I need your support

From time to time there is an injustice in this country that comes to light. These occasions typically include instances that affect many thousands of people...sometimes millions.

I have stumbled across such an injustice. I have made it my mission in life to bring the perpetrators to justice.

I spent many long hours considering the best way to bring justice back to the world. Some avenues were, of course, dismissed out of hand.

Nonsense such as bombings and murder lower me to their level and render my objections meaningless.

I do not have the ambition to fight them politically.

I do not have the experience to put together a grass-roots movement full of splinter cells and so forth to bring the masses to critical heat to bring about the overthrow of evil.

But I do have a solution.

And that is where you come in. I need you to be part of my class-action lawsuit.

Ah, yes, class-action lawsuits. Last refuge of the people who are not themselves hurt but see an opportunity to make a few bucks for themselves and their lawyers by representing those who we suspect may actually have been harmed...even if those people never realize it or profit from our actions.

You see, there is a terrible travesty of injustice taking place right here, right now in our country. It is nearly ubiquitous. Many people are subjected to it and we need to stop it.

Hence the class-action lawsuit.

Now you, valued patron, probably are desirous of knowing just exactly what the lawsuit is that your generous donation will support. By the way, please, no checks...just large bundles of small denomination, unmarked non-sequential bills placed in a suitcase and left in a location to be named later. Receipts will not be provided for tax purposes. But you should be willing to contribute anyway to stopping this heinous injustice.

You see, every day in America, people are being mis-led. False promises are being made. Deceit, deception, and outright lies are the calling cards of this horrific scam. You have probably been subjected to it without even being aware.

I hereby send forth a call to begin a class-action lawsuit against every radio station playing Christmas music for the crime of false advertising.

You see, Christmas music is replete with lies and deceptions, depictions of behavior that are celebrated in song but prosecuted in life.

A few examples are in order.

The Song: "Deck the Halls"
The Result. I thought it was a good idea. David Hall is a jerk. So I decked him. next thing I know I am in court, accused of assault.

The song: "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas"
The Result: I tried, she replied, "I am not that kind of girl" and now I have to post signs in my front yard.

The song: "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree"
The Result: Hours of frustration. No matter how hard I rocked, my chair remained more or less stationary.

The song: "Grandma Got Run Over by a reindeer"
The Result: Sure, run her over with a reindeer, everyone laughs, thinks it is funny. Do it with your car and you are back in court. Mustang = horse, more or less = deer. Why no longer funny?

The song: "Santa Clause is Coming to Town"
The result: Many sleepless nights, wondering at what point this rotund robber, this holiday hooligan, this benevolent bandit will make his illegal entry...only to find out the song is a lie in the first place. There is no Santa Clause.

So as you can see, Christmas Music is replete with false advertising, it causes people who follow its precepts to get into a great deal of legal trouble, and usually fails to deliver on its promises. This must stop now. Can I count on your for a contribution?





P.S. For those with no sense of humor who think the above is in poor taste...bah humbug.

Hun, Hon, or Honey

It is one of the most feared names in history. But is it a fair representation?


Romans feared his ravaging and devoted tremendous military resources to stopping him. His mere name could cause shivers...yet today, it is an endearing term for many couples.

"Attila, Hun, could you bring me back some fashions from Rome?"

That is the little know fact of how it started. Had she only said, "Attila, sugar, would you bring me back some Roman fashions?" he would be known as Attila the Sugar.

But what if he had been a farmer? Known for some particular plowing or location...yes, a location. Then he would have sounded Southern. "Bring me back some Roman fashion, Attila field". (She liked to call him field because he was always laying in it, probably drunk. And if you sound out his name...'ah-tea-ah da field" then you get the joke. It still isn't funny, but at least you get it).

Now, some people get tired of the repetitive nicknames lovers have for one another. After all, how many people are "babe", "Sweety", "Sugar", "Snuffleupagus"? It is so bad that if you are in a crowded location and someone says "Hey Snuffleupagus" and about 57% of the heads turn to see if they are being referenced.

