NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION: SAVE SIXTY ZILLION DOLLARS BY NOT ACQUIRING MICROSOFT

Was my bank impressed when informed of my plan for building wealth?  No!  It still charged  me a "convenience fee" for using an out-of-network ATM! 

Resolution Number 2:  I'm never going to not acquire Microsoft again!

This brings to mind onomatopoeia, a convenient  vehicle when mere words do not suffice. Let us take, oh, I don't know, say, BANKERS, for example. Not, of course, the Jimmy Stewart-types who, discovering a run at the ol' neighborhood savings 'n loan, leap out of a cab into the pouring rain just for the chance to dole out their hard-earned honeymoon cash to the panicked account-holders while Donna Reed-types cheerfully assist their newlywed husbands by charming the unruly mob into fawning submission, rather than rummage through their purse to find the phone number of the divorce attorney that their cynical cousin, Sal, gave them as a gag wedding gift "just in case"  -- no not those types.  They are a dying breed.  More to the point, they are extinct. Bringing us back to onomatopoeia, a word on permanent loan from the Greek Language, which, while far from extinct (like bankers whose veins course happily with actual blood), is mighty old -- so old, in fact, that it is widely believed to have been the lingua Greca of ancient Greece well over two thousand years ago.

What does this have to do with onomatopoeia?  Only this. We need a new nomenclature, one capable of teasing out the peculiar qualities of those six figure year-end bonused feinschmeckers of finance handsomely rewarded for giving birth to a global economic recession with the survival instincts of a Hydra. And not only that, there has to be a name for people who grow filthy rich from overdrafts while the rest of us are cutting way down on lattes. The name is right there in front of us, limping along through the zeitgeist. 

We're sorry, the zeitgeist has encountered a problem and needs to shut down. Send error report?

Forget the zeitgeist. Go back to onomatopoeia. Perhaps a compound mot would fit the bill, the first part being a synonym for donkey and the second part being the place where you got to stick the devil down in. (We're talking synonyms for credit default swappers).

Resolution Number 3: Defrag the zeitgeist on a more regular basis.

Resolution Number 4: Remember that profiteroles are always better in theory. Print out this maxim.  Laminate it.  Put it in your wallet where once there was money until the [synonym for donkey + the place where you got to stick the devil down in] stole it all. When it comes time to order dessert, read the card aloud to the waiter and wait for him to reply: "profiteroles are not on the menu."

Resolution Number 6:  Learn how to count.

Resolution Number 6.5: Realize that every day is precious. Probably would command a pretty penny at auction. Goodness.  Think how much you could get for a whole week, if only Wednesday didn't have a huge crack in it.

Resolution Number 7: Look up the definition of "profligate." Everybody keeps using it in a sentence on the news, and even though you thought it has something to do with Watergate, you, apparently were incorrect, as the garçon sans profiteroles at the local brasserie so haughtilie advised you while rubbing it in that there never were, and never will be, profiteroles on the menu. BFD.  They're way overrated, anyway.   


Resolution Number 8:  Try to convince everybody that halvah is back in.
 
Resolution Number 9: Stop pretending to be understanding of other cultures and vice versa. They hate you.  You hate them.  Isn't that enough?
 
Resolution Number 10: Live long and profligate.

I Dreamed That I Had Insomnia and Sat Up All Night Watching the Insomnia Television Network Trying to Get to Sleep. When I Awoke, I Realized It Had All Been a Dream, Which is Remarkable Because Usually, I Don't Remember My Dreams.

     If you are still trying to score some last-minute Christmas gifts for that hard-to-please person whose name you haven't quite mastered but are pretty sure contains an umlaut, perhaps some of the many fine products hawked on the Insomnia Television Network will serve as inspiration.  Most are available for $19.99, which is one penny less than $20.00. In today's uncertain times, every penny is worthless and sits around in a jar doing nothing, but when combined together with ninety-nine other pennies and rolled up in a paper tube, has the spending power of 100 pennies, and then there's just no stopping it.

     Imagine for a moment that you are home alone on a cold winter's eve watching the Insomnia Television Network when, without warning, the power goes out and everything becomes an inky-black, which is another way of saying, you can't see your own hand reflected in the mirror 20 feet away. You'd like to think that a tree branch staggering under the weight of new-fallen snow has collapsed a power line plunging the entire neighborhood into darkness, but a quick glance out the window confirms that, in fact, you simply failed to pay the electric bill. It is times like these that the talking, glow-in-the-dark toilet paper roll doesn't seem quite the ridiculous conceit you considered it to be when first you saw it advertised on ITN sponsoring a program about urban survival for skinflints. To say that, at $19.99, it is a bargain is an understatement, especially when one considers that the item comes fully loaded with plenty of vocalized instructions ("under, not over!") and can be programmed to speak English, French, and Esperanto.

     Or suppose you are the meglamaniacal strong-man of a once-thriving republic that you have brought to the brink of ruin with your utterly idiotic economic theories designed principally to enrich you and your sycophants, and your 17-year reign of hypocrisy and terror is threatened once again by a pesky provision regarding presidential term limits in the nation's constitution. Time to dust off that old stand-by -- Ruling-By-Decree-to-Save-the-People-From-an-Imperialist-Plot. You've tried to tear up the constitution before.  You've tried and you've tried! But it's hours of mind-numbing work, and in the end, your knuckles ache. Now with the amazing Freedom Shredder (available at the ridiculously low price of $19.99), you can turn that old windbag of a constitution into confetti in time for New Year's without so much as pushing a button. Works on seditious newspapers and movie scripts, too!

     And speaking of making a name for yourself in the Fourth Estate, are you a homespun rabble rouser aching to speak truth to power -- the repressive dictatorships of the planet -- by leaking their military and diplomatic secrets all over the Internet, except that you're afraid of what the fascist rulers of actual repressive dictatorships would do to you if you ever tried any funny business like that, so instead, you hang out in aristocratic country estates and go after democracies with a tradition of an independent judiciary, an uncensored press, freedom of speech, and adherence (more or less) to the rule of law?  Then the Amazing Aura Fedora is for you. Just put it on and you will instantly feel the patented 'self-importance' ions puffing up your image almost overnight.  The secret is in the brim with the Triple-Flexed Naivety Flannel (TM).  You may not be accomplishing anything with your "work," but you'll sure think you are once you wear this chapeau.  Comes in Large, Extra Large, and Extra, Extra Large to fit all over-sized heads.  I suppose that, by now, I shouldn't have to tell you that it costs only $19.99, but I will. While you're at it, pick up a few extras for your insufferable friends and associates -- the ones who are still talking to you.

           Time's running out. St. Nick is almost here, and you still haven't gotten anything for the student in your midst -- the one who appears to be on the conventional career path leading straight to the life of quiet desperation that H.D.T. warned us all about when people used to read things that had more than 140 characters in them. How about a grogger?  No, not the thing you swing at Purim to drown out every mention of "Haman" (and if you're celebrating Christmas, the odds are pretty good that you don't make a habit of swinging groggers on Purim, anyway).  No we're talking here about a handy little gadget that looks like a portable electronic game (the kind that always causes young people to walk into lamposts while playing) but secretly spritzes warm milk through the fingertips to make their owners groggy (hence the name in case you have not, as of yet, picked up on it), so that they can't stay awake in any of their classes, and end up flunking out of school.  And why, pray tell, do we want them to do that?  So that they can create the next essential phenomenon and become billionaires at the age of 25, that's why!  They'll never have that opportunity if they stay in school reading nonsense like:  "Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote. The droghte of March hath perced to the roote."  Just ask Sergey Brin or Larry Page or Mark Zuckerberg, or Michael Dell, or Bill Gates, or Steve Jobs, or Meg Whitman. (Actually, don't ask Meg Whitman).   Here's a business proposition:  If you pick up one of these little toys and succeed in setting the next wildly-successful drop-out on their way, I get 20% of whatever they give you as a gift when they hit it big, because I turned you onto this, and you never would have even thought of it if it hadn't been for me.  The price for the grogger, if you act now, is (dare I say it?) $19.99. Forego the one that fits on a key chain; it's a rip-off.  Don't even think of thanking me for this tip. Twenty per cent is all I ask, and then, as far as I'm concerned, we'll be all square.

