Posts
"I may not know what art is, but I know what I like."
If you're going to just stand there staring, could you at least pass the hamentashen? .
Hey, Look! She's Naked!
Chag Purim Sameach to both of my readers!
Friday, February 26, 2010
Real Life is Just Better
As Honk if You Like Honking couldn't possibly make stuff up that's better than real life, every once in a while, we just have to say: "That's Life! That's what all the people say." Or, as Andy Warhol put it:
"I may not know what art is, but I know what I like."
If you're going to just stand there staring, could you at least pass the hamentashen? .
Hey, Look! She's Naked!
Chag Purim Sameach to both of my readers!
"I may not know what art is, but I know what I like."
If you're going to just stand there staring, could you at least pass the hamentashen? .
Hey, Look! She's Naked!
Chag Purim Sameach to both of my readers!
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Averting Mid-Air Disaster
Air Traffic Control: Aaaaaaaarvark Airlines 358 [inaudible] please confirm distress call on this frequency.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Roger that, Control. That was us.
Air Traffic Control: What's the problem, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358? Over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: We're running dangerously low on snacks in Economy, over.
Air Traffic Control: Uh, Roger that. Roger that. How long can you hold out, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: We have a half a Toblerone. If we slice it super-thin --10, 20 minutes tops. But we have 4 comedians on board. Jokes have started to form, on the starboard side. We're taking on a lot of lame-i-tude. Request a mid-air re-stocking of the food cart.
Air Traffic Control: That's a negative, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358. We're going to have to divert you to...AAA.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Come back, Control. Did you say AAA?
Air Traffic Control: Affirmative. Affirmative. It's first in the list of airport codes, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: We Copy. Do they have [inaudible] Toblereone? Over.
Air Traffic Control: We don't have information on that. Will request an emergency Mr. Happy Snack Time vehicle to meet you on runway 2 and some big hooks to take the comics into custody. Please Confirm your position, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Waterboarding is fine for some people, but not for others. The taxpayers shouldn't have to finance sex change operations for convicted felons. Treating corporations like people is just silly, and a blow to campaign finance reform. Toblerone should be a right for all, and not just a privilege for the few, over.
Air Traffic Control: What? No! No! No! Not your political position! Confirm your location, over
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Marco.
Air Traffic Control: Polo.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Marco.
Air Traffic Control: Polo.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: MARCO!
Air Traffic Control: POLO! OK, we see you. Over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Polo. I mean, Marco. I mean over, over.
Air Traffic Control: Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358, what are you talking about, now?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Just talking smack, over.
Air Traffic Control: LOL, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: RAOTFALMAO, over.
Air Traffic Control: RB@Ya, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Come back, Control. Did you say Over or Under? Over.
Air Traffic Control: Let's start over, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Inaudible.
Air Traffic Control: Why did you say, "inaudible," over?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Looks good on a transcript, over.
Air Traffic Control: . . .Roger that.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Control, hold on! We just saw a UFO! We just saw a UFO! We just saw a UFO! We just saw a UFO!
Air Traffic Control: Heard you the first time, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358. Where's the [inaudible] UFO from?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: We don't [inaudible] know. It's a UFO. Hold on. Its bottom latch is opening up. It's lowering something down to us! It's lowering something down to us! It's lowering something down to us! It's lowering something down to us!
Air Traffic Control: Why do you say everything four times, already, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358? OK. [inaudible] [inaudible][inaudible] [inaudible]. What's the UFO lowering down, over?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Looks like a really big Mars Bar, over.
Air Traffic Control: Roger that, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358. Descend to 3250 feet and Proceed on a vector of P.M.M. to the MB ASAP, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: We copy. Can we put this post out of its misery, now, Control?
Air Traffic Control: Affirmative. It's over, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Roger that, Control. That was us.
Air Traffic Control: What's the problem, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358? Over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: We're running dangerously low on snacks in Economy, over.
Air Traffic Control: Uh, Roger that. Roger that. How long can you hold out, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: We have a half a Toblerone. If we slice it super-thin --10, 20 minutes tops. But we have 4 comedians on board. Jokes have started to form, on the starboard side. We're taking on a lot of lame-i-tude. Request a mid-air re-stocking of the food cart.
Air Traffic Control: That's a negative, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358. We're going to have to divert you to...AAA.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Come back, Control. Did you say AAA?
Air Traffic Control: Affirmative. Affirmative. It's first in the list of airport codes, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: We Copy. Do they have [inaudible] Toblereone? Over.
Air Traffic Control: We don't have information on that. Will request an emergency Mr. Happy Snack Time vehicle to meet you on runway 2 and some big hooks to take the comics into custody. Please Confirm your position, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Waterboarding is fine for some people, but not for others. The taxpayers shouldn't have to finance sex change operations for convicted felons. Treating corporations like people is just silly, and a blow to campaign finance reform. Toblerone should be a right for all, and not just a privilege for the few, over.
Air Traffic Control: What? No! No! No! Not your political position! Confirm your location, over
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Marco.
Air Traffic Control: Polo.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Marco.
Air Traffic Control: Polo.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: MARCO!
Air Traffic Control: POLO! OK, we see you. Over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Polo. I mean, Marco. I mean over, over.
Air Traffic Control: Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358, what are you talking about, now?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Just talking smack, over.
Air Traffic Control: LOL, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: RAOTFALMAO, over.
Air Traffic Control: RB@Ya, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Come back, Control. Did you say Over or Under? Over.
Air Traffic Control: Let's start over, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Inaudible.
Air Traffic Control: Why did you say, "inaudible," over?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Looks good on a transcript, over.
Air Traffic Control: . . .Roger that.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Control, hold on! We just saw a UFO! We just saw a UFO! We just saw a UFO! We just saw a UFO!
Air Traffic Control: Heard you the first time, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358. Where's the [inaudible] UFO from?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: We don't [inaudible] know. It's a UFO. Hold on. Its bottom latch is opening up. It's lowering something down to us! It's lowering something down to us! It's lowering something down to us! It's lowering something down to us!
Air Traffic Control: Why do you say everything four times, already, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358? OK. [inaudible] [inaudible][inaudible] [inaudible]. What's the UFO lowering down, over?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: Looks like a really big Mars Bar, over.
Air Traffic Control: Roger that, Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358. Descend to 3250 feet and Proceed on a vector of P.M.M. to the MB ASAP, over.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaak 358: We copy. Can we put this post out of its misery, now, Control?
Air Traffic Control: Affirmative. It's over, over.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Garbage in, Garbage out...Garbage Back In
Dear Madam or Sir or Whatever:
Your ninth violation this month of this City's household trash/recycling ordinances warrants this citation. You have ignored our earlier Memo -- clear, concise, written in simple language, and using mostly English words of one syllable. Therefore, PLEASE BE ON NOTICE: YOU ARE HEREBY PLACED ON PROBATION pending your future performance. Your infractions are detailed below:
Violation of Neighborhood Standards for Displayed Labels --Bottles
The Neighborhood's Standards for publicly displayed labels in all recycling bins are found at Appendix A of the Department's Summary of Residential Trash Guidelines (the smaller, phone book-sized one). Only labels of a certain caliber may be face up in the bin while curbside.
You have repeatedly flouted this Rule by displaying the following brands on bottles placed ostentatiously into the bin: "Mandelbaum's Family-Size Seltzer," "Pappy Yokum's Home-Style Moonshine De-LUX," "Williamsburg Slivovitz," and "Randy's Discount Herring in Wine-like Sauce."
Following your last citation for these violations, the Department recorded several instances where you had attempted to glue counterfeit champagne labels (you misspelled it, by the way, there is no "y" in "champagne") onto your recycling glass -- only to have them peel off in the snow, revealing your pedestrian proclivities. The Department is saddened by this pathetic behavior, and we urge you to seek professional help.
We recognize that certain of our citizens are savoir faire-ally challenged, yet we are also constrained to remind you that your coarse and vulgar tastes reflect poorly on the village as a whole, driving down property values and fomenting an atmosphere in which loutish behavior flourishes and spreads like mold. Certain handicaps are provided for persons in your category, and you are encouraged to review the diagram of easy-to-follow instructions for turning disfavored brands face down on trash day. (See Appendix B).
By way of example only, the Department notes that in the same 30-day period when you were foisting discount herring jars and jumbo seltzer bottles on society-at-large, your immediate neighbors to your left and to your right submitted the following: Dom Pérignon '98, imported Pellegrino (glass only), Martini & Rossi, Appellation Chablis Premier Cru Controlée Chateau Très Sophistiqué ('95), Remy Martin’s venerable Louis XIII “Black Pearl” cognanc, and 8 year-old Laphroaig, single malt.
