Spot, our story continues!

Meanwhile in Iraq, George's troops were getting all blown up and stuff. The Iraqi government had even asked for them to leave. But George was convinced that if he pulled his troops out, Iraq would become a rogue nation full of nothing but well-funded terrorists just itching to travel to his hometown and blow stuff up for revenge and stuff. What to do? What to do? thought George as he paced in circles around the Oval Office...

Duh! Have a drink - He said to himself - Makes everything betterish and all. And it did and so he had another. The next day, when he woke up on top of a puddle of pee, he suddenly realized why Laura chose that yellow carpet for the Oval Office. "Gedkarl" he shrieked, and next time he opened his eyes, Karl was sitting on the settee with a look of disgust on his face. George staggered over.

"Whaddameyegonnadokarl" George breathed into his face. "Get away from me!" Karl replied calmly. "Geddawayfromeewhat?" "Get. Away. From. Me. Sir. Then I'll tell you."

George sat behind his big desk, the one with a big gun in every drawer and the naughty photo of Condi in the top one. The photo which had driven Laura and the girls away to Alaska before Karl got them back. He put his head in his hands. Ooh. Too much thinking.

Karl stood up, but didn't approach. He began, "The whole thing, sir, is that people perceive you as an incompetent idiot. That is good..." George looked up. "Purrceeve?" he asked, "Howgood?" "Perceive, sir, means to think. They think you're an incompetent idiot." "Sowhad? Sodoes dad." "Karl said, "Exactly!"

"So we launch "Operation Goofy George" and use your biggest weakness as your biggest strength". George had passed out again. Karl called the orderlies to remove the President and the carpet cleaners up from their office in the White House basement.

The next day, George went to New Orleans to celebrate the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina.


Part Three teaser: France stepped into the drawing room and there he was, Kofi, with a big bouquet of red roses. France caught her breath. Her lips parted. And then...

Fried Chocolate Pie!

Ken? . . . Fannie Farmer (Mrs.)? . . .

And send Olsen. Send Parker. I want a photo of the contents of that bag!

Hi Spot!

So, first the French were like all "We're only sending 200 peacekeepers to Lebanon", then George and Kofi were all like, "You need to send more since we are involved in a war of our own (George) and we have no troops of our own (Kofi)." Then France was like, "Ummmm.... Well..... We'll think about it and get back to you next Tuesday". But the Kofi was all like, "Listen, France, we've gotta get Israel out of there because of all the stuff that happened last time they occupied Lebanon. Plus, you used to occupy Lebanon, so you are the best one to send troops." George went down to New Orleans to eat flapjacks, so France just was like, "Forget him!"

Then France wouldn't return Kofi's phone calls for a couple of days because France had just read "The Rules" and wanted to see if they worked. And they did. 'Cuz Kofi said, "I'm sorry about what I said about you occupying Lebanon and all since what you really were doing was colonizing Lebanon" and that melted France's heart so France said, "O.K., we'll send 2000 troops, but only if those other countries also send troops. We aren't going to be the only ones in there with the Israelis since we distrust and fear the Israelis. Plus, they keep talking to each other in Hebrew even when we are in the room and that is just rude!". And Kofi smiled.

So, France gathered her finest troops together and was in the process of wrapping them up with a pink ribbon so they would look extra nice for Kofi when France thought: Wait a second, what about the bridges? So, France tossed in an extra couple of hundred engineering troops to fix some of the hundreds of bridges bombed to hell and back by the Israelis.

The End.

Part Two teaser: Meanwhile in Iraq, George's troops were getting all blown up and stuff. The Iraqi government had even asked for them to leave. But George was convinced that if he pulled his troops out, Iraq would become a rogue nation full of nothing but well-funded terrorists just itching to travel to his hometown and blow stuff up for revenge and stuff.

What to do? What to do? thought George as he paced in circles around the Oval Office...

Vashti McCollum, the 'freethinker' who fought a legal battle from 1945-1948 to keep religion out of the schools, died in Champaign, Illinois on Sunday.

Mrs. McCollum, who called herself an atheist in Illinois court proceedings but later preferred the word "humanist," said her son was ostracized and embarrassed by his schoolmates because she refused to let him attend the religion classes at his public school in Champaign. The classes for Protestants were on school premises; Jews and Roman Catholics went to religious buildings elsewhere.

She also contended that the classes were a misuse and waste of taxpayers' money, discriminated against minority faiths and were an unconstitutional merger of church and state.

