Democratic victory in 2008 was thought to be a sure thing.

But over the past few weeks (mostly the last few days) we have witnessed something of a freak show in the Democratic party that has pretty much placed Senator McCain in the Oval Office several months ahead of schedule.

And here's why.

Senator Barack Obama came out of nowhere, with near nothing, preaching hope and change, and rocketed up the approval charts among whites, blacks, and young voters. Meanwhile the stumbling, scrambling, tripping, fall of Senator (Inevitable) Clinton has her staff and supporters staring blankly with their mouths wide open.

So in the last few days his momentum continues to build and her demise is looking so real that she is vowing to win the nomination even if it has to be through corraling Super Delegates. If she does that, she will have lost the White House to Senator McCain. As I said in an earlier post, the black voters and young voters will turn their backs on her. Today I'm adding many white Democratic voters to that group.

Her promise to use Super Delegates to win has many in her party spitting mad. They would vote McCain, or just stay home. If she wins the nomination properly, she loses the general election because Senator McCain will simply be viewed, by many in both parties, as the better choice.

Now, if the charismatic young Senator from Illinois wins the nomination, McCain wins in November. You see, at some point between now and November, the comparisons between McCain and Obama are going to become too apparent. While the young Senator is inspirational and has charged up this election year like no one has ever seen, he cannot overcome what the older voters, in his party and the other one, will ultimately see as too little real world experience. And they will look at Senator McCain and see an honest and fair-minded centrist with decades of experience.

The choice for the voters will be too clear.

The Super Delegate Dilemma: Super Irony

Oh, the Super Delegates.

There are some questions that should never be asked, but I’m going to ask this one anyway: Can this race get any wilder? And we all know the answer.

You could blame Jimmy Carter, but it would be misplaced blame. It was actually a reaction to him, by certain members of his party, that brought us to today.

Because Jimmy Carter was a populist choice, and not a choice of the powerful traditionalist within the party, Super Delegates were cooked up. The idea being that, in the future, no one without the blessings of certain party members, would receive the nomination. Super Delegates were designed to ensure, by giving them greater powers than the people or the garden variety delegates, a Democratic candidate for President would not beat the system simply by winning the popular vote.

As of today, word within the Clinton campaign is an aggressive effort to capture Super Delegates, regardless of who the voters actually vote for. Sound a little dirty, a little heavy-handed, a little elitist and megalomaniacal? (oops, maybe that’s another one of the questions we shouldn't ask)

Regardless of your answer, consider the irony of the following scenario:

Senator Obama continues to gain momentum through endorsements. Senator Obama continues winning the popular vote, including the newly active and growing vote of younger people, and the appropriately pleased black vote. Senator Clinton aggressively engages her plan to collect Super Delegates. Both Senator Clinton and Senator Obama arrive at the convention in August, neither one with enough delegates to receive the nomination, but him with more of the popular vote. Senator Clinton manages to wrangle enough Super Delegates to win the nomination.

In the all out effort to win the nomination and march to a certain victory in November, Senator Clinton guarantees her own defeat. Why? Because a huge segment of voters that gave Senator Obama the majority of the popular vote will find something else to be doing on election day. And that includes more than just the black voters and the young voters.

Oh, the Super Irony.

Royal Throne of Geb - Third Divine King

As birthday presents go, the Royal Throne of Geb (Third Divine King of Earth), is not so bad, especially when you consider that I got two live cobras and a goat bone sepulcher as accent pieces. But what I had asked for was actually the Throne of Sobek, the Egyptian Crocodile god feared for his ferocity and admired for both his cunning and his sideburns.

When I asked my wife if she thought the Pantheon of gods would exchange it for Sobek's throne, she said they told her yes, just take chair and the receipt to the Royal Customer Service Department located on the other side of the River Of The Dead.

Still, this is a fine throne and would be a nice addition to your Egyptian antiquities collection. It is hand carved and decorated with golden paint from the personal art supply cabinet of Ramses II. The black fabric is woven in a subtle relief depicting the "Egyptian Day of Chaos", the ancient equivalent of our "Snow Day At The Grocery Store.”

While the age of the chair is unknown, the papyrus label is printed in hieroglyphics and loosely translates to "Do Not Remove This Label Under Penalty Of The Gods."