While your past performance demonstrates beyond cavil that you could not be expected to attain such standards in our lifetime, it is, nonetheless, a supposed truism that, given enough typewriters and monkeys and a sufficient span of time (say, an eternity), a great novel could one day emerge. What we're saying (in a style perhaps unfamiliar to subscribers of Sloth Smackdown Monthly) is this: So long as you insist upon acquiring your bitters at the Marché Rapide de Dogpatch, we would at least encourage you to be discreet when disposal time rolls around.
Violation of Neighborhood Standards for Displayed Reading Materials
As you are, doubtless, aware, numerous Supreme Court rulings from the Burger Court (1969-1986), guarantee your right to read whatever trash you like in the privacy of your own home. As long as it stays there, it is none of our business. The moment you commingle it outside with the rest of your trash, however, it falls within our jurisdiction. See United States v. Oswald, 783 F.2d 663, 666 (6th Cir.1986); California v. Greenwood, 486 U.S. 35 (1988) (no reasonable expectation of privacy in garbage deposited on the curtilage). The materials you choose to discard on a regular basis causes us to pray vigorously for the welfare of your children, but we are not, after all, the Department of Social Services.
A cursory glance at even a tiny sample of the printed matter you flaunt so shamelessly on pick-up day leads us to conclude that your view of the world is warped by that class of periodicals most commonly associated with schlock supermarket checkout counters and racetracks. You may assume that others in the vicinity share your seemingly religious devotion to the breathless comings and goings of Brittney, Angelina, Brad et al., the lurid exploits of underworld dons and donnettes of New Jersey and Moscow, and the accomplishments of dogs who have been trained to do simple math, open the refrigerator, and flush the toilet. But you assume wrong.
We fear that our earlier admonitions to you in this regard have gone unheeded due principally to your innate inability to recognize them as having been framed in the imperative. So let us put it to you plain: The Department will no longer tolerate the crap you spread out like a billboard every Monday night betraying what passes in your world for "values" and making transparent the venue for your sorry upbringing (id est, a barn).
In other words: Stop! Just stop putting this drek outside on the curb! If you ignore this directive, our engineers are under strict orders to retaliate in kind, that is to say, to shovel it all back in the tool shed from whence it came and where you maintain the rest of your bizarro collection.
For the record, we are well aware of your lame effort to stave off the instant citation this morning by stocking your paper bin with back issues of the Utne Reader, The New Yorker, and Commentary. Did you think that our highly-trained professionals would not deduce in a flash that that you could not possibly have reversed a lifetime of self-imposed illiteracy overnight and acquired an insatiable appetite for culture and foreign policy? Did you really suppose that we would not spot the labels on these journals sporting the name and address of the person who lives next door?
What kind of a miscreant stoops so low as to steal his neighbor's garbage in a futile attempt to impress the Department of Sanitation? We've said it before, but in your case it cannot be gainsaid: We were, and remain, singularly unimpressed.
Appendix C sets forth the standards for acceptable disposal of printed matter in this community. Please find someone who knows how to read (all of the words on the page), and have them explain it to you.
Violation of Neighborhood Standards for Disposal of Yard Waste
We don't know where the sludge comes from that you dump outside each week, presumably when you have tired from your "science experiments." Frankly, we don't want to know. But we do know this: It is not yard waste -- not even close. Not only will we not pick it up, should it ever reappear in the specially-marked barrel (provided to you free-of-charge by the taxpayers, among whom, we presume you do not count yourself), we will arrest you, pursuant to our temporary status as deputy sheriffs, conveyed upon us by a special act of the Legislature promulgated in response to you and you alone.
Miscellaneous Violation
Finally, please restrain your cat. Virtually all of the uses he has been observed to have made of the City's trash barrels and recycling bins -- not only the ones in front of your residence, but also, more particularly, your neighbor's -- are prohibited. Should you have any doubt about this, your attention is directed to Appendix D.
You shall remain on probation until the Department is satisfied that you have addressed each of the issues set forth herein.
HEREOF FAIL NOT, FOR YOU SHALL ANSWER YOUR FAILURE TO ABIDE BY THIS ORDER UNDER THE PAINS AND PENALTIES OF LAW.
The Commisioner of Sanitation
Your ninth violation this month of this City's household trash/recycling ordinances warrants this citation. You have ignored our earlier Memo -- clear, concise, written in simple language, and using mostly English words of one syllable. Therefore, PLEASE BE ON NOTICE: YOU ARE HEREBY PLACED ON PROBATION pending your future performance. Your infractions are detailed below:
Violation of Neighborhood Standards for Displayed Labels --Bottles
The Neighborhood's Standards for publicly displayed labels in all recycling bins are found at Appendix A of the Department's Summary of Residential Trash Guidelines (the smaller, phone book-sized one). Only labels of a certain caliber may be face up in the bin while curbside.
You have repeatedly flouted this Rule by displaying the following brands on bottles placed ostentatiously into the bin: "Mandelbaum's Family-Size Seltzer," "Pappy Yokum's Home-Style Moonshine De-LUX," "Williamsburg Slivovitz," and "Randy's Discount Herring in Wine-like Sauce."
Following your last citation for these violations, the Department recorded several instances where you had attempted to glue counterfeit champagne labels (you misspelled it, by the way, there is no "y" in "champagne") onto your recycling glass -- only to have them peel off in the snow, revealing your pedestrian proclivities. The Department is saddened by this pathetic behavior, and we urge you to seek professional help.
We recognize that certain of our citizens are savoir faire-ally challenged, yet we are also constrained to remind you that your coarse and vulgar tastes reflect poorly on the village as a whole, driving down property values and fomenting an atmosphere in which loutish behavior flourishes and spreads like mold. Certain handicaps are provided for persons in your category, and you are encouraged to review the diagram of easy-to-follow instructions for turning disfavored brands face down on trash day. (See Appendix B).
By way of example only, the Department notes that in the same 30-day period when you were foisting discount herring jars and jumbo seltzer bottles on society-at-large, your immediate neighbors to your left and to your right submitted the following: Dom Pérignon '98, imported Pellegrino (glass only), Martini & Rossi, Appellation Chablis Premier Cru Controlée Chateau Très Sophistiqué ('95), Remy Martin’s venerable Louis XIII “Black Pearl” cognanc, and 8 year-old Laphroaig, single malt.
While your past performance demonstrates beyond cavil that you could not be expected to attain such standards in our lifetime, it is, nonetheless, a supposed truism that, given enough typewriters and monkeys and a sufficient span of time (say, an eternity), a great novel could one day emerge. What we're saying (in a style perhaps unfamiliar to subscribers of Sloth Smackdown Monthly) is this: So long as you insist upon acquiring your bitters at the Marché Rapide de Dogpatch, we would at least encourage you to be discreet when disposal time rolls around.
Violation of Neighborhood Standards for Displayed Reading Materials
As you are, doubtless, aware, numerous Supreme Court rulings from the Burger Court (1969-1986), guarantee your right to read whatever trash you like in the privacy of your own home. As long as it stays there, it is none of our business. The moment you commingle it outside with the rest of your trash, however, it falls within our jurisdiction. See United States v. Oswald, 783 F.2d 663, 666 (6th Cir.1986); California v. Greenwood, 486 U.S. 35 (1988) (no reasonable expectation of privacy in garbage deposited on the curtilage). The materials you choose to discard on a regular basis causes us to pray vigorously for the welfare of your children, but we are not, after all, the Department of Social Services.
A cursory glance at even a tiny sample of the printed matter you flaunt so shamelessly on pick-up day leads us to conclude that your view of the world is warped by that class of periodicals most commonly associated with schlock supermarket checkout counters and racetracks. You may assume that others in the vicinity share your seemingly religious devotion to the breathless comings and goings of Brittney, Angelina, Brad et al., the lurid exploits of underworld dons and donnettes of New Jersey and Moscow, and the accomplishments of dogs who have been trained to do simple math, open the refrigerator, and flush the toilet. But you assume wrong.
We fear that our earlier admonitions to you in this regard have gone unheeded due principally to your innate inability to recognize them as having been framed in the imperative. So let us put it to you plain: The Department will no longer tolerate the crap you spread out like a billboard every Monday night betraying what passes in your world for "values" and making transparent the venue for your sorry upbringing (id est, a barn).
In other words: Stop! Just stop putting this drek outside on the curb! If you ignore this directive, our engineers are under strict orders to retaliate in kind, that is to say, to shovel it all back in the tool shed from whence it came and where you maintain the rest of your bizarro collection.
For the record, we are well aware of your lame effort to stave off the instant citation this morning by stocking your paper bin with back issues of the Utne Reader, The New Yorker, and Commentary. Did you think that our highly-trained professionals would not deduce in a flash that that you could not possibly have reversed a lifetime of self-imposed illiteracy overnight and acquired an insatiable appetite for culture and foreign policy? Did you really suppose that we would not spot the labels on these journals sporting the name and address of the person who lives next door?