   Well, I hope there's something in this list you can use to bring holiday cheer to somebody in the world.  But if you are not inspired, you can always come back here for more ideas.  I have a feeling I'm going to be up all night.

   Merry Christmas. And G-d Bless us, every one!

YOU HAVE RECEIVED AN E-VITE: IT'S ALL DOWNHILL FROM HERE

WHAT? --  A  Party!

WHERE? -- Our House

WHEN? -- Friday

WHY? -- Why not?

WHO'S COMING (and what are they bringing)?

THE HOST (You) (1) (bringing chips 'n dip)

Plus:

--------------------------------------------------

Megafool (1) -- YES (bringing nachos)

Hoo Ha Guy (?) -- Maybe, Maybe not

Hubba Hubba (1) -- YES  (bringing nachos)

Captain Renault (4) -- YES + 3 lady friends (bringing nachos)

Major Strasser (1) -- YES (bringing nachos)

Megafool Edited Response: Can't anybody read?  I already said I was bringing nachos!  Bring something else!

Funk (2) YES + a mystery guest (bringing nachos)

Ampersand (1) YES (bringing nachos)

Wagnalls (1)  YES (bringing nachos)

Megafool Edited Response: Hey!  C'mon, now!

Jasper (1) YES (bringing dip)

Jasperella (2) YES + a guest (bringing nachos)

Jasper Edited Response: I can't believe you invited Jasperella after what happened.  I guess I have to change my response to "No."

Jasperella Edited Response: Obviously, if I had seen that Jasper was invited, I would have responded "No." Why would you invite Jasper?

Jasper Edited Response: Jasperella really has some nerve. I can't believe she would even think of coming. And to bring a "guest!"  Knowing that I was going to be there! Boy, it didn't take long, did it, Jasperella!?

Jasperella Edited Response: Jasper can't be serious,  He just can't be serious!

Jasper Edited Response: Jasperella, maybe we should take this conversation off line.

Jasperella Edited Response: Anytime!  Call me, if you dare!

Megafool Edited Response:  If Jasperella isn't coming, maybe I'll stay home.

Cat Ballou (1)  YES  (bringing nachos).

Jasper Edited Response: Why does Megafool care whether Jasperella is coming?  What business is it of his?

Jasperella Edited Response:  Mind your own business, Jasper.

Hubba Hubba Edited Response:  All of this acrimony is giving me an ulcer.  I'd rather not come.

Jasper Edited Response: And another thing; what kind of a stupid name is "Megafool?"

Cat Ballou Edited Response: If Hubba Hubba isn't coming, there may not be enough nachos.  I don't think I could handle that.  Change my response to "No."

Funk Edited Response: Changed my mind.  Not coming.  Not bringing nachos.

Ampersand Edited Response: Regrettably, the stores are sold out of nachos.  I shall not be able to attend.

Wagnalls Edited Response: I thought of it first, but my computer froze, so I was unable to post this edited reply before the others, but I have decided to change my response to "No," and I am decidedly not bringing nachos.

Ilsa:  (1) YES  (bringing nachos)

Rick Blaine (0) NO -- And it doesn't take a genius to see that the problems of two little people don't amount to a hill of bean dip in this crazy, mixed-up world.

Victor Laszlo (0)  WHY is that Monsieur Blaine?

Rick Blaine Edited Response:  Ask your wife.

Victor Laszlo Edited Response:  Did you say, "Ask my wife?"

Rick Blaine Edited Response:  I said, "ask your wife."

 You (the Host): I didn't invite Rick Blaine and Victor Laszlo. How did they crash this e-vite?

Ilsa Edited Response:  Oh, I don't know what to think, anymore; you'll have to do the thinking for both of us.

You (the Host):  Ilsa, if you don't come to the party, you'll regret it.  Maybe not today; maybe not tomorrow, but someday.  And you were, like, practically the only person left bringing nachos.


Hoo Ha Guy Edited Response: Did someone say "nachos?" Maybe I'll reconsider. 


Captain Renault Edited Response:  Major Strasser has been shot!  Less nachos for everybody!

Ilsa Edited Response: In that case, I'm not coming.

Hoo Ha Guy Edited Response: If she's not coming, I'm not coming. And that's final!

You (the Host):  Louis, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.



---------------------------------------------
Not Yet Responded: (1)

Signor Ugarte

A WEEK OF NOSEYS

On Sunday, we SALLY forth to the museum.

On Monday, we MOPE in the rain.

On Tuesday, we TAKE the bus.

On Wednesday, we WALK the cat.





On Thursday, we THINK.

On Friday, we FRESS.

On Saturday, we SLEEP late.





You Have 47,000 Points In Your Account! When You Die, You Will Have Qualified for a Blender!

     There are plenty of movies and books and other defunct artifacts of the culture that appropriate as a central plot point the depiction of a recently-departed soul reviewing their life's summary in the company of a well-paid, private spirit guide.  (Nota bene: You never see any tipping). In these scenes, the protagonist is often shown a kind of highlights reel wherein the whole worth of their existence on Earth is revealed to them through the device of statistics: how many people they have helped;  how many mitzvahs they have performed; how many lives they have pulled from the brink of ruin, and so on and so forth.

        But what about the rest of us? We who have pretty much coasted. What of us? What sort of reckoning might we expect when the lights go out and, before the feature film begins, crackling forth from the cosmic movie screen comes the over-decibled 32 year-old animation about the location of the fire exits starring an anthropomorphic orange flame whose lip movements are not in synchronization with the sound  (just like everybody in the movies) and who looks suspiciously like the anthropomorphic blue flame from television public service announcements who talks like he just took a hit of helium, and, ironically enough, is constantly sounding the alarm about gas leaks.

       The Kabbalists say that on a certain level, life is all about numbers. 18 for example. Thus, even for the below-average, the unremarkable, the slackers, as it were, there awaits in the world beyond a life tally of sorts. And what might that tally look like for those of us in this group -- Group D (aside from the fact that priority seating is pretty much out of the question)? Let us consider a sample.

Number of hours stared at rotating hourglass on computer screen: 476,342


Number of times Lord's Name  (or reasonable facsimile thereof) taken in vain for stupidest of reasons, such as missing the wastebasket after attempting a Karim Abdul Jabbar-type basketball hook shot with a wadded-up piece of paper --  even tho standing right over it (the wastebasket, that is) 9,003.

Number of pens lost: 5 million.

Number of calls from Special Olympics and B'Nai B'rith, and the Policeman's Benevolent Ball Committee screened and not answered: 42,003.

Number of people addressed as "hey!" because, even with a loaded gun pointed at your head, you could not remember their names: 978.

Number of double-A batteries purchased unnecessarily because the ones taking cover under the plastic take-out menu from the HFTKH (Happy Fun Time Kosher Hunan) in the middle kitchen drawer under the counter where the fruit bowl lives refuse to step forward, and, in a nice clear voice, announce:  "Yoohoo!  Here we are! Over here! We've never been used!  We're still in the original sealed container!")  14,576.

      You get the gist.  The little things in life add up. But unless you go around keeping track in spiral notebooks wrapped in brown paper packages tied up with string and stacked efficiently but uselessly at the bedside, you don't know the sum total of their weight until it no longer matters. As Moss Hart reminded us, you can't take it with you.