But what if we just switched things up? Instead of going by his last moniker, we can go by his first.

"Ah, Attila, have I told you lately how much I love you?"

Yes, this is a trend I expect to sweep the nation. Starting....


wait for it...


wait for it....


wait for it....

now.

Sometimes I do not even know where to start

Squirrels are fun. Apart from being a nice sub-plot in Up they also give great fun by luring Bella out barking into the yard even though they know she has no chance of catching them...she probably knows, too, but it is a great chance to run full speed and do lots of barking, so...yeah, that will probably continue.

Now, I am no squirrel expert. I do know squirrely because I see it about every day. I know squirreling away because I try that every paycheck.

But when I see a squirrel, that is pretty much what I see. A squirrel. Furry, bushy tailed, fast, agile, and not afraid to cross streets on electric wires.

Some people, however, see other things.

If your neck is red enough, you might see dinner or a nice dessert.

If you are a driver, you might see road pizza.

And if you are Welsh, you might see something that needs a birth control pill...but only if it is grey.

See, the Welsh have a thing for Red Squirrels. So in a ruthless act of Squirrel Cleansing, they removed all the greys from Anglesey. Only Reds need apply.

If you are grey, we don't want you here. We don't want you taking our nuts and sending them back home. We don't want you living in our trees and bringing down their values. We just..don't...want you.

So all the greys got deported.

But those sneaky, dastardly greys snuck back on the island.

And people are up in arms over the illegal immigrants, even though they are returning to what was once their home.

So people are trying to come up with ways to keep those nasty greys out.

Suggestions have included 24 hour guards...


and forcing the greys to take pills that will render them infertile.

Yes, forced squirrelicide through genetic programs.

For squirrels.

I cannot tell you how badly I wish I was making this up.

I have to assume

that I use the most awesome shampoo in the world. There is certainly some evidence to support this theory.

For example, the MPB* spot seems to be staying put, neither expanding its beach head nor receding.

Second, it tastes great. Oh, I do not know this from personal experience, but it seems to be the only explanation.

See, the dog likes to lick it. Like, this morning she stood on my head and licked my hair for like 6 minutes. I would push her away and she would come right back at it, licking furiously.

I am more than a little disturbed by this.

I mean, I know she likes to lick, but usually she goes for other things. Her poop, for example. Dirty, sweaty socks and undergarments. Diapers.

I am not real sure I want a tongue that has been there on my head. Not that I intend to eat off my head, but still...the idea is just...awkward.

Second...is it an indication that my head tastes similar to her favorite treats, mentioned above?

I may never sleep again for fear this thought will keep me awake for all time...


* Male Pattern baldness. Why do they need a pattern?

Never mind

.

On the way to work we stopped at Little Caesars Little Caesars to get a pizza pizza. (Funnier if you remember the commercials).

And where we parked, we were looking at a Quiznos which had a sign on the door; "No Public Restrooms" which I thought was quite a relief.

One thing the world does not need is public restrooms. I know it is natural and a necessary bodily function but people, please...keep it private. No "PDAs" (Public display of affection) and no, uh...PDBRs either (Public display of bathroom usage)

On a lighter note...

1980 was a fascinating year for many reasons...among them the above book.

It was Grandpa and Grandmas 50th wedding anniversary and some of their kids did a lot of work. They collected family stories and anecdotes, old pictures, and other priceless material that nobody outside the family would care about but we of the family value more than all the money in the US Mint...like this picture.

Obviously, we did not realize the 70s were over. Jack, Jerry, Ken and Dad, Ann, Goldina, Joanne and Pat surround the happy couple, Grandpa and Grandma as the 8 surviving children all showed up for the gala.

All that hair and I get the bald Dad...what is up with that?