What kind of a miscreant stoops so low as to steal his neighbor's garbage in a futile attempt to impress the Department of Sanitation? We've said it before, but in your case it cannot be gainsaid: We were, and remain, singularly unimpressed.
Appendix C sets forth the standards for acceptable disposal of printed matter in this community. Please find someone who knows how to read (all of the words on the page), and have them explain it to you.
Violation of Neighborhood Standards for Disposal of Yard Waste
We don't know where the sludge comes from that you dump outside each week, presumably when you have tired from your "science experiments." Frankly, we don't want to know. But we do know this: It is not yard waste -- not even close. Not only will we not pick it up, should it ever reappear in the specially-marked barrel (provided to you free-of-charge by the taxpayers, among whom, we presume you do not count yourself), we will arrest you, pursuant to our temporary status as deputy sheriffs, conveyed upon us by a special act of the Legislature promulgated in response to you and you alone.
Miscellaneous Violation
Finally, please restrain your cat. Virtually all of the uses he has been observed to have made of the City's trash barrels and recycling bins -- not only the ones in front of your residence, but also, more particularly, your neighbor's -- are prohibited. Should you have any doubt about this, your attention is directed to Appendix D.
You shall remain on probation until the Department is satisfied that you have addressed each of the issues set forth herein.
HEREOF FAIL NOT, FOR YOU SHALL ANSWER YOUR FAILURE TO ABIDE BY THIS ORDER UNDER THE PAINS AND PENALTIES OF LAW.
The Commisioner of Sanitation
Sunday, February 14, 2010
USER REVIEWS -- THE AAAAAAAAAARVARK ARMS HOTEL
* Out of ******* Stars
Do Not Stay at This Hotel!!!!
From the moment we arrived, we knew we had entered the 7th Circle of Hell!! The "Lobby" looked like the corner of somebody's kitchen. There was no one at reception to meet us -- just a large cat sitting dejectedly on the counter. There was an envelope with our name on it, so we found our room on on our own on the 2nd floor (no elevator --surprise, surprise!). When we got there, there was already a family staying in our room! We called the management and finally got through to a clerk, who was very rude. When we told him there was already somebody occupying our room, he said, "That's because you have a double." We told him this was unacceptable. He showed up about 45 min. later with some blankets which he hung from the ceiling to divide the room for "privacy." We were then herded into our side of the room (no windows!). The other family wouldn't shut up (they seemed to be some kind of circus performers) and we could hear them complaining about us as they practiced their routines. To make matters worse, to get to the bathroom, we had to crawl under the blankets and then through their side of the room. To use the facility, you had to take a number and wait your turn. The mattresses were nothing more than floor mats and neither of us got any sleep. In the morning, we went downstairs and asked about the continental breakfast that was supposed to be included in the price of the room. The clerk threw a package of Little Debbie Cakes at us and pointed dismissively to a jar of instant coffee and some loose packets of sugar and non-dairy creamer that looked like they had been stolen from an International House of Pancakes. We couldn't leave fast enough. We demanded our money back, but the clerk pointed to a piece of cardboard taped to the refrigerator bearing some child-like scrawl in red magic marker that read: "NO REFUNDS UNLESS A COURT FORCES US TO." Leaving that place was like going on vacation. Do not, under any circumstances, stay here! C.J., Boulder Colorado.
* Out of ******* Stars
WORST EXPERIENCE EVER!
I've stayed at some horrible places all over the world, but the AAAAAAArdvark Arms has to be the absolute worst. My "room" was in what was nothing more than a closet, which apparently doubled as storage space for someone named Pincus, judging by the name on the boxes. Cramped? It was like sleeping in a coffin. Plus, the door wouldn't close all the way and a large cat kept getting in and sleeping on my head. In the morning, I skipped the "continental breakfast," because I could see that the so-called breakfast room was crowded with some disgruntled couple arguing with the manager, and some circus performers hoarding what few crumbs were available. I sprinted for my car and peeled away as fast as I could. I wish it were possible to rate the hotels on this site with negative stars. This one would be through the basement. If you value your sanity, DO NOT STAY HERE!!!!!! S.P.Q.R. -- Rome, N.Y.
* Out of ******* Stars
WHAT A DUMP!
I had been promised a detached cottage in the "lovely garden section." Instead, I got some kind of a shed at the end of a driveway. The decorations, if you could call them that, were old gardening tools hanging from nails pushed into the walls, probably with an old boot. The roof was some kind of corrugated tin which flapped up and down -- even in the slightest breeze -- like a jackhammer. The bed was not much more than a lumpy cot. (I found out later that the lump was a huge bag of birdseed shoved underneath). I guess they were going for the "rustic look," but it felt more like the gulag out of Solzhenitsyn or what I imagine the quarters at the Guantanamo Bay prison must be like. Earlier, I had seen some kind of a large cat prowling around outside, which made me nervous, because there was a hole in the rear wall of the room. The "lovely garden section" consisted of a couple of plastic chairs, a gnome whose paint was chipped and peeling, and a birdbath which evidently doubled as an ashtray all placed helter-skelter on a narrow strip of asphalt. At night, in addition to the incessant howling wind gushing through the hole in the wall, all I could hear was some kind of gnawing and squeaking sound coming from underneath the cot. I scrambled for a flashlight and saw an orgiastic party of chipmunks gorging themselves on the birdseed. In the morning, on my way to breakfast, I had to step over a dead chipmunk (I guess the cat had gotten to it). I lost my appetite, but it didn't mater; I couldn't even get in to breakfast, the room was so crowded and there seemed to be some kind of commotion and lots of finger pointing. I'm never, ever coming here again. A.J. -- Mobile, Alabama.
* Out of ******* Stars
RIPOFF!
We were so looking forward to our "ocean view room with veranda." We couldn't believe it when we were shown to a crawl space in an attic compartment (we had to shimmy up a ladder to get there). "What about the ocean view?" we asked the girl who refused to help us with our bags. She reached for an ancient television set and switched it on by pounding on it and screaming obscenities. When it finally turned on, the screen (it was kind of purplish) displayed somebody's 40-year old home movies of their afternoon at the Jersey Shore. It played in a continuous loop. Sound was extra. What about the veranda? We asked. "That's me," she said. I'm Verandah. When you ring this bell (pointing to an old hand bell), I holler upstairs to see what you want. Don't ring it after 7:45 p.m. or before 11 a.m." To make matters worse, we couldn't turn the T.V. off. When we finally pryed open the Mini-Bar, we found a half-eaten Toblerone and some Fresca. I guess we should have known when the Toblerone showed up on our bill the next day, and no amount of arguing and cajoling could convince the clerk that we weren't responsible. The hotel refused to issue a credit for it. The icing on the cake was when we were loading the car with our suitcases (of course Verandah was nowhere to be seen) and a very large cat jumped through an open window and sprawled all over the steering wheel. We tossed him on to the adjoining property as we made our escape. This place is a joke. DO NOT STAY HERE!!! B.O. -- Portland Oregon.
* Out of ******* Stars
HORRIBLE STAFF/HORRIBLE TOWELS.
The high crimes and misdemeanors of this alleged hotel are so voluminous that it would take a lifetime to chronicle them, and I do not have that much time. I shall select just one incident emblematic of the whole nihilistic experience. There were no towels in the bathroom so we called housekeeping to ask for some. The staffer who finally got around to answering the phone was so rude and obnoxious that I wondered if we had checked the box for "masochistic abuse" on the "Special Requests" section of the Website. We needed to explain to this person 3 times what the problem was in order for him to stop pretending he didn't know what we were talking about. About 45 min. later, there was a knock on the door, and then without us even opening it, this insolent I-don't-know-what just barged right in. He was carrying a stack of blankets and a single towel emblazoned with the corporate logo for Avis Rent-a-Car. The blankets were for the room next door, he explained. (BTW, we don't know what exactly was going on in the room next door, but it sounded like they were breaking in a pommel horse and constantly bouncing off the wall with a loud thud. This would go on into the wee hours, as we later discovered). The housekeeping person nonchalantly tossed our towel on the bed and left in a huff, as though we had inconvenienced him beyond imagination. As for the towel he had so unceremoniously dumped, it was actually covered with some kind of grease and was a little ripped, as though it had been fluttering on a flagpole outside in the wind or something before being delivered to us. It was no use complaining to anyone. Nobody there could have cared less about us. The aforementioned outrage was about the most pleasant experience we had at the AAAAAAAAAARVARK Arms. Needless to say, it will be a rather frigid day in Hades before we ever deign to return. P.D.Q. -- San Jose, California.
******* Out of ******* Stars
LOVED IT!