     Still, aren't you dying to know the number of times over an entire lifetime that the waiter averted his gaze and pretended not to hear you calling him by name ("hey!") despite your aura of self-importance tinged with starvation (771)? Wouldn't you, at long last, like to be reunited with all those socks (536)? Would you not like to know just how many minutes you waited for your call (the one that is very important to us) to be answered by "John" (104,976)?

     True, there is no life-saving in the kind of production described here. Mostly finger-tapping and suchlike.  But My Dinner With Andre was just a couple of guys sitting in a restaurant talking for 110 minutes (exclusive of the credits), and the critics who use words of many letters fawned all the same.

     Thus, even the unremarkable have a tale to tell. It's just that, deciding whether to go to the restroom in the middle isn't so much of a dilemma.




(number of words wasted on this post:  2,345).

IN TODAY'S NEWS: HIYLH REACHES NEW PAGE VIEW MILESTONE. (In other "news": Antartica continues to disappear; Mideast harmony -- as elusive as ever; Global economic crises continue; Nobel peace prize laureate ineligible for award, guilty of promoting...peace).

To celebrate, we're taking everyone out to lunch at the Happy Fun Time Kosher Hunan.  However do not, repeat, DO NOT, under any circumstance, order anything with duck sauce.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This holiday season, please consider a charitable gift to alleviate the destruction and suffering caused by the devastating fires in the beautiful Carmel district near Haifa.  The fires, which destroyed lives, homes, and 12,500 acres of forest (which will take 40 years to recover), did not discriminate in choice of victims. It was battled by the personnel and resources of Jewish, Arab, and Druze Israelis, Palestinians, Turks, Egyptians, Jordanians, Cypriots, Greeks, Germans, Spaniards, British, Bulgarians, Azerbaijanis, Romanians, Australians, Croatians, Dutch, Italians, French, Swiss, Russians, and Americans.

Israel, which has provided substantial humanitarian assistance to earthquake victims in Turkey, Haiti, El Salvador, and India, hurricane victims in the United States, Honduras, Nicaragua, and Guatemala, starvation relief to thousands in Ethiopia, relief to Tsunami victims in Indonesia, and assistance to Kosovo refugees, among many others, now needs your help.

 Todah! And Happy Holidays!

http://jnf.org/

http://www.arza.org/index.cfm?

http://www.jdc.org/templates/media-center-template.aspx?id=4803

http://www.afmda.org/

WikiLeaks Exposes Secret HIYLH State Department Dossier, And It Isn't Pretty. It Isn't Exactly Ugly, Either. Mostly, It's Fair-to-Middlin'. But, Hey, You Know What They Say: "Fair-to-Middlin' Is in the Eye of the Beholder." WARNING: THE FOLLOWING ARTICLE CONTAINS THE WORD "NOTWITHSTANDING," AND MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ALL AUDIENCES. DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

     Almost (but not quite) lost in the worldwide media frenzy stemming from the WikiLeaks disclosures is the maelstrom swirling around the publication of certain correspondence between Honk if You Like Honking (HIYLH) and the Department of State vis a vis affaires d'etat. Notwithstanding that the aforementioned déplaisant lettres were marked "Highly Confidential.  Get Your Damn Eyes Off, Yo!" and were never intended to be made a part of the public record, they have, nonetheless, now come to light, and gotten all intertwined with the flotsam and jetsam of secret governmental revelations washing ashore in newsrooms throughout the world of late.

     In August, HIYLH sent an email to Hilary007@sec.of.state.gov warning that the local Persian Ruggery and Eating Place seemed to be carrying an inordinate variety of pistachios -- the  other national nut of Iran. The missive cautions that "some snakes are a cut ahead of others, get it? Get it?  If you don't get it, just ask the King of Saudi Arabia."  The email concludes with the coded message: "We put the "IF" in Honk if you Like Honking." Weeks later, the State Department acknowledged the threat to national security via postcard which read: "The Department of State receives thousands of communications weekly from concerned citizens like you.  We Regret that we cannot acknowledge each letter personally.  Thank you for your interest in foreign policy."

       That relations between HIYLH and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia have been in the deep freeze ever since the pistachio cat has been de-bagged is putting it mildly. More importantly, ever since the Persian Ruggery learned that some of its patrons may have been engaging in culinary espionage and other skulduggery, it always seems to be out of everything on the menu, and even the coffee tastes suspiciously instant.  Good, tho.

      This bruhaha diplomatique pales in comparison, however, to the uproar over some of the Twitter chatter between IamWomanHearmeRoarBecauseIamSecretaryofState@Twitter.com and HIYLH@Twitter.com   laid bare for all the world to see by the Wiki fiends. If the reports unearthed therefrom seem brutally candid, it is only because they were never meant to see the light of day.  And yet, now that  "privacy" is just another word for "nothin' left to lose," they have been. Herewith, a sample:

HIYLH: Had dinner last night at an Afghani restaurant half-owned by Karzai.  Won't say that it sucked. Won't say that it didn't.

IamWoman: You don't say.

HIYLH: LOL!  Good one!

IamWoman: Probably you shouldn't have ordered the goat. It's hard to sleep afterwards.

HIYLH:  Hey!  Are you really secretary of state?

IamWoman:  Ha Ha! C U

     The result?  HIYLH is now on a watch list at the Kabul Bistro Hut, and its reservations are no longer honored. This has eviscerated any hope of ever planning an event with six or more guests on anything remotely approaching an orderly basis.

     As weighty as the previous anecdotes are (approx. 175 lbs disrobed), the cream of the cream (English for creme de la creme) of mixed metaphors and ambassadorial meltdowns came in the form of the discovery and uncoding of a secret cable ostensibly from the U.S. Consulate in Shanghai cleverly disguised as a fortune wrapped inside a cookie and delivered surreptitiously at the conclusion of a fine repast of Tofu Surprise and Snow Peas at the Happy Fun Time Kosher Hunan.  It read: "Dig tunnels deep, store grain everywhere, and never seek hegemony." This was recognized at once to be a warning about a possible cyber attack from the mainland.

     When the PRC realized that its emissary's cover had been blown and its plans likely found out following the WikiLeak of this and other fortune cookies, it was neither slow nor shy about retaliation. To wit: The last three takeout deliveries from the aforementioned establishment have all shortchanged on the duck sauce, and one completely left out the vegetarian dumplings.  Coincidence?  Not hardly.

     It will take a concerted effort of fence-mending, face-saving, and dish-washing to repair the damage that has been done by the revelation of that which was never meant to be revealed. Some relations may forever be plagued by mistrust an intrigue. But resilience and planning aforethought will, in the end, save the day, and things will, in time, return to normal.

     And speaking of a Plan B, the coupons at the Noodle Panda never expire and they cannot be rescinded nohow.

You Never Know, A Miracle Could Happen

Fighting Global Terrorism One Little Debbie Cake at a Time

Another HIYLH Animation:

Little Debbie v. Jihad

It's Time We Had a Conversation About Cloning (It's Time We Had a Conversation About Cloning)

We've come a long way from the nascency of cloning, wherein we witnessed crude and rudimentary experimentation progress to ever more complex and sophisticated forms, id est,  from Sylvester Stallone's Rocky movies, to single-cell organisms, to sheep. Now, standing on the shoulders of giants, we find ourselves on the mountaintop, at the cusp of a new era. Arrayed before us, as far as the eye can see, is the fertile crescent of human endeavor we call "Possiblity." Fortunate, indeed, are we who now can see that which before we could not see: our future, nay our very destiny. And this, too, we call "Possibility," because, having exhausted our supply of cliches and hackneyed phrases, we cannot think of what else to call it. And so we conclude that our future and our destiny both share the same name, which, (the reader will recall from the previous sentence), we have dubbed, "Possibility." Could they be related -- the future and our destiny?  They sure look alike.  They have the same nose. Which brings us, mercilessly, to  the next paragraph. 