Throne: $75

Air Obama: First Class Travel, Cocktails $5

Note to my two readers: My blog is not politcal. I don't endorse any candidate nor do I reveal how I vote. I do not try to encourage anyone to vote for anyone in particular. I just write this blog for fun, and many times, politics is just that. Now, having said that...

After last night's sweep of the Potomac primaries, there is little doubt that Senator Barack Obama has a newer, richer source of fuel for his impressive momentum. Aside from the vote count, which is pounding like a nasty hangover at the door of the Clinton campaign, there were other numbers that came with the Obama victory that are worth sifting through.

60 is the first number. That's the percent of women that cast their votes for Senator Obama in both Virinia and Maryland, according to exit polls in both states. I'm not so good at math, but even I can calculate that 60% is a majority, and not a squeaker majority either. And this 60 is a number that has grown since the last group of primaries that the one term Senator from Illinois won. In the coming primaries, expect to see that number grow again because momentum fuels momentum.

>66 is the next number (I think I still remember that the 'greater than' sign points that way). That number, according to the same exit polls, is the percentage of men that put their support behind Senator Obama. Big, impressive, and in the category of Super Majority.

And finally, the number 6. That's the percentage that Obama beat Clinton by among Latino voters. Not long ago, Latino voters heavily favored Senator Clinton. Things are changing every day.

So, Air Obama has reached a new altitude, with a speed that no one expected. And it is neither a cruising speed nor a cruising altitude, because momentum pitches and propels.

However, while keeping an eye on the radar screen as the super-sonic Senator criss-crosses the country picking up cheering passengers on his way to the White House, keep in mind that his message of 'change' will come with a tab. His promises and programs must be bought by a majority of the house and senate, and must be funded by the people. That is a part of the mechanics of government that is immune to change.

For now, sit back and enjoy this historical ride. Just remember, when the flight attendant delivers your martini, it's a good idea to have the right change.

BlackBerry Breakdown Brings The Blues

Around 3pm yesterday afternoon, perhaps AT&T or RIM suffered an undisclosed melt-down in their nationwide wireless system leaving BlackBerry owners across the U.S. without service.

“I was in the middle of a pointless conversation with one of my faceless, empty-headed friends when my BlackBerry just died,” said Wendy Fortzgraff, a regular commuter on the R5 train in Philadelphia. “I mean, every day I spend my entire commute into and out of the city babbling senselessly into my BlackBerry and annoying everyone within earshot, and now look," she said, holding up her pink BlackBerry for all to see. "This just isn’t fair and I’m going to make sure AT&T credits me some extra minutes on my plan for the inconvenience. And they better get this problem fixed before “Bruno v. Carrie Ann” comes on tonight because I’ve got five votes in this thing for Carrie Ann,” she added, pointing to her lifeless BlackBerry and fighting back tears.

For their part, AT&T and RIM went to work on the problem immediately.

Spokesperson Brad Leverett said, “We called in our Priority Fix guys, the ones with the really nice uniforms and those blue hats that say ‘Priority’ on the front. We put them to work on the biggest computer in the building because it‘s, well, it’s the biggest and probably has the most wires in it. If we have to go all night we will, because Priority Fix means 24/7 service with only a couple of coffee breaks here and there.”

In other parts of the country hundreds of thousands of wireless customers were also left incommunicado.

Steven Phelps-Hadley of Cincinnati, Ohio was on his BlackBerry with his wife Colby when they were disconnected. “It was awful," he said. "I was doing my thirty minutes on the elliptical in the basement and talking to Colby who was upstairs watching Oprah. Next thing I knew there was just nothing. At that moment, I really wasn’t sure what to do. I could hear Colby crying upstairs. I felt helpless. I just laid down on the floor.”

In large and small cities alike, business screeched to a halt as managers couldn’t reach their sales guys and clients were set adrift without a way to reach their vendors and complain like Prima Donnas.

“I was on the phone with my boss listening to his one of his usual BS lectures and just like that the bastard was gone,” said Aaron Neetz of Seattle, Washington. “It was pretty great.”

Apparently He's Black Enough But...

Democratic voters are turning out in record numbers across the country to answer the question posed by some in their party earlier in this election cycle: Is Barack Obama black enough?