After losing in two Illinois courts, Mrs. McCollum won an 8-to-1 decision by the Supreme Court. Justice Hugo L. Black, who wrote the majority opinion, said the practice in Champaign was "beyond all question" using tax-established and tax-supported schools "to aid religious groups to spread their faith," and, he added, "It falls squarely under the ban of the First Amendment."

So, while the rest of the world was celebrating the victory over... er... fascism... tyranny, this busybody hussy was cluttering up various courts with her whining. 'Waah! Waah! My son feels left out! Waah! Waah! This practice is discriminatory.'

And it didn't stop there!

In the three-year legal battle, Mrs. McCollum received physical threats and was fired from her job as a dance instructor at the university. At Halloween, a mob of trick-or-treaters pelted the McCollum family with rotten tomatoes and cabbages. The family cat was lynched.

So, loyal Christians in the area thoughtfully let Mrs. McCollum know she was going wrong, but did she get it? No. She must have been pretty dumb not to take the hint. Or maybe she didn't like cats very much. Either way, good riddance to this meddling fishwife who has created so many problems for good Christians everywhere.


Cross-posted to Little Green Fascists, where Richie McWhite rightly noted that God punished Mrs. McCollum for her anti-Christian actions by only giving her 60 additional years of life and Betty Jo Goering talks about Satan. There's also an exploding bridge.

Oh, and a hat tip goes to The General!

[Cross posted at Stump Lane.]

Take heart, my children, when Donald Rumsfeld says he lies awake at night, "deeply troubled by the success of terrorist groups in 'manipulating the media' to influence Westerners." Let talk of this sort worry you not. I can assure you, Our Brave Warrior rests as well as a baby, or a log, or the Kevin Pollak character in the jail scene in The Usual Suspects.

You too may rest easy, my dear friends, for the purpose of Our Media, as we have molded it, is to record history as We see it. To frame issues, and bound discussion inside the constraints of an ordained Neo-Reality. So to allow--- and then complain loudly about ---a 'liberal' (i.e. 'terrorist') bias within the media, is as if to say, "Thus far and no further," when it comes to analyzing the issues. It is to head the dysfunctional loons of paranoid defeatism off at the pass through which information flows into the Utterly Rational Public Mind which informs our national discourse.

Concern yourselves not with the so-called "third way," precious lambs. For there shall be no such thing. There shall be not even a second way! There is only the supremely right way; and the radically wrong way. Though, fear not! The radically wrong way is but a far-away straw-imagining; painstakingly constructed--- in accordance with 19 Quart Lobster Pot doctrine ---to most efficiently show the wrongness of all things other than the supremely right.

For an illustration of this in practice one needs look only as far as Our Mighty Master Cheney's recent utterance:

I realize, as well, that some in our own country claim retreat from Iraq would satisfy the appetite of the terrorists and get them to leave us alone. But the exact opposite is true.

Now don't all of you pessimistic demagogues of peacenikery who've claimed, "retreat from Iraq would satisfy the appetite of the terrorists," feel stupid now? Now that your bizarrely wrong-headed notions about the war and terrorism is laid out on display, in all of its farcity, for all to see?

There is only one alternative to defeat in Iraq, and that is Victory! Thus spake Medium Lobster. Only through our unwavering faith, and unquestioning devotion may our rulers carve this necessary truth out of today's Iraq.

---Chaplain Montag of the First Knights of the 19 Quart Lobster Pot

Spot, Check out this snippet from Robert Newman's "History of Oil" and then go here for the whole thing. C'mon! You know you want to!

Republican candidates across the country today are condemning the suspected terrorist attack on the U.S. Open, which was delayed by rain. The Department of Homeland Defense had earlier announced, “strong evidence that Al-Kaida operatives have been praying for rain.” A spokesperson for the Republican incumbent in the local Senate race who did not wish to be identified, told us, “God answered their prayers because he’s a Republican and he knows which people have been thinking about switching to Democrat.” Off the record he said that it would be simple to steal the votes back at the voting machines, but, that God wanted people to vote the right way anyway. I’m paraphrasing that because he asked not to be quoted.

Was supposed to be last Tuesday, Spot, but I guess it didn't occur.

UPDATE: Looks like the final showdown between good and evil is on again for September 12th, 2006. No time is cited, but this news comes from a former country music singer, so you know it's solid.

Spot,

So... I was browsin on the internets today an found this¹ via our 'friends' at BoingBoing:


These are pj's for your ultra-righteous child guaranteed to make them less afraid of the boogie man at night because, ya know, they have a shield and a cross right there. And just read the description of what you get for $39.95 or $49.95²:

• Pajama top with breastplate of righteousness and belt of truth hem.