Now that cloning has become mere child's play, should we let our children play with it? What about the rest of us who are not our children? Will we be able to resist the compulsion to clone ourselves? Confronted at every turn with the choice to clone or not, will we be able to foresee each and every...what?...ramification? No!  Our old friend, "Possibility!"  If we choose to clone ourselves repeatedly, how will we treat the opportunity to be present but not paying attention in multiple venues simultaneously?

 More importantly, will each one of our cloned selves be taxed, and if so, at the same rate? Can we claim the dependent deductions for our clones? Or can we be a cloned person filing jointly? As with all things having to do with Internal Revenue, the answer is "It depends." 

If taxation is not your bailiwick (if it is, please do not clone yourself; we'll pay you), you may wish to consider a few additional scenarios (a/k/a "Possibilities") which you have not, heretofore, considered.  For example, will you be allowed to clone enough of yourself(ves) to outvote the other shareholders, perhaps even take over the board of directors one fine day?  What about place holding while waiting on line at the Registry of Motor Vehicles or seat saving at the movies? Ethical?  Or un? Who can say?  Ordinarily, Time would tell, but in this case, Time aint talkin', at least not without a big, fat incentive.

And what about the following? If we are already unlucky in the uncloned state, will our clones just carry on the tradition, like all of us having to sit through unremittingly boring lectures constantly, or always bumping our head(s) absent-mindedly on the same low-hanging branches distributed unevenly throughout the town? And what if we never have anything good to wear -- exponentially? It's enough to make you dizzy and a little nauseous.  Eat a piece of raw ginger.  You'll feel better.

Speaking of eating, better be prepared to just have to buy groceries nonstop, because youse will always be eating yourself(ves) out of house and home. See how quickly "Possibility" has changed its name to "Frahnkunshteen?" Hate to say it, but someone had to say it, and Time, as you know, refuses to say it. Don't shoot the messenger, OK?  You can slap the messenger around a little bit for show, but that's it. No shooting.

Maybe we should climb back down off the mountaintop and re-think this whole cloning thing. Possibility will just have to wait for something else. And, anyway, we're afraid of heights.

   

THINK WE CAN'T HYPNOTIZE YOU? WE JUST DID.

Warning

     Never consent to be hypnotized by anyone claiming that you cannot be hypnotized into falling in love with them or giving them a mortgage on your home while under hypnosis.  This is utter nonsense of the highest magnitude, and such persons are charlatans. Never consent to be hypnotized absent a quid pro quo. A song from the era of the crooners (Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Jerry Lewis...OK, not Jerry Lewis -- sorry, France) instructed:  "The Best Things in Life Are Free."  This, too, is a croc.  The best things in life cost plenty, and top-notch hypnosis is no exception.  Anyone who tells you that they will hypnotize you and expect nothing in return is a fraud or a fool or a frool. Never trust any hypnotist who claims that they have only your best interest at heart and would never, ever take advantage of you or humiliate you while you were under their spell (e.g., asking you to disrobe and reveal all of your secret passcodes and the like while they filmed the whole sordid affair).  Ha ha!  What a joke! Anyone who feeds you this line is surely not a certified hypnotist, and may, in fact, be dangerous, and should be reported to the authorities, or, at the very least, to Oprah Winfrey. Anyone who claims that you will feel "refreshed" or "at peace" or "safe" upon your re-ascent to the conscious world, instead of, say, violated in some vague and ambiguous way that you can't quite put your finger on (because you were under hypnosis when it occurred, but you have a nagging feeling that it, in fact, occurred) is a bald-faced liar and a shanda to the profession, to boot. Never sign any contract agreeing to release the hypnotist from all liability in connection with the procedure until after you are in a hypnotic state.  In fact, never sign any contract with the hypnotist at all until after you are in the hypnotic state. Disregard all assertions that you cannot be hypnotized on-line. Poppycock, if we may be permitted to say so. Do not confuse us real hypnotists for politicians (though you may surely see several similarities) or bond traders, or diet gurus or just plain old gurus. A real hypnotist will not guarantee preposterous results such as (South Africa). Indeed, you will see no results whatsoever, and until and unless you begin to sense that you have been ripped off or otherwise taken for the grandest of rides arising from your interaction with the hypnotist, you can be assured that the process has been a monumental failure. If you have been dedicated to a pre-conceived notion, or any notion, so conceived and so dedicated, that you will profit in even the most imperceptible of ways from the exercise in which you are about to engage, allow us to disabuse you of that notion anon.   Do not thank us for our brutal sincerity.  Your gratitude is of no moment, and besides, we cannot take it to the bank. But cry not for us (Argentina).  We shall have our just desserts at the after-party. 

Acknowledgement  

      I acknowledge that, at best, I skimmed the above-referenced WARNING, and likely, did not read it at all, but even if I did read it, did not understand the half of it, because I am lazy and impulsive, and want instant gratification just like everyone else, and have pretty much come to the conclusion that You are judgment-proof, anyway, so what difference does it make.

Definitions

     Wherever the term "You" appears, it shall refer to a jug of wine and a loaf of bread.  Wherever the term "We" appears in shall be understood in the royal sense where the context so requires.  Wherever the singular form appears, it shall be construed and understood to incorporate the plural and vice versa. Likewise, when it is good and ready and not before, the masculine form will get to the "to do list" so meticulously prepared by the feminine form, and memorialized on little paper notes affixed, ingeniously, to the masculine form's garments hanging innocently in the closet and also stuffed, furtively, in the pockets of the aforesaid. 

Terms of Use

     After many hours of careful and dedicated study, "We" have determined that the Terms of Use of the "Girls Gone Wild" franchise are hereby adopted and incorporated herein by reference. The Girls are, likewise, adopted.   By agreeing to be hypnotized by "We," "You" hereby consent to do that which we suggest, no matter to what degree your disbelief must be suspended, willingly or otherwise.  If you are 18 or younger, Mazel Tov.

Miscellaneous

     Odds and ends, chotchkes, as it were.

     Mumbo Jumbo

     Doubtlessyoufeelthat"You"aresmarterthan"We"areandareincapableofbeinghypnotizedbutpointoffactyouhavebeeninahypnoticstatesincethedayyouwerebornandareassusceptibletomanipulationasanyonenomatterhowmuchyouresistsostopwastingourtimeand goaheadandsignonthedottedlineandsureweacceptEurosasaformofpayment"You"love"We"because"We"areirresistablesendusallyourmoneydoitnowdoitnowdoitnowyouaregettingsleepyaren'tyou?When youawakeyouwillfeelrefreshedbutalsovaguelyrippedoffdon'tworryit'snatural.

You Can Take the Driving Test as Many Times as You Want But You Never Get a Second Chance to Say "You Never Get a Second Chance" For the First Time After You Already Said It.

How long has it been since you last took a driver's test?  5 years? 10 years? 100 years? 100,000 years? Holy Moses!  Just how old are you, Methuselah?  Mind if we call you Methuselah? We were going to call you "Meth" for short, but some people (the stupid ones) would take that the wrong way, so we'll stick with the full name.

Well, now, Methuselah, you may think you are a great driver and know all the rules of the road.    Care to have a friendly wager?   Take our little practice test (based on an actual practice test) and we'll see how much of a menace you are. For every question you get right, score 5 points. For every question we get right, send us a dollar.

Click on the link below to watch a quick demonstration.

www.http//thisboguslinkdoesnotworkbecauseGeorgeSorossabotageditinyetanotherexampleofhowGlennBeckwasrightabouthimhereallyistryingtocontroltheeconomytogetherwithhissmarmyHolocaustsurvivingfriends

Link above not working?