What can I say? I love this place. They were very acommodating. I arrived with 14 boxes of junk mail and other personal effects and they said it would be no problem storing my stuff. When I had a minor food craving (after the breakfast room was closed), they showed me where I could get a Toblerone from an attic mini-bar. (I wasn't that hungry, so I only ate half). Also, because I like to have lots of towels after I soak in the tub, they showed me where I could get extras from the room next door at no extra charge! I found the "lovely garden section" a most enjoyable scene for enjoying my stogies, and very much appreciated the giant ashtray conveniently situated therein. When I found out that the continental breakfast included "Little Debbie Cakes," (my faves!) I stuffed as many into my pockets as the laws of gravity would allow. This was heaven on earth with a capital "H" "O" and "E!" When I have room for my boxes, I'm definitely coming back! --Pincus M. Mandelbaum --
Do Not Stay at This Hotel!!!!
From the moment we arrived, we knew we had entered the 7th Circle of Hell!! The "Lobby" looked like the corner of somebody's kitchen. There was no one at reception to meet us -- just a large cat sitting dejectedly on the counter. There was an envelope with our name on it, so we found our room on on our own on the 2nd floor (no elevator --surprise, surprise!). When we got there, there was already a family staying in our room! We called the management and finally got through to a clerk, who was very rude. When we told him there was already somebody occupying our room, he said, "That's because you have a double." We told him this was unacceptable. He showed up about 45 min. later with some blankets which he hung from the ceiling to divide the room for "privacy." We were then herded into our side of the room (no windows!). The other family wouldn't shut up (they seemed to be some kind of circus performers) and we could hear them complaining about us as they practiced their routines. To make matters worse, to get to the bathroom, we had to crawl under the blankets and then through their side of the room. To use the facility, you had to take a number and wait your turn. The mattresses were nothing more than floor mats and neither of us got any sleep. In the morning, we went downstairs and asked about the continental breakfast that was supposed to be included in the price of the room. The clerk threw a package of Little Debbie Cakes at us and pointed dismissively to a jar of instant coffee and some loose packets of sugar and non-dairy creamer that looked like they had been stolen from an International House of Pancakes. We couldn't leave fast enough. We demanded our money back, but the clerk pointed to a piece of cardboard taped to the refrigerator bearing some child-like scrawl in red magic marker that read: "NO REFUNDS UNLESS A COURT FORCES US TO." Leaving that place was like going on vacation. Do not, under any circumstances, stay here! C.J., Boulder Colorado.
* Out of ******* Stars
WORST EXPERIENCE EVER!
I've stayed at some horrible places all over the world, but the AAAAAAArdvark Arms has to be the absolute worst. My "room" was in what was nothing more than a closet, which apparently doubled as storage space for someone named Pincus, judging by the name on the boxes. Cramped? It was like sleeping in a coffin. Plus, the door wouldn't close all the way and a large cat kept getting in and sleeping on my head. In the morning, I skipped the "continental breakfast," because I could see that the so-called breakfast room was crowded with some disgruntled couple arguing with the manager, and some circus performers hoarding what few crumbs were available. I sprinted for my car and peeled away as fast as I could. I wish it were possible to rate the hotels on this site with negative stars. This one would be through the basement. If you value your sanity, DO NOT STAY HERE!!!!!! S.P.Q.R. -- Rome, N.Y.
* Out of ******* Stars
WHAT A DUMP!
I had been promised a detached cottage in the "lovely garden section." Instead, I got some kind of a shed at the end of a driveway. The decorations, if you could call them that, were old gardening tools hanging from nails pushed into the walls, probably with an old boot. The roof was some kind of corrugated tin which flapped up and down -- even in the slightest breeze -- like a jackhammer. The bed was not much more than a lumpy cot. (I found out later that the lump was a huge bag of birdseed shoved underneath). I guess they were going for the "rustic look," but it felt more like the gulag out of Solzhenitsyn or what I imagine the quarters at the Guantanamo Bay prison must be like. Earlier, I had seen some kind of a large cat prowling around outside, which made me nervous, because there was a hole in the rear wall of the room. The "lovely garden section" consisted of a couple of plastic chairs, a gnome whose paint was chipped and peeling, and a birdbath which evidently doubled as an ashtray all placed helter-skelter on a narrow strip of asphalt. At night, in addition to the incessant howling wind gushing through the hole in the wall, all I could hear was some kind of gnawing and squeaking sound coming from underneath the cot. I scrambled for a flashlight and saw an orgiastic party of chipmunks gorging themselves on the birdseed. In the morning, on my way to breakfast, I had to step over a dead chipmunk (I guess the cat had gotten to it). I lost my appetite, but it didn't mater; I couldn't even get in to breakfast, the room was so crowded and there seemed to be some kind of commotion and lots of finger pointing. I'm never, ever coming here again. A.J. -- Mobile, Alabama.
* Out of ******* Stars
RIPOFF!
We were so looking forward to our "ocean view room with veranda." We couldn't believe it when we were shown to a crawl space in an attic compartment (we had to shimmy up a ladder to get there). "What about the ocean view?" we asked the girl who refused to help us with our bags. She reached for an ancient television set and switched it on by pounding on it and screaming obscenities. When it finally turned on, the screen (it was kind of purplish) displayed somebody's 40-year old home movies of their afternoon at the Jersey Shore. It played in a continuous loop. Sound was extra. What about the veranda? We asked. "That's me," she said. I'm Verandah. When you ring this bell (pointing to an old hand bell), I holler upstairs to see what you want. Don't ring it after 7:45 p.m. or before 11 a.m." To make matters worse, we couldn't turn the T.V. off. When we finally pryed open the Mini-Bar, we found a half-eaten Toblerone and some Fresca. I guess we should have known when the Toblerone showed up on our bill the next day, and no amount of arguing and cajoling could convince the clerk that we weren't responsible. The hotel refused to issue a credit for it. The icing on the cake was when we were loading the car with our suitcases (of course Verandah was nowhere to be seen) and a very large cat jumped through an open window and sprawled all over the steering wheel. We tossed him on to the adjoining property as we made our escape. This place is a joke. DO NOT STAY HERE!!! B.O. -- Portland Oregon.
* Out of ******* Stars
HORRIBLE STAFF/HORRIBLE TOWELS.
The high crimes and misdemeanors of this alleged hotel are so voluminous that it would take a lifetime to chronicle them, and I do not have that much time. I shall select just one incident emblematic of the whole nihilistic experience. There were no towels in the bathroom so we called housekeeping to ask for some. The staffer who finally got around to answering the phone was so rude and obnoxious that I wondered if we had checked the box for "masochistic abuse" on the "Special Requests" section of the Website. We needed to explain to this person 3 times what the problem was in order for him to stop pretending he didn't know what we were talking about. About 45 min. later, there was a knock on the door, and then without us even opening it, this insolent I-don't-know-what just barged right in. He was carrying a stack of blankets and a single towel emblazoned with the corporate logo for Avis Rent-a-Car. The blankets were for the room next door, he explained. (BTW, we don't know what exactly was going on in the room next door, but it sounded like they were breaking in a pommel horse and constantly bouncing off the wall with a loud thud. This would go on into the wee hours, as we later discovered). The housekeeping person nonchalantly tossed our towel on the bed and left in a huff, as though we had inconvenienced him beyond imagination. As for the towel he had so unceremoniously dumped, it was actually covered with some kind of grease and was a little ripped, as though it had been fluttering on a flagpole outside in the wind or something before being delivered to us. It was no use complaining to anyone. Nobody there could have cared less about us. The aforementioned outrage was about the most pleasant experience we had at the AAAAAAAAAARVARK Arms. Needless to say, it will be a rather frigid day in Hades before we ever deign to return. P.D.Q. -- San Jose, California.
******* Out of ******* Stars
LOVED IT!
What can I say? I love this place. They were very acommodating. I arrived with 14 boxes of junk mail and other personal effects and they said it would be no problem storing my stuff. When I had a minor food craving (after the breakfast room was closed), they showed me where I could get a Toblerone from an attic mini-bar. (I wasn't that hungry, so I only ate half). Also, because I like to have lots of towels after I soak in the tub, they showed me where I could get extras from the room next door at no extra charge! I found the "lovely garden section" a most enjoyable scene for enjoying my stogies, and very much appreciated the giant ashtray conveniently situated therein. When I found out that the continental breakfast included "Little Debbie Cakes," (my faves!) I stuffed as many into my pockets as the laws of gravity would allow. This was heaven on earth with a capital "H" "O" and "E!" When I have room for my boxes, I'm definitely coming back! --Pincus M. Mandelbaum --
Thursday, February 11, 2010
A Trip Down Memory Lane in the Glove Compartment
Nothing like scraping snow off the car with a broken lipstick. What else does she keep in here? What the hell is this? A metal top hat playing piece from a Monoply board game? Yes, Yes. I can see the indispensible utilitarian value of this implement. Let's do a quick calculation, shall we?