Anyhow, said book needed printing. Fortunately, we had a friend who owned a print shop. And he printed and bound the book.

I can only assume he did not charge much...after all, the fee was so cheap, it wasn't even nominal...(hint: read the last line to get the joke)

Random Stuff from Tennessee

So the trip was long and more or less uneventful. For those intrepid few who read my horrible 160 characters or less mobile blogged jokes about Twin Falls, Carbon, WY, and so forth...I would apologize for some of those jokes if I were not a jerk.

Carbon County, Wyoming

It was interesting in Tennessee. We were 1 exit from the Grand Ole Opry...and never stopped by. Likewise, we were one exit from The Hermitage...and never stopped by.

That highlights one of the problems with me as historian. Looking at a chair and finding out Andrew Jackson sat in it does not fascinate or thrill me even in the least. Knowing he lived in this specific house I could not care much less about.

Knowing what he did, good or ill, that thrills me, fascinates me, and I will study. Looking at where he did it? Not so much.

On the bright side, on our way there we did see a statue of me in Illinois. In Metropolis, Illinois to be exact. So we took a picture of the Goose standing under me.

We also got to see one of the highlights of Nashville: the "Batman building".

But this post is not about those events. Oh, no. It is about perhaps the single most awesome sign I personally have ever witnessed.

See, we went running on the J. Percy Priest Dam running trail. It was frankly a gorgeous trail full of verdant greenery, abundant plant life, and hills. Lots and lots of hills.

Now, one could suppose that some of these hills were steep. Runners know what that means. You have to carefully modulate your speed in order to neither tire yourself out nor subject yourself to danger.

So the great state of Tennessee decided to put up signs. Warning signs.

Thanks, Tennessee for the warning. Lets take a look at that sign, shall we?

Thanks, Tennessee. Thanks for nothing.

Warning: This post is graphic in nature

Okay, first the teaser: when I get home, get my computer set up and get some of the pictures I have taken on the computer, you will be impressed by the beauty, frightened by the spider, and either laugh hysterically or be completely morally outraged by the sign that I laughed so hard at I had to take TWO pictures of.

Now, to the point of THIS post.

There are certain things you come to expect and appreciate and never realize that you have done so. It is not unless and until you no longer have access to them that you realize how much you appreciate certain things and have come to believe they are actually part of life, almost a Constitutionally protected, inalienable right.

And then they are taken away.

I am sure you are wondering what I am talking about, even though it should be patently, blatantly obvious.

Toilets.

See, when you travel, you are behooved to use public restrooms exclusively. And that is a very, very frightening prospect.

Walk in to a toilet around here and the first thing you notice is...no cowboy hats.

You know what I mean...those cheesy paper things in all the public restrooms in Oregon that theoretically protect your sphinctorical regions from the diseases you might get if you plant your cheeks in the same places as other people do.

This is actually a real concern as there are some of us who...well, there is no polite way to say this, so I will just put it bluntly. A lot of people produce copious quantities of butt sweat.

And butt sweat has a way of being left on toilet seats. Quite nasty, actually.

Sadly, that is not the worst problem.

For whatever reason, many idiots decide that in public restrooms, when time to pee, they are A) too good to use the wall urinals and B) too squeamish to lift the seats.

So they just pee ON the seats.

And leave it for the next fine customer to come along.

So the next person comes along and has a nice stew of butt sweat, urine, and single-ply cheap toilet paper to select.

What if you really, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY have to drop a log?

First you have to go toilet shopping to see which one is the cleanest appearing. Because even though you know good and well this has happened on every toilet, you still want one that at least looks clean, even though it isn't.

Of course, then you are fighting the urge to not toilet shop if other people are in the restroom. How weird do you feel opening door after door and peering into the toilet, all while wishing you could wait until you got home to a "safe" toilet?

Then you try to "protect" the seat by laying down toilet paper on top of the seat to at least give you psychological protection against planting your cheeks where other cheeks have already been planted and where the seat has often been "watered".