___________________________________

Actual Practice Questions

(Read each question below out loud [in a an exaggerated fake British accent] while waiting on line to purchase tickets to see Al Pacino in Merchant of Venice at the Broadhurst on Broadway, and click on the answer that you think best exemplifies the following statement: "The shortest distance between 2 points is not having to change planes in Newark."

Number 1

When planning to make a left turn across an intersection while waiting for the traffic to clear, your front tires should be turned:


A.  Out

B.  They should definitely be turned out.

C.   Yes, yes. They are all turned out.  They look nice.

Link above still not working?

Number 2

When you see a "Roadwork Ahead" sign you should:

A. Shout out the window: "My tax dollars are paying for this!  Look sharp there, you!"


B. They should definitely be turned out.

C. Have known there's not really anybody working out here, and we all slowed down for nothing.


How we doin' so far?  Care to play double or nothin'?


Numbuh 3

You should drive on the shoulder to pass a car only:

A. if Anwar al-Awlaki is lying on the shoulder.* 

B. when you see the whites of their eyes.

C. Only what?  What is it you're trying to say, Methuselah?


Noomber 4 

When you see a flashing yellow light at an intersection you should:


A.  Yes, you should.

B.  Everybody does it.
C.  Slow down!  Slow down!  I can't understand a word you're saying! She called you a what?

Nahmbah 5

Scanning the road ahead for hazards helps drivers:


A.  Forget about the hazards on the road behind.

B.  Save the hazards to a file to be downloaded at a later time.

C.  Both A and B are correct.

Now We Are Six

When you are driving on the freeway and the vehicle in front of you is a large truck, you should drive:

A.  What is a freeway?

B.   Where we live, we have to pay tolls so that the government can afford to erect signs that say: "Roadwork Ahead."

C.   We pay through the nose, actually.

Are you asleep, Methuselah? Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! We're almost done.  It doesn't look good you dozing off behind the wheel like that. What would Anwar al-Awlaki, say? Hey, do you suppose he uses an alias for takeout orders?  "Hi, I'm picking up the large 3-cheese pizza for al.' "  Maybe you should get an alias for takeout orders, Methuselah. "I'm picking up the schwarma sandwich for 'Meth.' " Oh, right, we tried that already. Never mind. I know! If you want to see a hysterical video of a cat scratching Anwar al-Awlaki on the butt, click the link below:


www.http//Anwaral-Awakisctratchedonthebutthystericalvideo
[1 billion views]

 
Number 7
To stop in an emergency situation when your car does not have ABS brakes, you should:

A.  Get some ABS brakes.

B.  Buy some ABS brakes.

C.  Purchase some ABS brakes.
Score:
 
George Soros - 6 million
 
Glenn Beck - 0
.......................................
 
Well, how did you do?
 
That's not good at all.
 
Hand over the keys, Meth.
 
And send us some money.
 
 
*Any similarity to Anwar al-Awlaki is strictly coincidental.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Link above still not working?

O Brave New World, That Has Such One-Dimensional Characters In It!




"This is the last time I order the kishke," he thought.

 

For a Second There, Liechtenstein Thought it Was Getting a Huge Windfall from an Auction House, But No, It was Roy.

Pop artist Roy Lichtenstein's painting "Ohhh . . . Alright . . ." sold at auction in New York at Christie's  for a record $42.6 million. The cartoon-style painting, featuring a close-up of a young woman holding a telephone, with her response in a speech bubble, went to an anonymous phone bidder.
 
Andy Warhol, the presumptuous little soup can painter, one of whose cans also sold for millions at the auction, but not as many millions as Lichtenstein's painting, had no comment.
 
The Principality of Liechtenstein also had no comment.
 
Some people have speculated that Liechtenstein was the anonymous phone bidder for the Lichtenstein, but Liechtenstein had no comment.
 
The anonymous phone bidder also had no comment.
 
The only one talking was the money.
 
And the art listened.

Oh For Pete's Sake! Not Another Country & Western Song About the Municipal Building Program During the Administration of Krishnadeva Raya, Ruler of the Medieval Hindu Vijaynagara Empire!

Nice Hat Noseys

The 536 Socks* You Meet in Heaven ...................................................................................................................................(*that you thought had been lost in a lifetime of dryer loads)

HIYLH is down for maintenance and will be back up shortly.

FALSE!
HIYLH IS ON STRIKE!

FALSE!
HIYLH HAS BEEN INFILTRATED AND HACKED!

We would apologize for the inconvenience except that, here at HIYLH, we really don't go in for that sort of thing.

I HAD LUNCH WITH THE ECONOMY AND GOT STUCK WITH THE CHECK!

The Economy walked into La Maison de la Food, looking, I thought, a jot sluggish, and made a bee-line for the table in the back in the corner in the dark where the proprietor, Flipjack Wilson, had thoughtfully reserved a niche for anonymous conversation, and possibly some hanky-panky. As the Economy slid unnoticed into the seat opposite, I didn't bother to get up because my shoes had become stuck to a syrupy film on the floor recently appliqued, no doubt, by a youngster not yet schooled in the fine art of pancake adornment.

"You're looking a jot sluggish," I said, peering over the top of my plastic menu, to which my nose had also just become affixed owing to the handiwork of the self-same junior patron whose sojourn at this very chair clutching this very menu had, doubtless, immediately preceded mine.

"What can I tell you?" retorted the Economy signaling the barmaid with a salacious wink. "Everywhere I go it's the same old story: Kvetch, kvetch, kvetch. That's all I hear night and day. "

"But, Night and Day, you are the one," I replied.  "Only you beneath the Moon or under the Sun, that's all people talk about these days."

"Well, it's enough to drive you batty," sighed the Economy. "One moment I feel so up, the next moment, not so much. I need a drink."

The buxom, young waitress now stood before us wide-eyed and bushy-tailed hanging onto our every word, possibly using some kind of invisible crampon, but I couldn't be certain.

"I'll have anything with tonic," snapped the Economy. "What I need is a good tonic. Bring that and some humble pie, and a heaping portion of sour grapes." The waitress dutifully recorded this instruction on a little pad of paper that she produced ingeniously somewhere from the depths of her pocket, although, I suppose, it could have been her soul.  "He'll have whatever he's having," the Economy continued cynically, gesturing towards me without so much as a glance in my direction.

"Bring me some varnish and a clean cloth," I uttered laboriously, my speech slurred by my bottom lip which now, too, had become melded to the part of the menu advertising (somewhat ironically) a Tongue Sandwich Special with a Half-Sour and a Dr. Brown's.

Behind the wall, just feet away from where we sat, we could hear the sounds of shattering glass and plates crashing to the floor, followed by a great wail and cry in a language that was at once strange and familiar using words also strange and familiar, but also unprintable. Every time the swinging doors to the kitchen were flung open revealing the inner-workings of the  operation, we were eyewitnesses to the unfolding sturm und drang. Dishwashers ran around like headless chickens waiving mops and brooms frantically, and sous chefs knelt over the fallen victuals, selecting choice portions for re-plating. Meanwhile the maitre d'   stood on a counter belting out a soulful theme from Flight of the Valkyries. In the way back, through the haze, we could see some actual headless chickens hanging around, smoking with the sax player and an unidentified groupie.

I was rather plussed by this startling tableau.  But the Economy seemed non.

"Look, I'm not trying to make excuses," the Economy piped up.  "It's like Roosevelt said: 'The only thing we have is fear.' "

"I don't think that was the precise quote," I corrected.

"Don't be a wiseguy, boychick," said the Economy.  Remember what Kennedy (Sorensen) said: 'Ask not what your country can do for you; ask: what have you done for me lately?' "

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that wasn't the line, either," I said.  