With almost 9,000,000 votes posted in the win column for the charismatic Senator from Illinois, it is safe to project at this point in the race that he is, in fact, black enough. Reached by telephone this morning at his campaign headquarters the Senator said, "I noticed this morning while I was shaving that I am still black and still white. And also that sometimes when you shave you can make some really neat shaving cream sculptures with the razor."

Since his Iowa upset over Senator Hillary Clinton, (a candidate most people are pretty certain is not black enough), a wave of enthusiasm for the one term Illinois Senator has swept states in the Democratic primaries from coast to coast.

But in a weekend poll conducted by the research firm “Two Guys and A Speakerphone,” the numbers indicate that while he is clearly considered black enough, many now disagree on whether he is Irish enough, Jewish enough, Polish enough, Mexican enough, or Italian enough.

In Seattle, first-time voter Norman Fischbaum said, “Black enough? Who cares? I think being President is probably something like one of those 40 hour-a-week jobs. I’m just wondering if he’s caffeinated enough.”

Across the country in the nearly all white state of Maine, Sunday’s primary supplied even more momentum to the Obama campaign as voters handed him yet another victory over Senator Clinton. When ask if he felt Obama would ultimately take the nomination, Bar Harbor lobsterman Marty Norton replied “Why not, he seems like a nice man."

1960's Mid Century Semi-Circular Sofa

Designed to capture the understated elegance of the

Era of Swank.

That would be Swanky as in Dean Martin, not Sinatra or even Ernest Borgnine. Dean was the cool one and he had talent. This guy could sip a scotch, smoke a cigarette, croon Italian love songs, and seduce the women in the audience all at once. By the way, I had an aunt that looked like Ernest Borgnine.

Anyway, it's a fine sofa. It's large, I'd say about ten feet across, it's aqua-like, and it's semi-circular. Although it is designed in the 1960's Mid Century style, it was built new just about 18 months ago.

I am selling it because my wife told me that I was not as cool as Dean and to stop singing love songs with made up Italian words. Actually she said, "You're butchering their language and take off that turtle neck, dinner's almost ready."

So, I've ordered a two-tone Day-Glo plaid sofa and a steel guitar. I hope she likes Hank Williams.

Smirking Devils: Hand Carved by Fidel Castro

I've really got to get these out of my house. The other day while taking pictures for a CL post, I accidentally separated the pair and the leather chair in my den burst into flames. It’s not that I'm superstitious or troubled by the occult (as long as the devil makes his occasional earthly appearances at somebody else's apartment) it's just that lately things have gotten a little strange around here. Since I brought these home, my cat has gone from sleeping all day in the big wooden bowl on the dining table to walking backwards through the house and doing Sam Kinnison bits.

I don't want to scare you either. I mean, I came by them innocently enough. I stopped over at my parents house the other day to read them an article about the benefits of bequeathing an inheritance while still alive and fit enough to do the actual bequeathing, when my father interrupted and said, "Here, take these Smirking Devil book ends. I found them in one of your mother's shoeboxes with a bunch of love letters from Fidel Castro."

Anyway, each Smirking Devil is carved from a single piece of Sumatran Teak wood. They stand between 8 and 12 inches tall, depending on the phase of the moon when you measure them. Without Dr. Jones' (Sr.) secret decoder book, I really can't decipher all of the symbolism except to say that the face is a cross between Mick Jagger and Rosie O'Donnell, and both stomachs resemble an insect's underbelly, though not the same insect. They do have mysterious smirks and are holding the backs of their heads as if to say that too much book learning leads to baldness, which was the primary plank of Castro's early Marxist philosophy.

To try and learn more about these strange book ends, I did take the pair to University of Pennsylvania professor L. Thomas Boydon, a specialist in the study of obscure occult antiquities, but his secretary asked me to leave after I set them on his desk and he turned into a miniature horse.

These would make a great gift for the man in your life, especially if you recently found out that he was cheating on you. Or just mail them anonymously to your boss or favorite member of the clergy.

Both are in excellent condition with the exception of a chip out of the top part of one of the devil’s horns. That little piece could be fabricated locally or, if Castro is still reading his mail, you could order a replacement horn. $75

Noah's Chair. Yes, that Noah.