Of course, with single-ply, hole ridden cheapest vendor paper, you know this is an exercise in futility.

But the cold, hard truth is you have no choice. Your bowels have informed you in no uncertain terms that the occupants are being evicted one way or the other.

Then you notice the other downside to Tennessee toilets. They are apparently all built for midgets.

See, at home the toilet seat is probably about 24" or 30" off the floor so you can have a comfortable seat.

Well, okay, so "comfortable" is stretching a point. It is still a toilet, not an easy chair.

But you get the point.

Out here, the toilets are about 16" off the ground. So you feel like a cave man as you just go for a good squat. Your knees are sticking above your earlobes, your face is pretty much in your own nether regions, and your body is so compressed the, uh, excrement is pushed sort of back in so to speak.

So now you are in a strange location on a filthy, unprotected toilet seat that makes you feel like you are in the Hanoi Hilton and your stomach starts hurting because you are unable to discharge the stuff that made you go through all the gyrations in the first place.

Now, there really should be a great way to finish this, but I think I will just leave it with a horribly awesome line: I think I just left a toilet-related literary skid mark.

The Fourth Musketeer

The well-educated of this country generally had as required reading the Alexandre Dumas epic, The Three Musketeers.

A tale of danger and intrigue, romance, betrayal, friendship, loyalty and politics. And as you most likely know, it revolves around the encounters D'artagnan has with "the three Musketeers", known as Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.

What is less well known is there were in fact FOUR Musketeers. So why did Dumas only tell us about 3 of them?

In case you doubt my claim of four, think just a little bit. If there were but three Musketeers, how could they play bridge? Every day would be the same.

"Athos, Porthos, want to play bridge?"

"We can't, Aramis. We need a fourth for bridge."

Fencing practice would have been difficult as one of them would always be standing around doing nothing.

Chess tournaments would be extremely short.

Games of foursquare would be spent chasing the ball as everyone sought to put out the easy target, only to find the ball rolling far away from the game.

No, clearly there were not just three Musketeers.

So why did Dumas choose to leave out the fourth?

Was it because he refused to wear those stupid ear-hats for the group photo for the book cover? "I may be a Musketeer but I refuse to wear Musket Ear hats. If you want people to wear them, start a theme park.*"

Was it because his name did not sound right? Athos, Porthos and Aramis sound right together. D'artagnan not so much. And how many names can you have in a book that sound "odd" in conjunction with one another?

Was it just because the book title would have been less catchy? "The Four Musketeers" hardly rolls off the tongue the way "The Three Musketeers" does.

Was it for synergy with the marketing department for the Three Musketeers candy bar?**

No, the truth is far more simple and vastly more appalling.

The fourth Musketeer was left out for just one reason.

You see, he was so afraid of water that he wanted to be dry cleaned instead of showering. As a result, he had terrifically bad body odor and, more important, lice.

Now, as a general rule, this would not have mattered. After all, the Musketeers were French.

But as you may recall, the Musketeers encountered Cardinal Richelieu during their quest. Richelieu, being a Catholic religious figure, was bald.

And that is the ugly truth. You see, the Fourth Musketeer was so filthy that he was left out of the story for fear his lice would show up on Richelieu's bald head.

*It is a little known (and less believed) fact that this is where Walt Disney got the idea for Disneyland Merchandise shops.

** Yes, I know the bar was named after the book. It is a pretty sorry joke anyway, did you really need to make it worse by asking that question?

And the Award for Best Cartoon hero Tag Line goes to...

Don't blame me for this post. The blame lies with work. See, working with my hands for several hours a night gives me lots of time to think. And sometimes leads to interesting conversations such as the one about movies that led to discussing cartoon hero tag lines, namely He-mans...which led to a joke I have since been spreading around.

See, it is obvious to many of us that whoever wrote the cartoon He-man was either not a male or else had never been married. Why else would he have said, "I have THE POWER!"