But the Economy was having none of it. For just at that moment, a runaway train came careening around the corner, and the Economy leaped up, ran outside, and hopped aboard.

"Where are you going?" I cried to the Economy through a hole I poked in the menu with my nose.  "I don't want your damn sour grapes!"

"Then try the Humble Pie," the Economy called back as the runaway train pulled away.  "It's good for you!"

The server arrived with our order and the bill on which she had written: "Thanx! Have a Nice day! Melanie."  Next to a picture of a smiley face.   

"Screwed by the Economy, again" I thought, measuring out the varnish carefully by pouring it all over myself. Melanie disappeared in search of a doggy bag and some mints.

ROTARY CALLERS, PLEASE STAY ON THE LINE. AND WHILE YOU'RE ON THE LINE, PONDER THIS: WHAT IS A "ROTARY CALLER" AND WHY ARE YOU ONE? DO YOU TURN A CRANK TO START UP YOUR CAR? DO YOU EVEN OWN A CAR? WHAT KIND OF A CAR DO YOU OWN? IS IT AN EDSEL? DOES IT HAVE CUP HOLDERS? YOU KNOW THAT IT DOESN'T! WHY DO YOU PRETEND THAT IT DOES? WHEN YOU DRIVE UP TO THE TOLLBOOTH, DO YOU SAY TO THE TOLLTAKER (BECAUSE WE KNOW YOU DON'T HAVE ONE OF THOSE TRANSPONDER GADGETS VELCROED TO YOUR WINDSHIELD, OH, YES, WE KNOW!) DO YOU EVER SAY: "CAST YOUR EYES AWAY FROM MY EDSEL; IT IS TOO HIDEOUS, AS IT HAS NO CUPHOLDERS"? OR DO YOU JUST KEEP TO THE BACK ROADS TO SAVE A BUCK TWENTY-FIVE (MORE IF YOUR EDSEL HAS AN EXTRA AXEL) AND AVOID THE EMASCULATION? DO YOU DRIVE AROUND AND AROUND THROUGH THE FORESTS AT NIGHT LOOKING VAINLY FOR THE PATH OF BREADCRUMBS YOU DROPPED BEHIND YOU SO AS NOT TO GET LOST ON THE RETURN TRIP, ONLY TO GROW TIRED, SLOUCHING IN THE BACK SEAT OF YOUR EDSEL, WHISPERING A PATHETIC KIND OF FALSETTO INTO THE MOUTHPIECE OF YOUR ROTARY PHONE, "OPERATOR I THINK MAYBE I JUST HEARD A BEAR," BUT REALLY, IT WAS JUST A CHIPMUNK (THE ONE, BTW, WHO ATE YOUR PUNY, LITTLE BREADCRUMBS), WELL, DO YOU? IF YOU REARRANGE THE LETTERS THAT SPELL "CHIPMUNK" AND GET RID OF SOME OF THE BULKY ONES, YOU END UP WITH "CHUMP." FITTING, WOULDN'T YOU SAY? AND WHAT ABOUT SOMETIMES YOU TRY TO DIAL THE NUMBER WITH A PENCIL, BUT IT SLIPS OUT OF YOUR HAND BEFORE IT REACHES THE INTENDED NUMBER, AND THE DIAL GOES CAREENING BACK TO ITS HOME BASE AND YOU HAVE TO HANG UP AND START ALL OVER AGAIN? IS IT ENOUGH TO MAKE YOU SAY: "TO HECK WITH THE DARN THING?"

NEWS ALERT: WITH ONE HALF OF ONE PER CENT OF PRECINCTS REPORTING, HONK IF YOU LIKE HONKING CAN NOW PROJECT THAT KIM JONG-IL WILL APPOINT HIS SON TO BE THE NEXT DICTATOR OF NORTH KOREA.

TONIGHT'S OTHER BIG WINNERS:

Robert Mugabe, Zimbabwe

Omar al-Bashir, Sudan (unopposed)

Than Shwe, Burma (unopposed)

King Abdullah, Saudi Arabia (unopposed)

Hu Jintao, China (unopposed)

Sayyid Ali Khamenei, Iran (unopposed)

Isayas Afewerki, Eritrea (unopposed)

G. Berdymuhammedov, Turkmenistan (write-in candidate)*

Muammar al-Qaddafi, Libya (unopposed)

Islam Karimov, Uzbekistan (unopposed)

Bashar al-Assad, Syria (unopposed)

Raúl Castro, Cuba (unopposed)**

Teodoro Obiang Nguema, Equatorial Guinea (unopposed)

Aleksandr Lukashenka, Belarus (unopposed)

Meles Zenawi, Ethiopia (unopposed)

Idriss Déby, Chad (unopposed)

King Mswati III, Swaziland (unopposed)

Paul Biya, Cameroon (unopposed)

Hosni Mubarak, Egypt (unopposed)

* Write-in rules required that the candidate's name be spelled correctly on the ballot. The candidate benefited, apparently, from the fact that his name is "G.," which is relatively easy to spell.

** Candidate will fill out the term-for-life of his predecessor.

A ballot initiative to make it a capital offense to respond to an interrogative phrase with the word "so" was defeated handily.

More news as it happens.

OBJECTS IN MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR

MALTHUSIAN NOSEYS

So Nu? York Times of the Future

"All the News That Fits Onto an Eyelid App."


Thursday, October 21, 2099 Last Update: 9:35 PM ET

Weather -- Mostly Wrong (Full Report) (CliffsNotes Version)

FORMER PRESIDENT ABRAHAM LINCOLN 
REVIVED IN QUANTUM LEAP
EXTRAORDINARY RENDITION 
SAYS TIME TRAVEL"OVERRATED"
Original Gettysburg Address Written on Several Napkins.
All But One Flew Away in Sudden Breeze.
Speech Was to Have Been Much Longer

By Pincus "Ming" Mandelbaum, VI,  6 minutes ago

     Washington, D.C. -- Stepping out of the 19th Century and into the end of the 21st courtesy of recent innovations in quantum leap technology, the 16th President of the United States told a cyber-conference of "news" bloggers at the U.S. Mint that certain things about the future were "mighty fine," but that he preferred his own time period because there, he didn't have to "suspend habeas corpus just to find a decent serving of hardtack, salt pork, and goober peas." He seemed unimpressed that his image had been preserved on the Penny coin, noting that nobody seemed to use Pennies much.  [more]

TIMES TO CHARGE MORE FOR EYELID APP. EDITION

By NYT Staff,  6 months from now 
     

      New York -- Faced with slumping revenues and a burgeoning ADD-multimedia marketplace, the New York Times Co. announces another hike in the subscription price of the Eyelid App. edition. An annual subscription will now cost $5,000.00 -- a 15% price hike. Off-planet subscribers will pay more. Times time travelers who have visited the future are already aware of the story and will have cancelled their subscriptions in disgust (in the future). Others will be expressing outrage in telepathic messages to the ombudsperson.  [more]

INVOKING THE EXEMPTION OF "CROSSIES," CANDIDATES FOR ELECTIVE OFFICE VOW TO END NEGATIVE CAMPAIGNING

By Son O' The Situation,  19 Minutes Ago 

     Chicago -- At a joint conference here that was part town hall meeting, part fighting city hall, and  part driving through Hartford at rush hour, Democrats, Republicans, Tea Partyers, Libertarians, and independent candidates for a wide array of state and national elective offices took a pledge to refrain from negative campaigning. Led by an astral projection of former President Jimmy Carter (who just doesn't seem to go away), attendees promised to avoid phrases like "robot ho" and "thought virgin" when referring to their opponents. In interviews following the spectacle, Congressional hopefuls wasted little time in breaking the pledge, calling each other "child murderer," "print media-reader," and worse.  [more]   