OK. 3 feet of snow already on the ground and still falling. Approximately 100 square feet of snow covering the roof, mirrors, windows, lights and grille. Rate of snowfall is approximately 3 inches an hour. Projected to fall for another 8 hours. The miniature top hat holds approximately 0.00000000000001 cubic milileters all at once! Working at a steady clip without resting or pausing to exchange pleasantries with the neighbor about my cat's latest crimes, I can finish this job in -- umm, 100 into 0.00000000000001; moving the decimal around in a crazy counterclokwise motion and riding roughshod over the rule of "i" before "e" except after "c" and when sounded like "ay" as in "neighbor" and "way;" carry the 2, and remember to thank the helping verb -- why, I can finish this job 3 months after I'm dead already!
What else? A floor plan from the Museum of Modern Art from1996. Another essential item. Maybe Mark Rothko and Jasper Johns could come over and help out. While we're waiting for them to show up, let's see what else we can find.
Hey, look! A plastic fork! No glove compartment should be without a plastic fork, because you never know when you might be driving alone in the wilderness when suddenly, some Chinese takeout will appear out of nowhere. Imagine if that happened and you didn't have a plastic fork! Then where would you be? Up you-know-what's-creek without a plastic fork -- that's where. Maybe the plastic fork and the top hat could work together in tandem. Teamwork. That's the ticket! Get the job done in half the time.
And what's this? Some kind of catalogue? Why is it glued to the back of the compartment like that? Is it insulation to keep the fork warm? I don't get it. Let's just rip it it out and toss it in the...Say! Victoria's Secret! This looks like a good one. I haven't seen this one, I don't think. Let's examine it to make sure. Hmmmm. Indeed. All sorts of important product releases in here. "Tear away tabs." What are those?
What!? What's that? I'm not reading anything! I'm just looking for a scraper or something in your glove compartment! You know, to get the snow off the car. I wasn't...This? It's, I dunno. It's a floor plan from MOMA. You want to keep that? Yeah, OK. Good. It'll definitely come in handy. The cafeteria's on the ground floor in that indoor/outdoor courtyard around the corner from the Picasso baboon made out of a toy Volkswagon. That's good information to have for the next time you run out of gas right in front of MOMA feeling faint from hunger at that precise moment. What's that? Yeah, OK. I'll see you inside when I'm done with this. OK. See you inside. Warm up some kasha and chicken broth.
OK. Where was I? Say! Look at all these parking tickets. That's a good place to store 'em. Outta sight, outta mind, I always say. If you can't remember that you stuffed them in here in the first place, then you don't have to pay them. That's the rule. I'm pretty sure of it. "Your Honor. There was no probable cause to search the car. Those parking tickets are fruits of a poisonous tree. That evidence must be excluded. My client is innocent! The Commonwealth has no case! Thank you for ruling in my favor your honor. I move that the assistant district attorney be held in contempt and thrown into the dungeon!"
Alright! Who keeps a hair crimper thing in the glove compartment? Does she actually drive while styling her hair? If it plugged into the cigarette lighter, maybe I could melt the snow away. Just think of it; if the hair crimper, the plastic fork and the little metal hat all used their special powers at once they could be like superheros, or something. They could star in a comic book series. They could call it: The Amazing Adventures of The 3 Chotchkes.
What do we have here? Gum? Hmm. Judging by the number of rings in the trunk, I'd say it dates back to the fall of the Berlin Wall. Oy gevalt! Hard as a rock! Well, I guess I found my scraper. Hoo Boy! That hurt! I hope I have some teeth left.
What? I don't understand your sign language. You're making eating motions. I'm not getting it. Don't stand there with the door open, you'll let all the cold air in the house -- not to mention catch your death of cold. What are you trying to say? Why are you holding up a soup spoon? Alright, I'll hold up a plastic fork. No? No good? How's about a hair crimper? Oh. Lunch is ready? OK. I'll be right in! Yeah, I made substantial progress. I'll finish up right after lunch {in some dreamworld, but not in real life.} What!? OK! I'm coming! I'm coming!
Alright. I...Oh, great! Now the door is frozen shut. I can't get out of here. I'll just have to sit in here and peruse these parking tickets and any other literature lying around. Man, I hate this. I could freeze to death in here reading all this old, outdated material. Why do these things always happen to me? In June, when the snow melts and they can finally pry the doors open, they'll find me lying in here dead clutching a floor plan from MOMA and a plastic fork.
Admit it; winter sucks.
OK. 3 feet of snow already on the ground and still falling. Approximately 100 square feet of snow covering the roof, mirrors, windows, lights and grille. Rate of snowfall is approximately 3 inches an hour. Projected to fall for another 8 hours. The miniature top hat holds approximately 0.00000000000001 cubic milileters all at once! Working at a steady clip without resting or pausing to exchange pleasantries with the neighbor about my cat's latest crimes, I can finish this job in -- umm, 100 into 0.00000000000001; moving the decimal around in a crazy counterclokwise motion and riding roughshod over the rule of "i" before "e" except after "c" and when sounded like "ay" as in "neighbor" and "way;" carry the 2, and remember to thank the helping verb -- why, I can finish this job 3 months after I'm dead already!
What else? A floor plan from the Museum of Modern Art from1996. Another essential item. Maybe Mark Rothko and Jasper Johns could come over and help out. While we're waiting for them to show up, let's see what else we can find.
Hey, look! A plastic fork! No glove compartment should be without a plastic fork, because you never know when you might be driving alone in the wilderness when suddenly, some Chinese takeout will appear out of nowhere. Imagine if that happened and you didn't have a plastic fork! Then where would you be? Up you-know-what's-creek without a plastic fork -- that's where. Maybe the plastic fork and the top hat could work together in tandem. Teamwork. That's the ticket! Get the job done in half the time.
And what's this? Some kind of catalogue? Why is it glued to the back of the compartment like that? Is it insulation to keep the fork warm? I don't get it. Let's just rip it it out and toss it in the...Say! Victoria's Secret! This looks like a good one. I haven't seen this one, I don't think. Let's examine it to make sure. Hmmmm. Indeed. All sorts of important product releases in here. "Tear away tabs." What are those?
What!? What's that? I'm not reading anything! I'm just looking for a scraper or something in your glove compartment! You know, to get the snow off the car. I wasn't...This? It's, I dunno. It's a floor plan from MOMA. You want to keep that? Yeah, OK. Good. It'll definitely come in handy. The cafeteria's on the ground floor in that indoor/outdoor courtyard around the corner from the Picasso baboon made out of a toy Volkswagon. That's good information to have for the next time you run out of gas right in front of MOMA feeling faint from hunger at that precise moment. What's that? Yeah, OK. I'll see you inside when I'm done with this. OK. See you inside. Warm up some kasha and chicken broth.
OK. Where was I? Say! Look at all these parking tickets. That's a good place to store 'em. Outta sight, outta mind, I always say. If you can't remember that you stuffed them in here in the first place, then you don't have to pay them. That's the rule. I'm pretty sure of it. "Your Honor. There was no probable cause to search the car. Those parking tickets are fruits of a poisonous tree. That evidence must be excluded. My client is innocent! The Commonwealth has no case! Thank you for ruling in my favor your honor. I move that the assistant district attorney be held in contempt and thrown into the dungeon!"
Alright! Who keeps a hair crimper thing in the glove compartment? Does she actually drive while styling her hair? If it plugged into the cigarette lighter, maybe I could melt the snow away. Just think of it; if the hair crimper, the plastic fork and the little metal hat all used their special powers at once they could be like superheros, or something. They could star in a comic book series. They could call it: The Amazing Adventures of The 3 Chotchkes.
What do we have here? Gum? Hmm. Judging by the number of rings in the trunk, I'd say it dates back to the fall of the Berlin Wall. Oy gevalt! Hard as a rock! Well, I guess I found my scraper. Hoo Boy! That hurt! I hope I have some teeth left.
What? I don't understand your sign language. You're making eating motions. I'm not getting it. Don't stand there with the door open, you'll let all the cold air in the house -- not to mention catch your death of cold. What are you trying to say? Why are you holding up a soup spoon? Alright, I'll hold up a plastic fork. No? No good? How's about a hair crimper? Oh. Lunch is ready? OK. I'll be right in! Yeah, I made substantial progress. I'll finish up right after lunch {in some dreamworld, but not in real life.} What!? OK! I'm coming! I'm coming!
Alright. I...Oh, great! Now the door is frozen shut. I can't get out of here. I'll just have to sit in here and peruse these parking tickets and any other literature lying around. Man, I hate this. I could freeze to death in here reading all this old, outdated material. Why do these things always happen to me? In June, when the snow melts and they can finally pry the doors open, they'll find me lying in here dead clutching a floor plan from MOMA and a plastic fork.