• Pajama pants with wings of peace to cover feet.

• Helmet of salvation³.

• Shield of faith pillow.

• Sword of the spirit (New Testament)⁴.

• Activity coloring book.

This is the pj set to get for your kid. And you should make them wear it to any pajama parties they go to... well, only if you live in the U.S. Midwest or want to scar your kid for life.

Footnotes:
1. An why are these kids holding hands while wearing their night clothes?! No way they are married! What kind of perv is selling these, Spot?!
2. It's kinda hard to tell from the website - they have one price on the product info page an another on the product details page. Those pesky details'll get ya every time, Spot! Either that or the 'truth' stuff just over your kid's crotch is just a bit of marketing...
Just jokin', Spot. It looks like the price they charge you is $39.95. Plus shipping.
3. Well, for the boys, anyway. The girls just get a thing that looks like a wedding veil. I guess that's to symbolize how they'll just have to take a deep breath and marry the boogie man if he ever shows up.
4. What a scam! Why not a real sword? Those boogie men are some tough critters. Plus, they want to marry your sister!!

Spot,

Ya woulda thunk that we would have figured out the siren call of oil by now an figured out ways to use less of it an more of the good stuff like solar and wind, but no. Just like Odyssus knew the call of the sirens would kill him and his shipmates, he still just wanted to go see them and get a little nookie-of-death. And no nookie is sweeter than that sweet crude nookie.

Think about it. You hop in your car an go wherever you want to... or can afford to. You go to the grocery store an buy whatever you want to from all over the world... or can afford to. Shipped here courtesy of that lovely oil. An you read on the internets all the time, even sneaking peeks during work although your boss has caught you more than once. Admit it!

Yes, even the internets would not exist if it wasn't for oil. Electricy, remember. Energy for silicon chip manufacture remember! Now it's true that a lot of electricy is generated by burning coal, but that coal was shipped to the power plant using oil. Ha! Betcha you're sorry you argued with me now!

But before modern times, oil was used for medicine and to waterproof boats an such¹. All the 'oil' mentioned in the Bible (written in the Mideast, I might add)? Olive oil. Not petroleum. Sorry to puncture that little bubble of yours, mister! Well, not really.

So, what the heck started it all? Who was that first person who said, "Hey! This black sticky stuff doesn't just trap animals², it burns! Ouch!

Honestly, I don't know for certain, but it seems to have started in the United States and loads of money was involved. Since then, it's just kind of snowballed an nobody seems to be able to stop that big black sticky ball rolling at high speed down on us all. Sure, people have tried. In the 1970's, the U.S. gov't even funded research into alternatives. But Ronnie Reagan³ took care of that pesky little idea.

But you know we're having all these tensions an wars and stuff in the Mideast is oil. An in the back of our minds is the thought that maybe we should cut down on the oil guzzling. That maybe that would help things be a little less tense in the Mideast especially. But do we do anything about it. No.

It's like that diet you swear you are going to start tomorrow or the exercise program you signed up for but stopped attending after a session or two. Exactly. It's hard. It's inconvenient. We're gonna have to be forced into it with big men dressed in leather wielding whips⁴.


Footnotes:
1. Even in place of cement in buildings.
2. See Le Brea Tar Pits
3. Before he changed his mind since it turns out that the DOE is also responsible for making and testing nukes! But he succeeded in killing all the alt energy projects.
4. Kinda like this.

Dear Spot,
I am hoping that you will be able to help me. When I checked my planets this morning Pluto was missing. Pluto has always been so quiet and predictable, I wouldn’t be so worried if there hadn’t been unconfirmed reports of small Beings of Unusual Magical Power (B.U.M.P.s) recently. I just don’t understand. There’s no note, nothing else is missing, thankfully - I don’t see any signs of foul play. But then I don’t know what evidence B.U.M.P.s in the night would leave. Pluto was last seen wearing an amber colored jacket with dark markings. If you could help me out I would really appreciate it.
Thanks

Sure, you may be used to having your pie served on a plate with a fork an maybe a scoop of ice cream on top. But that is because you are a well-educated, middle class, Euro-centric person with internet access. Open your mind a little and think about how pie would be served if you were not living in the Northern Hemisphere and did not have internet access.

That's right! You might have lip pie! Yum!