FRENCH STRIKERS DEMAND GOVERNMENT MASSAGES AND PIñA COLADAS FOR RETIRING 30-YEAR OLDS

From Wire Services, Paper Hangers, and Wire Hangers -- 27 minutes to go

      Paris -- De Gaulle once said: "The French People agree on absolutely nothing except for Mickey Mouse, Jerry Lewis, and strikes." Coco Chanel heard the last word as "stripes," and went off on a tangent, but leaders of the major trade unions took to the streets and never looked back. Now that virtually no one in the country works for more than a few minutes a week, there's plenty of time to lie around with tropical drinks in hand listening to Jimmy Buffet musique.  [more]

LICHTENSTEIN WINS LITTLE LEAGUE WORLD SERIES; TAIWAN SETTLES FOR 2ND. "AT LEAST WE STILL HAVE THE TALLEST BUILDING," SAYS COACH

By "Mookie"  Happenin' now 

     Williamsport, Pa.  -- Tiny, little Lichtenstein stunned the pre-pubescent baseball universe here today by defeating powerhouse, Taiwan, in the Little League World Series. The victory was all the more impressive given that no one in Lichtenstein knows how to play baseball or has even heard of it. Apparently, a government minister was able to field a team by tricking the players into thinking they were coming to America to participate in a television game show. The Taiwanese coach admitted that he underestimated the Lichtenstein threat by encouraging his team to "close their eyes and meditate intensely" to preserve physical strength whenever Lichtenstein was at bat, enabling an inordinate number of  base hits by the clueless Liechtensteiners. [more] 

_______________________________________________

FASHION WEEK IN JERUSALEM   Blogging Live

_____________________________

Opinionator
Kollins: Whatever
Comments (0)

Cristof: Legalize Everything

Editorial: Remember when journalists delivered the news?  Those were the days (my friend).

Douwd: We thought they'd never end.
Comments (423)

Freedman:  We'd sing and dance for ever and a day.
 
Crugman: We lived the life we choose.
 
Brooks Bros.: We'd fight and never lose. 
 
Poor:  Those were the days (oh yes) those were the days.
____________________________________________

FASHION WEEK IN RIYADH Blogging Live



                Unknown (left) Unknown (middle) Unknown (right)
                (Not pictured:  Unknown)
_______________________________________________


FCC COMMISSIONER, FREUD, SAYS HONK IF YOU LIKE HONKING GUILTY OF SCHADENFREUDE FOR DISPLAYING SANGFROID AMID CHARGES OF CONTEST FRAUD

By Claude Frawd,  73,619 Minutes Ago

      Washington, D.C. -- One of the World's least-read blogs found itself in hot water with the government again for allegedly sponsoring a promotion guaranteeing "a hundred zillion dollars to the hundred zillionth reader." In a Complaint filed on Monday, the FCC has accused HIYLH of  "false advertising and shoddy workmanship." HIYLH was not immediately available for comment, but former President Abraham Lincoln said that he "could not stand a HIYLH divided against itself." He offered to provide legal representation in exchange for a "decent ration of goober peas." [more]   

---------------------------------------------------------------
THE LEAGUE OF WOMEN VOTERS URGES YOU
TO VOTE FOR THE BILLIONAIRE OF YOUR CHOICE.
BUT VOTE!
---------------------------------------------------------------

That's the Signpost Up Ahead: Caution! Nosey on Rollerscates!

MISHEGOS ON THE GRASS, ALAS

What if we all just wrote like Gertrude Stein meaning no punctuation meaning no syntax meaning no sin tax meaning no meaning no no no no just say no just say read my lips no new syntax thats not what I mean I mean I mean I mean who is really running things in the world anyhow (and no its not them even tho everybody thinks its them and even tho some of them think its them but its not them) and why is everybody so angry at everybody else constantly cant we all just get along do you suppose do you suppose that the United Nations Human Rights Council could print up some more of those elegant little cocktail napkins that even Picasso might have been interested in collecting had he not been preoccupied with schtupping everybody all the time just to impress Modigliani and while we're not on the subject of anything why why why pray tell would anyone in Azerbaijan or Iran or Slovenia or Zimbabwe or Slovenia or Latvia or Kazakhstan or Yemen ever read any of this because because because because because because of the wonderful things we write about kasha(?) and yet the statistics don't lie people do and believe it or not somebody with an Azeri-Yiddish dictionary is this very minute looking up "schtupp" so as to get that extra ethnic edge in next week's scheduled stand-up routine at the Baku House of RAOTFALMAO where a very famous person never appeared once and said "Ich bin ein Irving Berliner and I got to be driftin along" so long its been good to know you Commie Red red rover red rover send Woodie Guthrie right over the rainbow where men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses you're not at the Algonquin Round Table anymore Dorothy Rothschild Great Scott F. Scott Scott ® Tissues yes they have a Website and we visited it so whats your point exactly beam me aboard Scotty humming all the way humming along the Heming Way brought to you by the Recovery and Reinvestment Act your age and never question authority in fact grovel before it and now a word from our sponsors -- Luddite -- why not its a perfectly serviceable word and it has 2 ds in it and besides Alice likes it.

YES ON 19

I THINK YOU SAID: "PLEASE OVERCHARGE ME AND MISSPELL MY NAME, IS THAT CORRECT?"

Hello.  And thank you for calling COMA, where it feels like we're in one all the time.  Are you calling about your account?

Say "yes" for "yes."
Say "no" for "no."
Or just press the number "1" for "1."

[1]

O.K. Before I pass your call on to an associate who can help, I'll need to ask you a few questions, is that alright?

Say "yes" for "yes."

Say "no" for "no."
Say "maybe" for "yes."
Say "no, no Nannette!" for "maybe."
Or just press the number "1" for the heck of it.

[1]

O.K. first tell me your account number. You can speak your answer at any time.  You can also sing your answer, but only in the key of G.  If you don't know it, just say:  "I don't know it."

[I don't know it.]

O.K. Let's try something else.  Tell me the password you registered when you opened your account. You can speak your answer at any time. You can also hum quietly to yourself while trying to remember your password. You can also tap out your password in Morse Code by banging the phone gently against your head. If you don't know it, just say: "Knock Knock."

[Knock Knock]

I think you said, you would like a password hint, is that right? 

Say "yes" for "yes"
Say "Assolutamente non!"  for "no"
Say "So aren't I" to demonstrate that people in Boston talk funny.

[Yes]

O.K.  You may have chosen a pet's name to be your password.  Or you may have chosen your birthday.  You may also have chosen somebody else's birthday. Perhaps you chose a password so secretive and hard to remember that nobody but the computer hacker who cried when he had a look-see at your bank account could remember it.  Does this help?

Say "yes."

[No]

I think you said you want to strangle me and flush me down the toilet.  Is that correct?

Say, "did you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world?"

[1]

O.K. Before I can pass your call on to an associate who can help, I'll have to torture you some more.  What is your password?  If you can't remember it, just tell me your password.  If you don't know it, just say "that you love me."

[OPERATOR!]

I think you said "elevator."  Is that correct?

Say "any old thing that comes to mind."

[1]  

 I think you said you are having an aneurysm.  Is that correct?

[I HATE YOU! DIE! DIE! DIE!]

O.K.  Let's try something else.  What is your account number? If you don't know it, tell me your password.  If you don't know it, tell me a story.  If you don't know one, just say "operator."

[OPERATOR!]

I think you said "refrigerator."  Is that correct?

Press [1] for "yes"
Press 278356 for "no,"
Or simply hang up.

Hello?  Did you hang up?

Hello?  Hello?

O.K.  I'll call you later.

Hello?

Hey! You left the phone off the hoo...