My grandfather used to say, “A blind squirrel gets an acorn once in a while.” And then he would hit me with the brass menorah he carried in the holster sewn onto his pajamas. I never really knew what he meant, but I did finally learn that whenever the old man started to impart the wisdom of the ages, it was a good idea to listen from under the sofa.

The other day, after a failed attempt to obtain gainful employment by moving my personal things into the office of a vacationing CEO, I posted bail and decided to improve my cash flow by taking my Lost In Space lunchbox collection out to the Adamstown Flea Market in Lancaster County. After three hours without a sale, I strolled over to a booth where an older bearded man was brewing a pot of coffee over an open fire and casually asked him if he thought things were a little slow.

“Flea Market’s closed ‘til April,” he said. “Me and Siesta here are year-round security,” he added, pointing to a teacup sized Yorkie who was passed out inside a teacup at the old man‘s feet. “But if you want to do a little horse trading, I’ll take every one of them Dr. Smith boxes out of that collection you got over there. Don’t have any cash, but I’ll give you this old chair that I dug out of the side of a mountain up in Shamokin.”

Hoping to prevent a total loss for the day, I agreed to the trade and said good-bye, promising to return in April to collect the full refund on my rental booth.

Upon returning to Philadelphia, I carefully positioned my new chair in front of the fire barrel and began the family tradition of rifling through the cushions for loose change, but instead put my hand through the fabric and pulled a large, acorn-shaped wooden vessel from inside the springs. Suddenly I could hear my grandfather’s voice and I dove for cover in the rusty scrap pile that I was hoarding until the precious metals market rebounded.

Burrowed safely inside my razor sharp thicket, I proceeded to open the acorn, but had trouble getting my lower jaw around the top. Finally resorting to simply smashing it, I was astonished to find a yellowed parchment scroll and three pieces of petrified Pez candy. I unrolled the parchment and began reading an ancient Hebrew text that had been translated into modern English, although mysteriously, it still read from right to left. The following is the exact transcription of the text minus the annoying emoticons inserted by the irreverent scribes of the day:

Dear Lord:
I am in receipt of your instructions to sell my earthly belongings and build a huge boat out here in the middle of the desert. While none of this makes any sense to me, I of course will comply because I know that if I don’t You could arrange for any number of troubles to fall upon my tent, including another three month visit by my in-laws. I will get to work on the boat as soon as the playoffs are over.
Your Servant,
Noah
P.S. Thanks for including the specs, but I didn’t see anything in the schematics that looked like central air conditioning. Just curious.

Noah:
I’ve put up with human shenanigans long enough. Stop procrastinating and get to work on the boat or I’ll find someone else to do it and you’ll end up as a fossilized stain on the side of a lonely mountain.
God

Dear Lord:
Since You put it that way, I am ordering two dozen power saws and a caravan of donuts and coffee for the carpenters. I’ll attach the receipt to the dove’s other leg.
Your Servant,
Noah
P.S. My guess is that we’ll be ready to launch the boat on Thursday. Please send an available socialite with a nice magnum of champagne.

Noah:
I’ve got to give it to you, from up here the holy vessel is looking pretty good. Did you remember to put the lion stalls and the lamb stalls at opposite ends of the boat?
God

Dear Lord:
Since Your last letter I’ve had Jacob working around the clock on a retro fit of the two stalls that You mentioned. We’re still shooting for Thursday, but if we run over by a couple of days would You refrain from boiling the sand beneath our feet?
Your Servant,
Noah
P.S. I know that You have Your hands full planning the total destruction of the earth, but when You have a minute will You mention to Your messenger dove to stop trying to collect a delivery fee?