Admit it; winter sucks.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
PAST IS PROLOGUE -- AND VICE VERSA
Your Past Lives Diagnosis from PastLivesAreUs.Org:
Your profile indicates that in your last earthly incarnation, you were a nearsighted French printer responsible for producing the official documents at the Treaty of Versailles in 1919 and distributing them to the diplomats negotiating the end of World War I. Because of a faulty gear in your printing press, coupled with your vision impairment, the phrase: "Germany is to be offered generous terms" became "Germany is to be offered onerous terms" in the treaty that was finally signed and enforced.
Prior to this time, according to your profile, you were an itinerant rogue cartographer, wit, and raconteur slumming around Genoa, Italy in or about the year 1492. Through sheer happenstance (that is to say, happenstance that you can practically see through), you wormed your way into the inner circle of an explorer named Cristoforo Colombo.
Columbo was adamant that the most practical route to India was overland, but you talked him out of it by showing him one of your maps drawn hastily while on the run from a jealous husband in Naples. You coined the phrase: "Go West, middle-aged man."
Enraged by your reckless insouciance in matters cartographic (especially because Columbo was playing with the house's money), the Spanish Crown launched the Inquisition, whereupon you coined the phrase "¡Ay, caramba!"
At one point during your incorporeal sojourn, you were an adviser to the priests at the Aztec Templo Mayor in Tenochtitlan, Mexico in the 1390s. The priests at that time practiced a ritual gentle back rub on the supplicants to please the gods. However, your incessant hiccuping-laden speech was mistaken for advocating a slightly more dramatic ceremony of human sacrifice wherein the heart of the live worshiper was cut from his body and placed still beating in a bowl on the alter, a practice soon standardized by the religious elite thanks to your "advocacy."
Your next most recent earthly incarnation was as a slave stone carver of monument inscriptions in the Roman Empire. Due to your apparent inability to follow instructions, you invented ALL CAPS.
Finally, it appears you may have been a talking snake in a Near Eastern garden in a very distant past. The following conversation between you and a woman is in the profile:
You: anee ra׳ev אֲנִי רָעֵב
(I'm famished). How's about reaching for me that apple, bubbeleh?
Woman: We're not supposed to.
You: Awww. C'mon. Who could it hurt?
_________________________________________
Thanks for visiting PastLivesAreUs.Org.
We always say: "You'll keep coming back until you get it right."
Your profile indicates that in your last earthly incarnation, you were a nearsighted French printer responsible for producing the official documents at the Treaty of Versailles in 1919 and distributing them to the diplomats negotiating the end of World War I. Because of a faulty gear in your printing press, coupled with your vision impairment, the phrase: "Germany is to be offered generous terms" became "Germany is to be offered onerous terms" in the treaty that was finally signed and enforced.
Prior to this time, according to your profile, you were an itinerant rogue cartographer, wit, and raconteur slumming around Genoa, Italy in or about the year 1492. Through sheer happenstance (that is to say, happenstance that you can practically see through), you wormed your way into the inner circle of an explorer named Cristoforo Colombo.
Columbo was adamant that the most practical route to India was overland, but you talked him out of it by showing him one of your maps drawn hastily while on the run from a jealous husband in Naples. You coined the phrase: "Go West, middle-aged man."
Enraged by your reckless insouciance in matters cartographic (especially because Columbo was playing with the house's money), the Spanish Crown launched the Inquisition, whereupon you coined the phrase "¡Ay, caramba!"
At one point during your incorporeal sojourn, you were an adviser to the priests at the Aztec Templo Mayor in Tenochtitlan, Mexico in the 1390s. The priests at that time practiced a ritual gentle back rub on the supplicants to please the gods. However, your incessant hiccuping-laden speech was mistaken for advocating a slightly more dramatic ceremony of human sacrifice wherein the heart of the live worshiper was cut from his body and placed still beating in a bowl on the alter, a practice soon standardized by the religious elite thanks to your "advocacy."
Your next most recent earthly incarnation was as a slave stone carver of monument inscriptions in the Roman Empire. Due to your apparent inability to follow instructions, you invented ALL CAPS.
Finally, it appears you may have been a talking snake in a Near Eastern garden in a very distant past. The following conversation between you and a woman is in the profile:
You: anee ra׳ev אֲנִי רָעֵב
(I'm famished). How's about reaching for me that apple, bubbeleh?
Woman: We're not supposed to.
You: Awww. C'mon. Who could it hurt?
_________________________________________
Thanks for visiting PastLivesAreUs.Org.
We always say: "You'll keep coming back until you get it right."
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Our Country Write or Left
*
*
*
We decided to secede and form our own country. At roughly 5,323 square feet, it would be the smallest country in the world -- smaller even than Lichtenstein.
We needed a flag. We didn't have one, but we did have an old beach towel emblazoned with the insignia of Avis Rent-a-Car. We hung it out the window to demonstrate our independence. This is how the motto of our country became: "We try harder."
We thought a constitution would be a good thing to have. Ours was a small country, so we didn't need a long Constitution with a lot of flowery language and Roman numerals. We spotted a promotional announcement and photocopied it. This is how our constitution came to be:
Our country is always:
* Trustworthy,
* Loyal,
* Helpful,
* Friendly,
* Courteous,
* Kind,
* Obedient,
* Cheerful,
* Thrifty,
* Brave,
* Clean,
* and Reverent.
What next? A National bank! We emptied out the Tsedakah box and found some checks, an I.O.U., and what may have once been a paper clip. Better to peg our currency to something else and try to get some foreign investment going. As we had seceded, borrowing a hundred bucks from the neighbor would qualify as foreign investment.
We realized then that we'd need a visa to step foot on our neighbor's driveway. (Making a country is more complicated than it seems.) Of course, he'd need one to step foot on ours -- and we may not let him in if he was on our watch list (which we could make up on the spot, because, it's our country, and we can do what we want).
The thought of our neighbor stepping foot on our driveway put us in mind of mustering a militia, as in days of olde at the rude bridge that arched the flood in Concord. Except that, we didn't have any Minutemen or muskets or horses. Just a cat who kept the country safe from the threat of birds and mice. We put him out and sent him to the front to scout for possible invasion.
What to call our country? How about "Avis?" It was already on our flag, and it seemed like a natural choice, besides which, it would always pop up near the top in lists of countries. But not the top. And that's a problem when you're a small country just starting out. You need to make a splash.
This is how our country came to be called: AAAAAAAAAAAArdvark.
Flag, Constitution, fiscal policy, immigration reform, military, name -- what was missing? An anthem. We could commission one, but with a budget stretched to the limit by our efforts to secure the border, we'd have to write one ourselves.
This is how the anthem of our country came to be:
AAAAAAAAAAAArdvark
We try harder!
AAAAAAAAAAAArdvark
Trustworthy,
Obedient,
Cheerful,
Thrifty,
Brave,
and Clean,
AAAAAAAAAAAArdvark
Ok, maybe "brave" is pushing it.
We faxed the sheet music off to the Olympic Committe just in case we ever medaled in something. Not bloody likely, of course, but it's better to "be prepared," which, as fate would have it, almost became the motto of our country, except that it wasn't already on the flag.
Just as we were pondering this dilemna, we saw our neighbor invading. Where was our armed forces? In retreat? Lost in the woods? Lying in wait?
Suddenly, there was a loud report. It sounded like gunshots (but, of course, it was really just the neighbor pounding on the window). We opened the door and there stood the ambassador from next door holding our military by the scruff of its neck.
"How many times have I told you to keep this cat off my lawn!?" he demanded.
"Look here," we said. "We are a sovereign state. You can't just barge across the boundary line. You need a passport. You're probably on a watch list."
He flung the cat into the living room and stormed off towards his homeland.
"We hope this little international incident won't prejudice our request for foreign assistance," we called after him.
But diplomatic relations had not yet been established and the attitude of his government was icy cold, as was the February air. He repatriated without another word.
Having suffered its first defeat, the AAAAAAAAAAAArdvark armed forces regrouped on the couch, where it took a nap.
We retired to the National Assembly (which doubled as the kitchen) and waited for Vanuatu to telephone its recognition.
*
*
We decided to secede and form our own country. At roughly 5,323 square feet, it would be the smallest country in the world -- smaller even than Lichtenstein.
We needed a flag. We didn't have one, but we did have an old beach towel emblazoned with the insignia of Avis Rent-a-Car. We hung it out the window to demonstrate our independence. This is how the motto of our country became: "We try harder."
We thought a constitution would be a good thing to have. Ours was a small country, so we didn't need a long Constitution with a lot of flowery language and Roman numerals. We spotted a promotional announcement and photocopied it. This is how our constitution came to be:
Our country is always:
* Trustworthy,
* Loyal,
* Helpful,
* Friendly,
* Courteous,
* Kind,
* Obedient,
* Cheerful,
* Thrifty,
* Brave,
* Clean,
* and Reverent.
What next? A National bank! We emptied out the Tsedakah box and found some checks, an I.O.U., and what may have once been a paper clip. Better to peg our currency to something else and try to get some foreign investment going. As we had seceded, borrowing a hundred bucks from the neighbor would qualify as foreign investment.