NOSEYS ON THE BRAIN

Letter From a Put-Out Burglar

I broke into your house 2-day.  I wuz shocked to find it so messy. Dishes everywhere.  Klothes in the sink.  How do U live like this (I wunder?).  I am a common house thief and yet not so messy as U are.  On the back of this note, I rote down the number of the Midey-Tidey Cleaners that most of yor neighbors use.  Heres a tip.  Call them quick.

While I wuz going thru your old CDs I found a "Frank Sinatra Greatest Hits" which I like a lot but when I opened up the cover there was no CD in there which is to be expected for a slob like you I suppose. I opened up an old Miles Davis CD and (surprise!) there wuz some kind of crazy Alvin & the Chipmunks tape from 100 years ago. Miles Davis wuz nowhere to be found. Prob. under the klothes in the sink! (Ha! Ha!  just joking!) I also found an old Sonny Rollins CD (loose -- no protective cover) under a magazine, but when I tried to play it, yor stupid player was making gurgling noises like sumbody throwing up underwater and anyways the CD was all scratched and sounded like a cat in heat.

Speaking of which yor big fat ornge cat was sprawled all over the counters and took up like haf of the room and he just wouldnt shut up. He was crying really loud like something being run over by a big truck. I tried to throw him outside but he wuz 2 fat and weighed 2 much and I couldnt pick him up. With all that raket it made it really hard to do my work.  How do U stand it? I guess he wanted to be fed as all his bowls were empty and he had no water etc. I looked in every cupboard in the joint and there wuznt even 1 scrap of cat food in there. There wuz sum krackers and about 29 cartons of chicken broth. R U planning to feed a fire house but not the cat? Thats animal krewlty.

Oh yeah. While I wuz there the doorbel rung and i seen that it was the mailman so I opened the door and he ast me to sign a certified letter 4 U and I signed it as a curtsey to U and left it on the counter in the kitchen next to whatever U had for dinner last week. Its a pretty thick letter and U cant miss it.  It looks like U R being sued by sumbody but I am not so crass as to pry into other peeples mail and I dint read it but I did hold it up to the lite and I think U R being sued but dont worry I dint steem it open becuz frankly I dont think yor stove works 2 good so i cudnt steem it open.


I ansered the phone 2 becuz it kept ringing and driving me batty. Yor medications are reddy 4 pickup and U owe sum collection agency for sum unpaid parking tix or sumthing. (i rote down the number on this note). Also I pretended to be U and took a breef phone servey 4 U. I sed how much U would like to reseeve dried meat in a box delivered to yor house evry month. Dont even thank me becuz you dont know who I am but yor welcome. U'll be billed later. 

You dint rilly have no "valubules" wurth riting home about. The onliest thing I rilly took was a can opener and some stamps. Prob. not worth anything, but I has to have sumthing to shew for my time.

Well I wont soon be back as U R not worth the trubble. But i hope U clean up yor act for the sake of the next guy who comes along.


If i wuz U, id think about getting the lock on the front door fixed.

THE NUMBER OF PEOPLE WHO CANNOT REMEMBER THEIR LINKEDIN PASSWORD NOW EXCEEDS THE NUMBER OF PEOPLE WHO COULDN'T PICK THE VICE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OUT OF A POLICE LINE-UP.

20 -- Approximate per cent of the United States electorate who claim to believe that Barack Obama is a Muslim.

0 -- Number of people named Barack Obama who are President of the United States who believe so.

3 -- Number of times the issue of people either believing or not in Obama's supposed Muslimness has been mentioned so far in this post.

0 -- Number of times the United States Constitution mentions religion, ethnicity, sex, sexual orientation, or race as a qualification necessary to hold the Office of President.

7 -- Number of days in the week on a conventional Gregorian calendar.

6 -- Number of days in the week on a Gregorian calendar that has a big rip in it.

899 -- Number of people who, in a Freudian slip last month, said "Ehud Barak" when they meant to say "Barack Obama."

100 -- Per cent of assertions in the above-referenced factoid pulled from thin air, but presented, nonetheless, authoritatively in an effort to bamboozle a gullible readership hungering for mishegos.

6 billion -- Ditto.

47 -- Approximate number of imitations and parodies of the Harper's Index in the print media.

Again -- Totally made up.

67 -- Approximate per cent of people for whom Twitter is a primary source of news and information who think that "Freudian Slip" is an article of clothing.

76 -- Approximate per cent who think that mishegos is something edible.

82 -- Per cent of those who think that mishegos is something edible who also think that it tastes good.

Hey! Is he making fun of us?

Lots -- Number of sands in an hourglass counted during the days of our lives as the world turns.

24,902 -- Number in miles of dental floss required to wrap around the Earth once.

24,902 -- Circumference of the Earth expressed in miles.

1 -- Circumference of the Earth expressed in units of dental floss provided that 1 DF: 24,902 miles.

A zillion -- Number of "points" needed to redeem for a free trip to Yonkers.

Always -- Number of times the "points" will expire before the free trip can be taken.

Ultra-Long -- Time it would take to reach the edge of the Universe in a spaceship traveling at the speed of light.

Not-Quite-as-Long -- Time it would take in a spaceship that had really good magazines and movies on board.

2 -- Number of zuzim for which, in days of old, a goat could be had.

Had Gadya.

YOUR IDEA FOR A SHORT STORY HAS BEEN RETURNED AS UNREADABLE BECAUSE OF THE FOLLOWING FATAL ERRORS:

By Mailer-Daemon*


The recipient server went into a paroxysmal fit after attempting to decipher your mindless dreck. Learn more at http://mail.don‘t-be-dreckin‘-me.now.com/support/bin/.yo-muh-man-[you-feelin’-me?]-For-real?dahtkomdotcomc‘mon.com:


(1): Connection dropped
(2): Fork dropped. 5-second rule.
(3): Had Gadya
(4) Two Zuzim

----- Original message -----


MIME-Version: 1.0 (Marcel Marceau)
MIME-Version: 2.0 (pathetic guy in the subway)
MIME-Version: 3.0 (Why are you talking if you’re supposed to be a mime? You're like the worst mime I’ve ever seen! Worse even than the pathetic guy in the subway! And why is your dog wearing those fake bunny ears?)

Received: by 10.231.155.212 with the following impossible-to-answer challenge question: WWJD? [What would JD?]


Captain’s Log: Star Date: Sun, 26 Sep 2010 18:29:42 -0700 (EDT)
Received: by 10.231.35.131 with HTTP; Sun, 26 Sep 2010 18:29:42 -0700 (EDT)
In-Reply-To: root.canal@ohmygodohmygodthathurts!!!>Were-you-able-to-spot-all-the-“Ninas”-in-the-Al-Hirschfeld-drawing-in-the-Times? [Hint: They’re usually in the hair. See, also Album cover art for “Revolver” by the Beatles, 1966.
References:
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Information Please Almanac
Funk & Wagnalls. How great a name is that? Kids today don’t know from Funk & Wagnalls. Everything is “Google this” “Yahoo that.” Yahoo? What the hell is that, anyway? Chocolate milk? Now Funk & Wagnalls; that was an encyclopedia! Britanica was pretty good, too. Was the “brit” supposed to be capitalized? Does anyone know? We could google it.

<97584529.952374.1285545620862.Jpappa=was=a=rollin=stone.comcast.net>
Date: Sun, 26 Sep 2010 21:29:42 -0400


Message-ID:
Subject: Re: A Day Without Q-Tips is Like a Day Without Sunshine.
From: PMM@PMM.biz
To: Hey_You_With_The_Stars-in-Your.eyes@comcast.net
Cc: gov.gov


*Not affiliated with Norman Mailer- Daemon

(Spellcheck doesn’t recognize “Had Gadya!? What kind of anti-Semitic spell-check you runnin’ here, Kee-moh-sahbee?
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:( :(
:)


Had Gadya


:)