Any married male knows far better than that. But that is far from the best tag line from a cartoon. For example, think about G.I. Joe. "A real American Hero" was the tag line. Lets think about that for a few ticks.

How, exactly, can a plastic and metal toy be a "real" hero, American or otherwise? Then you remember...we are America, we can do whatever we want. If we want to make a fictional plastic character our  real hero, we can do it if we want.

It could be worse. It could be Voltron..."and "I'll form...the HEAD". What, is it some poor sap with a size 9 head? How do you form a head? Do I really want to pursue this line of questioning to its inevitable and nasty conclusion?

The Transformers of course were a veritable plethora of idiotic catch phrases: "More than meets the Eye" but less, apparently, than meets the belly. "Autobots...transform and roll out!" Why these super-advanced beings would choose a horseless carriage as their means of transportation is a bit beyond me, but...whatever.

By the power of Greyskull, I think we have a winner. We know which cartoon had the greatest catch phrase of all time. 

Without a doubt, it would be....

The Smurfs. You smurfing well know they had the smurfing best smurfing catch phrase in all tv-dom. If I wrre not so smurfing stupid, I might even have a smurfing chance of remembering what the smurf it was. That would be smurfy. Oh, well. Trust me, whatever their catch phrase was, it was so smurfing awesome that it wins the contest.

A brief revisit to Genghis Khan:Hero or Savage?

I am sometimes asked why, if I am so interested in and knowledgeable about history, do I seldom write up stuff about it here?

There are many possible answers to that. One would be some of my best work is saved for possible inclusion in that noted pipe dream, Dreamcatchers. One would be my doubt that other people are as interested in said topic as I am.

 Yes, I might be fascinated by little factoids such as "Geronimo was a Baptist Sunday School teacher until his inability to stop betting on his shooting prowess got him removed from the position" and "Geronimo was among the first people to ride in a Cadillac and there is an extant photograph showing it" but that does not mean other people will be.

But most importantly, because you might run into something where I go too deep. For example, I once wrote a 10 page paper on Temujin that had 155 citations. You may know Temujin better by an alternate spelling;either  Chinggis Khan or even by the more popular yet moniker of  Genghis Khan, even though the latter two were a title, not a name.

Of course, his closest friends never used any of those. To them he was G-dog or G-diddy.* It was not uncommon for childhood friend and later deadly enemy Jamuka** to refer to him as "Khan Solo" or his preferred name, Twiki. When referred to by this name, Master G would often say," be-de-be-de-be-de "which of course was later corrupted by some lug named Sinatra to do-be-do-be-do before the heroic Buck Rogers had his robot return it to the correct form.

Somehow, someway G-khan got a really bad name. This was perhaps due to his habit of invading other countries, killing off their people and taking their wealth.

Of course, if we look behind the curtain, we see several things. First and foremost, the non-magician from The Wizard of Oz is still hiding there.*

 Second, the atrocities attributed to Temujin are sometimes true but more often exaggerated. He was actually advanced far beyond his time. He encouraged free expression of religion and free trade. He codified law i a document known as "the Great yasa". There was a powerful knowledge exchange that his empire encouraged. He also created a wide-ranging, highly effective postal system.***

One wonders if the idea "going postal" comes from the combination of the Mongolian Horde and their postal system.*

Okay, we have gone far enough. perhaps you learned a bit about Temujin or perhaps you got a few cheap laughs. Either way, now you know why I keep my history writing to myself. The "interesting parts" are quite dry to someone who doesn't care about history and the bad jokes are just too plentiful. 

* It is highly likely that this paragraph is 100% fictitious and intended solely to get a cheap laugh.

** Actually, Jamuka WAS his close friend and later rival so there are kernels of truth in it.

*** True.

Could we maybe change the name?