Spot,

Imagine our surprise when we discovered that a certain guy who was booted off a high court in an island nation because of his improper relationship with imaginary little people commented on our previous post. And the comment is extraordinarily long - much longer than the original post. Those imaginary little people sure are verbose!

That verbosity is responsible for our refraining from using certain words in this post since the ex-judiciary guy obviously knows how to google or use Technorati*. We're pretty sure he is the real ex-court guy since other blogs writing on the topic have also received attention similar in length and tone... and the IP addresses of those commenters resolve to a certain South Pacific island nation.

The upshot, Spot, is that the ex-High Court guy has a blog of his own. Wow! From his blog, we can learn that the crazy ex-High Court man rides horses, has yellow hands which make sick people well and that there are actually five dwarves: Armand, Luis, Angel, BenJamin (Benny) and Estelita. Plus, there are photos - many photos. Here's our favorite:


Yep, that is the ex-High Court guy on some sort of trip ordered by one of the little people.

We also find that the ex-court man has predicted all sorts of things from cleverly hidden words and phrases in documents he wrote years ago - just like in the movie version of "A Beautiful Mind", but without the newspapers.

We are going to risk a link to his blog. Let's hope it doesn't backfire since because we're full up with crazy here.



*how come 'techorati' hasn't become a verb, Spot?

[See previous post for cast of characters.]

"Gizzard," says me, "Hand me the shotgun."
"No way, Falkor. You lost your shotgun privileges," says Gizzard.
"What?"
"Last time I got it back from you it smelled like lilacs and all it did was shoot rainbows."
"I was just tryin ta spruce it up an make it more homey," says me, "Look. One a the zombies got a arm through the window an I'm gonna catch my death a cold if I don't get it boarded back up!"
"You have no idea how hard it is to emasculate Nice Guy in front of his pretty girlfriend with a lilac scented rainbow shooter," says Gizzard, "I'm all like, 'Get over there and be quiet!' and they're like, 'Hey what's that that smells so nice?' and then I'm all, 'You're pathetic. I'm all you got right now. You don't have the grit or the fortitude or moxie or pluck needed to survive in these dark and dangerous times without me. It's eat or be eaten and you can't cook.' But they're like, 'HA HA! Your gun smells like lilacs!' and then they're all laughin about it. So I took and fired up in the air but a dumb rainbow comes out, and they're like, 'Ooooooh, rainbow! Aaah, prehhhtty!' And that's why I think we should feed them to the zombies."
"We can't feed Nice Guy an his pretty girlfriend to the zombies, Gizzard," says me, "besides, we gotta save the actual ammo for the zombie war in the third act."
"We need the killin kind for both! Nice Guy and his pretty girlfriend are the anchor sinking our mighty hot-air Mars balloon! No more them; no more limits!" says Gizzard.
"I'm not sure the Mars balloon is such a great idea, Gizzard. An there's so many zombies now; we gotta do something," says me. "If I can't have the shotgun, at least hand me the pencil so I can add an entry to the Zombie Education and Remediation Enchiridion."
"No way, Falkor. You lost your pencil privileges," says Gizzard.
"What? I hope you’re keepin up with the ZERE, at least?"
"Oh yeah, of course. Except now it's the 'double super secret Zombie Education and Remediation Enchiridion'," says Gizzard. "Besides, I'm starting to like having the zombies around. That just don't mean I want them poking around reading my every enchiridion."
"That doesn't make any sense, Gizzard," says me, "why'd we wanna keep so many gluttonous, brains-eatin, scruffy-lookin automatons around, anyways?"
"Hey! At least they didn't get all mad at me when I ate that little snack the other day!" says Gizzard.
"Gizzard, you ate a whole weeks worth a the food we rationed out for everybody!" says me.
"And they didn't gang up and blame me when we ran out of drinking water!"
"You used sixty gallons a Aquafina for a bath!"
"See what I mean, Falkor?" says Gizzard, "Even Nice Guy and his pretty girlfriend give me less grief than you do. Heeeey, you sure one of them zombies didn't scratch you? ... Yeah, you're eyes are starting to look kind of dead and gray to me."
"What’re you tryin to say, Gizzard?" Says me, "Hey, what're you doin?--- Point that thing away--- Wait, it's me, you're ol pal! Falkor!--- Wait!---"

---Falkor


The events and characters depicted in this bloggoplay are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living, dead or bloginary, is purely coincidental... Or is it intentional? I always forget how that goes.

I'm Falkor! You are not Falkor. What? Look closer? Say, you were Falkor all along, Spot!