We realized then that we'd need a visa to step foot on our neighbor's driveway. (Making a country is more complicated than it seems.) Of course, he'd need one to step foot on ours -- and we may not let him in if he was on our watch list (which we could make up on the spot, because, it's our country, and we can do what we want).
The thought of our neighbor stepping foot on our driveway put us in mind of mustering a militia, as in days of olde at the rude bridge that arched the flood in Concord. Except that, we didn't have any Minutemen or muskets or horses. Just a cat who kept the country safe from the threat of birds and mice. We put him out and sent him to the front to scout for possible invasion.
What to call our country? How about "Avis?" It was already on our flag, and it seemed like a natural choice, besides which, it would always pop up near the top in lists of countries. But not the top. And that's a problem when you're a small country just starting out. You need to make a splash.
This is how our country came to be called: AAAAAAAAAAAArdvark.
Flag, Constitution, fiscal policy, immigration reform, military, name -- what was missing? An anthem. We could commission one, but with a budget stretched to the limit by our efforts to secure the border, we'd have to write one ourselves.
This is how the anthem of our country came to be:
AAAAAAAAAAAArdvark
We try harder!
AAAAAAAAAAAArdvark
Trustworthy,
Obedient,
Cheerful,
Thrifty,
Brave,
and Clean,
AAAAAAAAAAAArdvark
Ok, maybe "brave" is pushing it.
We faxed the sheet music off to the Olympic Committe just in case we ever medaled in something. Not bloody likely, of course, but it's better to "be prepared," which, as fate would have it, almost became the motto of our country, except that it wasn't already on the flag.
Just as we were pondering this dilemna, we saw our neighbor invading. Where was our armed forces? In retreat? Lost in the woods? Lying in wait?
Suddenly, there was a loud report. It sounded like gunshots (but, of course, it was really just the neighbor pounding on the window). We opened the door and there stood the ambassador from next door holding our military by the scruff of its neck.
"How many times have I told you to keep this cat off my lawn!?" he demanded.
"Look here," we said. "We are a sovereign state. You can't just barge across the boundary line. You need a passport. You're probably on a watch list."
He flung the cat into the living room and stormed off towards his homeland.
"We hope this little international incident won't prejudice our request for foreign assistance," we called after him.
But diplomatic relations had not yet been established and the attitude of his government was icy cold, as was the February air. He repatriated without another word.
Having suffered its first defeat, the AAAAAAAAAAAArdvark armed forces regrouped on the couch, where it took a nap.
We retired to the National Assembly (which doubled as the kitchen) and waited for Vanuatu to telephone its recognition.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
WHEN DOGS ARE IN CHARGE
*
*
*
18th Annual Dog Convention
Boston Common
"Be at that, or be a cat"
AGENDA
5:30 a.m. Location: Park Street T Entrance -- Opening rebarks by Top Dog, Bo Obama (Live from Washington via barking chain)
5:33 a.m. -- Location: Corner of Tremont and Arlington Streets by the Arlington T Entrance --
Snooze time.
6:00 a.m. -- Location: Throughout the Common --
Mayhem and rough-housing. (Separate mayhem group for medium to small dogs will meet at the Frog Pond).
6:30 a.m. -- Location: Beacon Hill Across from the State House by the Civil War Statue --
Call to Order.
(Ha, Ha. That is a joke)
6:31 a.m. -- Location: Throughout the Common --
More Rough-housing and mayhem!
6:45 a.m. -- Location: Corner of Beacon and Charles Streets (near the inexplicably ugly statue of exhausted soldiers on emaciated horses) --
BREAKFAST!
6:47 a.m. --
Barking at the the inexplicably ugly statue of exhausted soldiers on emaciated horses.
6:53 a.m. --
Seriatim peeing on the inexplicably ugly statue of exhausted soldiers on emaciated horses
7:06 a.m. -- Location: Baseball diamond (Charles Street Side) --
Sniffing free-for-all. (Separate sniffing-free-for-all for small to medium dogs by the hot dog stand).
Get it? The hot DOG stand!
8:03 a.m. -- We gather momentarily at the Charles Street entrance across from the Public Garden and split into caucus groups.
A. Caucus A will run into the road stopping traffic, continuing into the Public Garden, sprinting over the bridge spanning the Swan Boat lagoon and regrouping at the statute of George Washington for seriatim sniffing and peeing. (We'll pose for group photos and barking).
B. Caucus B will run alongside the Duck Tours trolley barking incessantly at the tourists who will be quaking back at them.
C. Caucus C will prance to the Make Way for Ducklings statue for seriatim sniffing and peeing and putting of front paws on, and barking at, ducks.
D. Caucus D will run around in circles aimlessly and then, without warning, take a nap.
E. Caucus E. will whimper on the sidelines and then lie down.
And then get up.
And then lie down.
And then get up.
And then turn around in a circle a whole bunch of times.
And then lie down.
F. Caucus F. will chase pigeons near the Park Street T entrance and then join Caucus E and lie down.
9: 45 a.m. -- All locations -- SNACKS!
10: a.m. -- All locations -- Snoozing
10:46 a.m. All locations -- Snoozing with one eye open.
10: 47 a.m. All locations -- Snoozing on back with paws up in the air
10:49 a.m. -- All locations -- Woofing in sleep while dreaming of rabbits and cats.
10: 52 a.m. -- All locations -- Stretching (downward dog).
10: 56 a.m.-- All locations -- begging for snacks.
10:59. a.m. -- All locations -- SNACKS!
Panel Discussions -- 11:00 a.m. to 11:13 a.m.
Location: Public Garden (by the Swan Boats) --
"Are Prairie Dogs Giving Us a Bad Name?" (Hound, Huckelberry, panel chair)
----------------------------------
Location: Public Garden (near the rose beds and the sign that says "Keep Off the Grass. No Dogs." --
"Is Dino from the Flinstones Supposed to be a Dog or a Dinosaur or Both?" (Guest panelist -- Astro from "The Jetsons.")
------------------------------------
Location: The Common (near the 17th Century Burial Ground)
"Is 'dog-earred' a derogatory term?"
(Dog, Wonder and Yeller, Old -- co-chairs)
-----------------------------------------------------
11: 14 a.m. -- Crazy time (all locations)
12:00 p.m. --
Location: Corner of Beacon and Charles Streets (near the inexplicably ugly statue of exhausted soldiers on emaciated horses) --
LUNCH!
12:14 p.m. Mini Workshops
"Getting Away with Humping"
Location: The Common (near the bandshell)
Barkley (Sesame Street) (workshop leader)
-------------------------------------
"Think Before Knocking Over the Garbage -- Can the Cat be Blamed?"
Location: The Common (near the corner of Charles and Beacon Streets)
Night, Three Dog (workshop leader)
--------------------------------------
"Become Indispensable and Get Taken on Every Trip"
Location: The Public Garden (near the Frederick Law Olmstead statue)
Charlie, Travels with (workshop leader)
--------------------------------------
1:00 p.m. -- All locations
SNACK!
1:03 p.m. to 4:00 p.m.-- All locations --
Napping.
4:00 P.M. -- The Cow path --
Frisbee time.
5:32: p.m. -- Location: Tremont Street side (across the street from the movie theater)
Presentation of the Bone for Lifetime Achievement in a leading canine role. Presented to: Beethoven (the dog, not the composer).
5:43 p.m. -- All Locations --
Random inspection of the tree trunks.
6:02 P.M. -- Location: Park Street Side (across from the Boston BarK Association headquarters)
Closing Rebarks
by Scuppers (the Dog Who Belonged to Himself)
________________________________
Don't forget to steal some kittle swag on the way home!
________________________________
Honk if You Like Honking Salutes the great dogs (including those who were themselves vicitms) who have performed heroic rescues amid the recent devastaion in Haiti and all over the world:
http://www.pawesome.net/2010/01/dogs-rescue-earthquake-victims-in-haiti.html
http://news.discovery.com/animals/search-and-rescue-dogs-from-around-the-world-go-to-haiti.html
http://www.consumeraffairs.com/news04/2010/01/haiti_rescue_dogs.html
*
*
18th Annual Dog Convention
Boston Common
"Be at that, or be a cat"
AGENDA
5:30 a.m. Location: Park Street T Entrance -- Opening rebarks by Top Dog, Bo Obama (Live from Washington via barking chain)
5:33 a.m. -- Location: Corner of Tremont and Arlington Streets by the Arlington T Entrance --
Snooze time.
6:00 a.m. -- Location: Throughout the Common --
Mayhem and rough-housing. (Separate mayhem group for medium to small dogs will meet at the Frog Pond).
6:30 a.m. -- Location: Beacon Hill Across from the State House by the Civil War Statue --
Call to Order.
(Ha, Ha. That is a joke)
6:31 a.m. -- Location: Throughout the Common --
More Rough-housing and mayhem!