So I was looking for another job and got a tryout with a local outfit. Almost got hired except for one small, insignificant, almost unnoticeable flaw but they said it would keep me from being hired.

So I asked if maybe we could change the description. After all, not everything they do is important...could we just change it to the parts I was good at?

They said no, Search and Rescue was a good name, Search, Find, Point and Laugh not quite as good. 

The trouble with summer

One of the great joys in my life is listening to my I-pod at work. I have a carefully selected playlist that keeps me upbeat, happy and singing even as I scrape up my forearms with sharp metal, bring aches and pains to my feet with jumps from slightly-higher-than-wise locations, and try to do 10 hours work in 8. 

Of course, by "carefully selected playlist" I mean several songs are included I did not mean to include so every time they come on I skip to the next one...but still, they were songs I once wanted.

Anyway, I came up with a pretty clever way of keeping my Ipod convenient. I got one of those Belkin cases with a loop. I attach it to my necklace.

I know, I know, I am a guy...it is a chain, not a necklace. Rrrrrrriiiigggggghhhhhhhhtttttt. And GI Joes are not dolls, they are "action figures" and politicians are not criminals, they are politicians. Whatever.

Anyhow, I wear a t-shirt, over that I wear a flannel, and when it is cold, usually a pull-over and/or a coat. 

As a result, I can put in one earbud and the other one goes in my flannel pocket. Keeps it out of the way but close enough to the Ipod that it doesn't yank the other one out of my ear. 

So here is the rub (and the choice of that word will shortly become clear).

As the weather gets warmer, the clothes start coming off. No more coat. No more pull-over. Now just the flannel and t-shirt. No problem, the Ipod stays inside the flannel so it isn't flopping around wildly, getting in the way.

Except...the last couple days, the annoying sun was shining, the birds were tweeting, and I didn't have my BB gun...wait a second, wrong post. The sun was shining, it was warm, and I could not justify wearing even the flannel. Uh-oh, problem.

See, I am what you might politely call a hairy individual. (and yes, I still find that piece very funny). 

So where is the problem you ask? Well...I don't like the Ipod swinging free, so I tuck it inside my shirt. Let's consider the situation.

Weighted object with clip hanging close to hair.

Ouch. 

It keeps getting caught. On my chest hair. I suspect a couple of times it even snatched an errant strand or two clean out of my chest. 

So warm weather means I have to constantly stop short as the Ipod case clip catches a chest hair and reminds me that there is a reason smooth chests are better.

The only real solution I can see here is to create a snow machine to ensure it is always cool enough to wear at least two layers. I mean, sure, you could argue that I could find an alternate way to pack the Ipod or wrap the clip or some such crazy, sensible solution. But I think we all know that is not going to happen. 

In short, warm weather causes me to face...wait for it....wait for it...the payoff is not worth the portion of your life you spent waiting for it, but wait for it...I now face a hairy situation.

I have not written a horrible joke for a while, so...

She answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Babe? Bad news. I was in a terrible accident. I lost my ear."

She: "That's okay, babe, I love you, not your looks."

He: Good, because it is worse. I actually also lost my nose. You can see right inside my head."

She: "That is okay babe, I love you, not your looks."

He: "I am so happy to hear that, but it gets worse. I lost an arm."

She: That is okay, babe, you are a good person. We will get through this together."

He: "I am so happy to hear that."

She: "So that is all that happened? You just lost your nose, ear and arm?"

He: "Well, those are the only things you can see. I also lost two digits on my left foot, but you will never notice because I will always wear shoes."

She: "Sorry, I can never see you again. I am lack toes intolerant."

(If you don't get the joke, read the last line out loud. You still won't laugh, but at least you will "get" it.)

Why being homeless is cool

1) Any time you are in sight of your shopping cart you can say, "Honey, I'm home!" and it is true.

2) You can post a sign that says, "If you lived here you would be home by now" and make everyone jealous. 