Noah:
Thursday, Friday, Saturday, any of those days are fine for the completion of the boat. Just make sure that you’re finished and loaded before the big day which is… actually it’s this coming Sunday. Boy time flies. By the way, I’ve noticed that you have commissioned a nice looking over-stuffed chair to be made for yourself. What gives?
God

Dear Lord:
I add one luxury to the boat and You become suspicious. Am I not otherwise doing Thy will? Can I not have just one comfortable chair on board for those long rainy days at sea?
Your Servant,
Noah

Noah:
Okay, I’ll give in on the comfortable chair, but if I see one more cask of whisky get loaded onto that boat, I’m coming down there.
God

Dear Lord:
Oops, you got me. But think about it for a minute. I’ve been chosen to be Captain of a boat that has no real port of call and, to say the least, a rather bizarre manifest. You try drifting aimlessly at sea for months in a floating zoo and see if You don’t run screaming to the nearest Happy Hour. And by the way, that’s not just run-of-the-mill heathen swill in those casks. It happens to be only the finest aged brandy from Charente.
Your Servant,
Noah

Noah:
Charente? Isn’t the Cognac region in Charente? Listen Noah, I’ve got an idea: The next time My messenger dove arrives at your doorstep, why don’t you attach one of those miniature casks to his good leg and tell him if he flies non-stop back to My place there’s a twenty in it for him.
God

And so, my grandfather was right. I got the acorn that held the proof that this really is the Captain’s Chair from Noah’s Ark. It’s in surprisingly good condition (considering that it’s literally from the old world), although I will admit that I enhanced the gopher wood finish with Formby’s Restor-A-Finish, which is available at your local hardware store for $8.99 and is a thoughtful gift for the wood worker in your family.

Price for Noah's Chair: $75

The Impeccable Resume of Michael Todd

Objective: To obtain a really good position at a really good company; one that has nice leather chairs and really good wooden desks.

Mobile Adult DVD Rentals - CEO 12/07- 01/08
Duties included driving a converted milk truck through high roller neighborhoods and renting adult films. Implemented innovative marketing system to reach homeowners by hooking two air raid speakers to the roof of my truck and playing the movie dialogue tracks at 110 decibels. Increased revenue upwards of 4% by adding popcorn and liquorices. Sold it to a veteran who painted it camouflage and only rents Vietnam War movies.

Sure Bet Inc. - CEO 09/07 - 11/07
Regularly borrowed money from friends and family members then took the train to Atlantic City to play roulette. Duties included dressing in a white dinner jacket and talking like Humphrey Bogart. Developed an innovative variation on the ‘let it ride’ system that would fast-track the action and leave me staring blankly at the table usually within minutes of arriving. Finally dissolved the business after my cousin Larry told me that in most cases gaming pays the casino more than player.

Inventor - CEO 04/06 - 07/07
Invented quite a few products, most notably the Trouser Stretcher and a device that makes you invisible while driving through New Jersey. Government agents posing as venture partner guys took the New Jersey thing from me but they did stop to stretch their trousers on the way out. Tried to patent my products but discovered that the U.S. Patent Office and my personal patent attorney actually wanted to be paid for the patent work, so I ended up trading the products for two cases of glow-in-the-dark rock concert necklaces.

August 2004 - March -2006
I really don’t remember.


Caribbean Beach Front “CHEAP!” - CEO 02/03 - 07/04
Amassed a small fortune by advertising Caribbean beach front homes for sale in the $50,000 range. I didn’t own the homes per se, and I think many of my buyers became a little irritated when the actual owners showed up for vacation. After parole, I invested my fortune in a Flying Car venture that two I guys I met at the Delaware Downs said they were working on in their basement.

Hat Blocker - CEO 01/01 - 10/02
After seeing quite a few of those old movies where all the guys were wearing hats, I was inspired to start a hat blocking operation. Finding a broccoli steamer at a garage sale, I converted it to the more practical use of blocking hats and went door-to-door prospecting for business, pulling the steamer (and a 40 gallon barrel of water) in a wagon behind me. After several months without a sale I consulted a fortune teller for a prediction on the future of the hat blocking market, but instead she hit me with a ruler and called me a “schmoitz.” I then retro fitted my steam system and changed my business model to removing pet stains from sofas.

December 2000 and Back To 1987
Call me because it’ll be a whole lot easier.

Education
Reading mostly. I like anything about UFO’s and I just finished “101 Uses For A Lasso.”
I can do some math without a calculator and have the uncanny ability to predict when somebody is about to behave like Lucille Ball. Also, pretty good on the Internets.


Hobbies

Calling strangers and pretending to be Louis Armstrong
Hunting Bigfoot
Rubbing up against people on the bus