Here is Gizzard. "Gizzard demands quarter! And tribute!" says Gizzard. Gizzard was born mad slippy, Spot.

19 Quart Lobster Pot is an inanimate fetish, which confers superior knowledge from beyond space and time to a chosen few devotees. To your limited perception, it appears to be just another 19 Quart Lobster Pot. To your limited perception, Spot.

The events and characters depicted in this bloggoplay are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living, dead or bloginary, is purely coincidental, Spot. (Or is it intentional? I always forget how that goes.)

Spot,

This just in from the BBC:

A Philippines judge who said he consulted imaginary mystic dwarves has failed to convince the Supreme Court to allow him to keep his job.

Florentino Floro was appealing against a three-year inquiry which led to his removal due to incompetence and bias. He told investigators three mystic dwarves - Armand, Luis and Angel - had helped him to carry out healing sessions during breaks in his chambers. The court said psychic phenomena had no place in the judiciary.

The bench backed a medical finding that the judge was suffering from psychosis. The Manila trial judge had asked the Supreme Court to dismiss the complaint and return him to the bench, after being sacked in April.

"They should not have dismissed me for what I believed," Mr Floro told reporters after filing his appeal in May... However, the Supreme Court said dalliance with dwarves would gradually erode the public's acceptance of the judiciary as the guardian of the law, if not make it an object of ridicule.

The judge left the hearing and drove his SmartCar to his tiny home in the country. He passed his prize plantings - a dwarf pine, a mound of minature Helleborus and a Giant Sequoia stunted from lack of fog - on the way to his front door. Once inside his house, he fed his minature Schnauzer, petted his dwarf French bulldog and scooped up his fuzzy dwarf bunny. He walked over to a small door off his living room, opened it and ducked through.

Setting the bunny down to hop around the 18" high replica of Stonehenge, he took a moment to mist three bonsai trees near the round window. Then he sat and waited. And waited. After some time, he remembered it was Wednesday, so he changed into a blue robe. Soon, he heard a tinkling hum in the distance and Armand, Luis and Angel were simply there for him, as they always were.

"We did it!" he exclaimed. "My name and yours are now immortal! The only problem is that they are calling me delusional."

"Delusional is not unusual" replied Armand.
"Better unusual than delusional" said Luis.
And Angel, the scamp, just smiled and said, "They're not delusions; they're illusions."

Then the three went skipping around the Stonehenge model. The judge smiled.

Spot,

Is there a more annoying sound than the T-Mobile chirp/beep in an enclosed space from which one cannot escape? How about if the glare of death to the perpetrator doesn't work since she is blind? Does that make it more annoying? Or do you just feel guilty for being irritated? And why? You didn't cause her blindness!

How about if that penetrating sound repeats and repeats and repeats because this particular blind woman hasn't compensated for her loss of sight with increased finger sensitivity so she keeps pressing the wrong button? More irritating, right? So irritating that you are about to say something but then you realize she must be nearly deaf also since she has the volume turned all the way up so you can hear what her caller is saying, slightly distorted to sound like a cross between Barry White and a cyborg, but perfectly audible to you who are sitting 15 feet away. And then there is, of course, the fact that she apparently can't hear her own voice, so she yells into the phone the most mundane details of her life and what they are planning on making dinner that night.

How annoying is that?

Let's get real. The last post from any of the absurdist trio was on July 12th, right? So what might have happened on July 13th to make them stop posting?


Capture! That's what!

July 14th, 2006 BAR HARBOR, Maine --An eastern Maine lobsterman caught a lobster this week that looks like it's half-cooked.

Robinson, of Steuben, donated the lobster to the Mount Desert Oceanarium. Staff members say the odds or finding a half-and-half lobster are 1 in 50 million to 100 million. By comparison, the odds of finding a blue lobster are about 1 in a million.

Robinson, who has been fishing for more than 20 years, said he didn't know what to think when he spotted the odd creature in his trap.

"I thought somebody was playing a joke on me," Robinson said. "Once I saw what it was ... it was worth seeing."

One in 50 million odds, thinking it's a joke then realizing its value, split personalities, lobster... it's all there, gentle readers.

Our heroes are at the Mt. Desert Island Oceanarium. Who's up for staging a raid?

This pie is unhappy since it misses Fafblog.


This pie is happy since there is now a blog to compensate.

Because I miss Fafblog, Spot!


Update: If comments are not popping up for you, right click on the word comment and choose "Open in a new window". I'll try to figure out what went wrong in the meantime...