I have more, but they are tasteless. After you read the above two...that should scare you.

Signs

We are in a society dominated for signs. For example, during the last election, there were signs everywhere trying to get you to vote for this person or that one. Since I like to be on the winning side, I decided to count signs and whoever I saw the most signs for, they would get my vote.

That is why I voted for Mattress World.

But of course, there are other signs out and about. Like, you pass a bunch of people milling about carrying signs, you figure they are either protesting or on strike. Sometimes it is fun to read the strike signs. Well, I found one I totally agree with.

Unlike most signs, nobody was carrying it.

It was orange.

And it said..."End Road Work."

That is about as good a strike sign or protest sign as I believe I have ever seen.

The Goose as golfer

Apropos of...well...nothing, really, comes the report of the first time the Goose went golfing for real.

When you think about it, golf, like bowling, is an incredibly stupid game. In both activities, the less you get for your money, the happier you are. The bowler who only rolls 12 times is ecstatic...he hit a perfect game of 300. Meanwhile, the bowler who takes 21 shots...no strikes and a spare in the 10th perhaps...got another 9 turns for his money. But who is happier?

In a similar vein, the golfer who goes out for 9 holes and rolls in with a 4 under 32 is ecstatic whereas the golfer who plays bogey golf, taking 45 shots, is disappointed. Hey, you got to take 13 extra whacks at it, saw more of the course, and got more exercise.

Okay, I am done here. Nothing more to see. No laughs available.

It's Opposite Day!

Some people stop by this blog for the occasional deep, thoughtful piece. Others come for the humorous news. Still others simply want to bask in proximity to genius. It is these last ones I wish to disabuse of their misconception. How? well...read on.

Apropos of...well, nothing, really...I guess loosely based on the references to old kid's toys kicked off by Riot Kitty...I was reminded of a stupid game that we used to play. Someone would say or do something of questionable intellect and in response to being mocked would come back with, "Oh, it is because it is opposite day. So when you say yes it means no, and when you say no it means yes, okay?"

Simple question, right? Not really. It is actually a question which threatens to warp the very fabric of reality and send us all hurtling through nothingness at the mind-blowing speed of non-existence, haunted for all eternity by the ultimate existentialist question of what "is".

You see, the question itself poses a conundrum. If you are asked, "So yes means no and no means yes, okay?", what answer can you give?

Let us hypothesize you say "Yes". Well, the problem is, it is opposite day so "yes" actually would mean "no" and thus, by answering in the affirmative verbally you have in actuality responded in the negative. Unfortunately, since by responding in opposition to agreement you are not on opposite day, yes then reverts to its former state of existence and once again is a positive acceptance of the proffered transaction, thus rendering the day in a state of flux from which there is potentially no recovery. Yes means yes and no simultaneously but you don't know if it meant yes or no even though you know which one you meant for it to mean. But it might not mean what it meant. Or what it now means. Or what it will mean in the future.

Conversely, should you choose to reject the rearrangement of truth in meaning by saying "no" then you have in actually inadvertently chosen to accept the new boundaries of communication since no clearly means yes. To reject it, you actually had to say yes to mean no which, as we already covered, would actually have been both a rejection of and acceptance of the terms. Saying no clearly does the same thing.

You see, by saying no once the proposed change has been verbalized, the response is most easily construed as meaning, "yes" since yes would in fact be the opposite of no and this is opposite day. However, even though your intent was to reject a reversal of truth definitions your no has become a yes. Of course, this leads us back to the need to say yes to reject the terms which, as covered previously, is not possible.

So neither yes nor no is a workable answer to this conundrum. The wise person might try to avoid this tyrannical oppression of verbal communication via an alternative answer..."Maybe".

Unfortunately, this being opposite day, posing a possibility as a reply requires the opposite effect, in this case a definitive. Because "maybe" is defined as neither a negative or positive then we must go one step further to define the result. Because maybe leaves open the possibility of an event, the opposite would leave no possibility and therefore be interpreted as "no" which, as we know from prior examination, means yes. Or does it mean no?