6:45 a.m. -- Location: Corner of Beacon and Charles Streets (near the inexplicably ugly statue of exhausted soldiers on emaciated horses) --
BREAKFAST!
6:47 a.m. --
Barking at the the inexplicably ugly statue of exhausted soldiers on emaciated horses.
6:53 a.m. --
Seriatim peeing on the inexplicably ugly statue of exhausted soldiers on emaciated horses
7:06 a.m. -- Location: Baseball diamond (Charles Street Side) --
Sniffing free-for-all. (Separate sniffing-free-for-all for small to medium dogs by the hot dog stand).
Get it? The hot DOG stand!
8:03 a.m. -- We gather momentarily at the Charles Street entrance across from the Public Garden and split into caucus groups.
A. Caucus A will run into the road stopping traffic, continuing into the Public Garden, sprinting over the bridge spanning the Swan Boat lagoon and regrouping at the statute of George Washington for seriatim sniffing and peeing. (We'll pose for group photos and barking).
B. Caucus B will run alongside the Duck Tours trolley barking incessantly at the tourists who will be quaking back at them.
C. Caucus C will prance to the Make Way for Ducklings statue for seriatim sniffing and peeing and putting of front paws on, and barking at, ducks.
D. Caucus D will run around in circles aimlessly and then, without warning, take a nap.
E. Caucus E. will whimper on the sidelines and then lie down.
And then get up.
And then lie down.
And then get up.
And then turn around in a circle a whole bunch of times.
And then lie down.
F. Caucus F. will chase pigeons near the Park Street T entrance and then join Caucus E and lie down.
9: 45 a.m. -- All locations -- SNACKS!
10: a.m. -- All locations -- Snoozing
10:46 a.m. All locations -- Snoozing with one eye open.
10: 47 a.m. All locations -- Snoozing on back with paws up in the air
10:49 a.m. -- All locations -- Woofing in sleep while dreaming of rabbits and cats.
10: 52 a.m. -- All locations -- Stretching (downward dog).
10: 56 a.m.-- All locations -- begging for snacks.
10:59. a.m. -- All locations -- SNACKS!
Panel Discussions -- 11:00 a.m. to 11:13 a.m.
Location: Public Garden (by the Swan Boats) --
"Are Prairie Dogs Giving Us a Bad Name?" (Hound, Huckelberry, panel chair)
----------------------------------
Location: Public Garden (near the rose beds and the sign that says "Keep Off the Grass. No Dogs." --
"Is Dino from the Flinstones Supposed to be a Dog or a Dinosaur or Both?" (Guest panelist -- Astro from "The Jetsons.")
------------------------------------
Location: The Common (near the 17th Century Burial Ground)
"Is 'dog-earred' a derogatory term?"
(Dog, Wonder and Yeller, Old -- co-chairs)
-----------------------------------------------------
11: 14 a.m. -- Crazy time (all locations)
12:00 p.m. --
Location: Corner of Beacon and Charles Streets (near the inexplicably ugly statue of exhausted soldiers on emaciated horses) --
LUNCH!
12:14 p.m. Mini Workshops
"Getting Away with Humping"
Location: The Common (near the bandshell)
Barkley (Sesame Street) (workshop leader)
-------------------------------------
"Think Before Knocking Over the Garbage -- Can the Cat be Blamed?"
Location: The Common (near the corner of Charles and Beacon Streets)
Night, Three Dog (workshop leader)
--------------------------------------
"Become Indispensable and Get Taken on Every Trip"
Location: The Public Garden (near the Frederick Law Olmstead statue)
Charlie, Travels with (workshop leader)
--------------------------------------
1:00 p.m. -- All locations
SNACK!
1:03 p.m. to 4:00 p.m.-- All locations --
Napping.
4:00 P.M. -- The Cow path --
Frisbee time.
5:32: p.m. -- Location: Tremont Street side (across the street from the movie theater)
Presentation of the Bone for Lifetime Achievement in a leading canine role. Presented to: Beethoven (the dog, not the composer).
5:43 p.m. -- All Locations --
Random inspection of the tree trunks.
6:02 P.M. -- Location: Park Street Side (across from the Boston BarK Association headquarters)
Closing Rebarks
by Scuppers (the Dog Who Belonged to Himself)
________________________________
Don't forget to steal some kittle swag on the way home!
________________________________
Honk if You Like Honking Salutes the great dogs (including those who were themselves vicitms) who have performed heroic rescues amid the recent devastaion in Haiti and all over the world:
http://www.pawesome.net/2010/01/dogs-rescue-earthquake-victims-in-haiti.html
http://news.discovery.com/animals/search-and-rescue-dogs-from-around-the-world-go-to-haiti.html
http://www.consumeraffairs.com/news04/2010/01/haiti_rescue_dogs.html
Monday, February 1, 2010
THE CENSUS IS COMING! THE CENSUS IS COMING!
In the old days, we wanted to know how many slaves you had (manumitted/ mitted) and how many idiots lived in your root cellar and how many mules you had in your barn, and whether anybody in your house knew how to read and do sums, and so forth. But that was then, this is now. We're the first Census of the 21st Century, and we're shaking things up!
In addition to the usual statistics that we gather and disseminate to various secret sects such as the Masons and the Office of Management and Budget, this year we've added a few categories.
Please remember to mail the completed form back to us. Don't mail it to the Canadian Census. We're sure that they'd dearly love to count you in their census, because all their people are here (Examples: Alex Trebeccccccccccccccccccccccccccc!, Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Neil Young, Martin Short, Michael J. Fox, Mike Meyers, Sandra Oh, Alanis Morissette, Eugene Levy, James Cameron, Jim Carrey, Neve Campbell, William Shatner, Shania Twain, Pamela Anderson, etc). But that's their problem.
It's Ok to spindle the form but don't bend, fold, or mutilate it. Good luck trying to find a spindle. Nobody even knows what they are anymore.
Now to the questions:
1. How many slaves do you own? ______
2. How many idiots are you stowing away in the root cellar? ____________
3. Got any mules? __________
4. If you were stuck on a desert island for a year, which could you NOT do without -- Q-tips or dental floss? ______________
5. What kind of an animal would you say you are? (don't say tiger).______
6. Are you in the country legally? ______
7. If you weren't, would you tell us? ____
8. We'd tell you _________
9. Are you really Canadian? ___
10. It's OK, you don't have to be embarrassed about it _________ (See Leonard Cohen, et al., supra).
11. What's you religion? _______
12. How much money do you make? _____
13. What do you fantasize about mostly, would you say? _____ (What's your name, by the way?) _____
14. What's one secret that you've never told anybody? ________
15. Now write down the names of 10 celebrities on folded strips of paper, put them in a bowl, and mail the bowl back to us together with the form ______.
This is a test blank only _______
Do not remove this blank _______
___________
___________
That's it. You're finished.
Please remember to mail the form back to us and not to the Canadians. Don't forget the bowl.
Thank you for participating in the 2010 Census.
You can sit down now.
In addition to the usual statistics that we gather and disseminate to various secret sects such as the Masons and the Office of Management and Budget, this year we've added a few categories.
Please remember to mail the completed form back to us. Don't mail it to the Canadian Census. We're sure that they'd dearly love to count you in their census, because all their people are here (Examples: Alex Trebeccccccccccccccccccccccccccc!, Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Neil Young, Martin Short, Michael J. Fox, Mike Meyers, Sandra Oh, Alanis Morissette, Eugene Levy, James Cameron, Jim Carrey, Neve Campbell, William Shatner, Shania Twain, Pamela Anderson, etc). But that's their problem.
It's Ok to spindle the form but don't bend, fold, or mutilate it. Good luck trying to find a spindle. Nobody even knows what they are anymore.
Now to the questions:
1. How many slaves do you own? ______
2. How many idiots are you stowing away in the root cellar? ____________
3. Got any mules? __________
4. If you were stuck on a desert island for a year, which could you NOT do without -- Q-tips or dental floss? ______________
5. What kind of an animal would you say you are? (don't say tiger).______
6. Are you in the country legally? ______
7. If you weren't, would you tell us? ____
8. We'd tell you _________
9. Are you really Canadian? ___
10. It's OK, you don't have to be embarrassed about it _________ (See Leonard Cohen, et al., supra).
11. What's you religion? _______
12. How much money do you make? _____
13. What do you fantasize about mostly, would you say? _____ (What's your name, by the way?) _____
14. What's one secret that you've never told anybody? ________
15. Now write down the names of 10 celebrities on folded strips of paper, put them in a bowl, and mail the bowl back to us together with the form ______.
This is a test blank only _______
Do not remove this blank _______
___________
___________
That's it. You're finished.
Please remember to mail the form back to us and not to the Canadians. Don't forget the bowl.
Thank you for participating in the 2010 Census.
You can sit down now.
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