So I would now ask you: Am I a genius? And remember...yes means no and no means yes, okay?

What did Peter ever do to you?

Everyone knows...or should...the poem/fairy tale/child's nursery rhyme...whatever it is...say, tangent here: at story time do they spice up their snacks? If so, what spice do they use? I can only assume Story time when they rhyme is time for thyme and if not tis a crime...the lowly slime.

Yes, this one will only get weirder. Sorry, nothing I can do about it. Just come along for the ride, it might be worth it. And hilarious. Or not.

Anyway, let's talk about Peter Cottontail. You remember...he kept raiding the farmer's garden yet we are to sympathize with the little rabbitly thief? Yes, that Peter. He had a lot of siblings. There was Flopsy. Good rabbit name Flopsy is, oh my yes. Then there was Mopsy, another fine rabbit-like name, then there was Cottontail, oh, jolly good one, you named your rabbit after one of it's anatomical features, and then there is....Peter. Hopefully NOT named after one of his anatomical features.

But what the smurf...PETER? Where did that come from? How many rabbits are named Peter? And even more rare, how many rabbits named Peter have siblings named Flopsy?

But that is the fate of classic literature Peters. Consider the case of the awfully alliteratively named "Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater"...like George Foreman, his father apparently did not have great imagination when naming his kids.

"Peter senior, your son is born. What shall his first name be?"
Peter Sr. "Peter"
"And his middle name?"
Peter Sr. "Peter"
"Uh...we got that one with the first name."
Peter Sr." I don't don't st-st-st-stutter, his n-n-n-n-name is Peter Peter."
"And the surname?"
"Pumpkin-Eater"

No wonder he had a wife and couldn't keep her. It is hard being a Peter. Let's look a little deeper.

Peter Pan. Pituitary gland problems, never matures, wears hideously unfashionable (and revealing) tight tights...if they were going to give him such a revealing costume shouldn't there be something to reveal? Just sayin'.

Peter Piper. What a career that guy had. It wasn't bad enough to be named Peter Piper, the poor fellow picked peppers...but someone pickled the peppers that Peter Piper picked and he had to pick a peck...poor guy should be protected.

Why is Peter always alliterative and picked on by poor jobs? Are all Peters poor as in economically disadvantaged? Poor pathetic picked on Peters, panning the populace for preferential treatment and positive reinforcement. Perhaps the power of positive prayer could do them some good.



Or maybe they just change their name. Rumpelstiltskin might be open.

A tough decision at market

I have been trying to eat breakfast each morning to minimize my appetite over the course of the day and also because I usually wake up hungry. Strange that after not eating for 13 or 14 hours I would want food...
Well, another consideration is health. On the one hand, you really do need to eat, to break your fast as it were, hence the name of the meal...breakfast. On the other, you don't want to consume a days worth of calories before the day is fair started. You do, however, want to make sure you get those key vitamins and minerals into you. So when you have to choose your breakfast food between bananas and pop tarts, the choice is obvious.

That is why I got the pop tarts.

I wasn't going to but their labeling sucked me in. Right there on the front. "Good Source of 7 Vitamins and Minerals". Let's check the label on the banana. "Dole".

And they are right...bananas are dull. They can't even cut hot butter. They don't sing, dance, or have flavors like Cookies & Cream. But pop-less tarts...oh, they are EXCITING. They have frosting and vitamins and frosting and minerals and frosting and filling and frosting.

So go ahead. Try and convince me that bananas are healthier than pop-less tarts. Oh, sure, you could go look up the mere 9 vitamins in bananas and argue 9 is more than 7 or you could check out the calorie count of 120 per banana and 200 per Cookies and Cream Pop Tarts...but would anybody believe you?

All hail the breakfast food of wise guys, Pop Tarts.