Rufus Silas Wally Review

Forgotten American History #2: Samuel P. Clemson

2010-11-20T12:30:00.000-08:00

Mr. Clemson's short lived political career took advantage of the incongruous and mismatched period of nascent communication technologies and undeveloped zoning regulations at the turn of the 20th century. Via telegraph and wires, information could spread almost instantly, yet voting laws assumed a kind of island nature to voter districts, isolated places for democracy to unfurl like lonely coconuts from sparse palms. Mr. Clemson came into great wealth through a variety of patents and mysterious business ventures, most notably the stationary car, a product that sold very little but at exorbitant price. Always the prudent manager, he invested his money into up and coming housing markets. The result, whether intentional or not, was that he, on paper at least, held residency in 44 states. Friends don't remember him having any particular political leanings, but he ran for public office anyway, on almost every ticket simultaneously, something not yet illegal because it had previously not been within the realm of possibility. His immense surplus of private funds allowed him to dispense information across costly telegraph systems and reach a voting public of millions. It went virtually unnoticed, at least by the general public -- who had far less access to instant communication -- that he was running everywhere. He won in 27 states and went to Washington to fill as many seats. What proved his undoing, however, was his underlying ethics and sense of moral obligation to the country that had helped him succeed. Committed to representing his constituents, he soon became a noticeably conflicted man, displaying tics and skittishness. He would take the house floor multiple times per session, often contradicting and arguing with his own proposals -- passionately and vehemently. Occasional bipartisan deals were struck, but largely he fought himself tooth and nail. In order to ensure that he didn't stop his own legislation regarding federal funding for municipal projects in rural PA, Mr. Clemson reluctantly hired an assassin to take out his opponent, namely himself. Being aware of the plot, however, he countered by hiring another to take out the puppet master behind it all, himself again. Understandably, he embarked on a period of recluse-like behavior, wearing and switching disguises multiple times a day, using aliases and staying in cheap hotels. Eventually he just stopped showing up on the floor, though a murder was never reported. Some historians believe that he simply began to inhabit the many lives that he constructed to hide from his own, begetting children and families here and there across Washington, fading into roles and clothes and lies. The only bill he managed to pass in his brief stint as representative was the construction of a large fountain in an undisclosed location, written as such so as not to arouse the ire of himself for stepping on the toes of other states. This unmoored fountain is called the Clemson fountain and is still sought by Senators every year in a Congressional team-building pilgrimage across the Adirondacks.

Weight Loss Program: Political Activism

2008-04-23T10:55:00.000-07:00

The best way to lose weight is to take on a political cause that is larger than you and unstoppable.

Picketing (Let Them Eat Cake!)

All that walking back and forth has got to burn calories!

Starvation Makes You a Model For Change

Simply stop eating until slavery ends across the globe. You'll die in a few weeks but you will be absolutely gorgeous for a large portion of that time before you waste away.

Self Immolation Makes You a Hot Topic

Your fat will literally char off in flakes and blow away in the wind to the local papers.

Run for Public Office for Fifteen Minutes a Day

Strategists will carve you down to the barest semblance of a person at little to no cost.

Rallies Use Up More Calories than They Contain

If you talk long and loud enough, your weight will come out of your mouth, back out the way it came in!

Canvassing Promotes Equality

Sell parts of your body as subscription packages and your weight can be doled out across hundreds of people, each taking on a little of the enormous burden of your body.

So, pick a cause and change your body mass index and the world!

Thomas Jefferson is Everything #4

2008-04-08T10:22:00.000-07:00

Scientists have made an astonishing and sobering discovery that may throw a wrench into the environmentalist machine. Global warming alarmists and activists have long trumpeted the melting of the polar ice caps as a sign of the times, a consequence of human greed and arrogance, and real economic, social, and structural danger to many nations across the globe.

A team of MIT researchers, though, have discovered that the process of ice caps melting has a name: Thomas Jefferson. The great founding father of the nation is not dead but in fact alive and well as a climactic event of global scale. Thomas Jefferson first amazed a people, a nation, and the world through his political beliefs and philosophies, but he is now to be known as a multifaceted natural process.

Many politicians are excited about his return. Liberals and conservatives alike consider it a boon to their agendas. The second coming of Jefferson poses problems for both camps, however. For the liberals, he may be a strong voice for human rights, but he is also the scourge of the planet. For conservatives, he may be a staunch supporter of small government, but he also, in being real, will require them to acknowledge his -- and therefore global warming's -- existence.

Thomas Jefferson was a controversial man in the past -- and he remains so today.

Curious citizens can expect to get a taste of Jefferson in the form of a warm front expected to arrive early next week.

Diffusion

2007-12-11T14:17:00.001-08:00

I've removed my toilet from its fixtures. It lies on its side on the tile floor, a towel draped over part of it, water spilled all the way to the bathroom door.

I'm standing over the hole where the bowl used to be, just looking in.

And I've been thinking about the track suit I dried out, the halibut planted on my person, the horses and the hooks -- and all I'm left with is the pipes. Down there, the pipes are still talking, still not mentioning my name.

But who are they talking to?

I don't drop in just because I want to find out. I don't climb into the hole because I need to know.

No, I step through the floor of my bathroom and into the pipes beneath because there's not much to look for on this side, either. I don't go from here to there like hot water flowing into cold, but like the idle exchange of two luke-warm currents diffusing across a thin membrane. I could have walked out the door just as easily, but maybe the wind was blowing a certain way. Or maybe I'd put in enough work pulling that toilet up that, hey, what else was I going to do, put the thing back and call it a day?

No, I dropped into the pipes.

It was big enough for me to stand, about as wide as outspread arms. I felt the floor boards of my home above me, but as I walked they were soon replaced by concrete, then dirt, and finally rusted iron or lead. A gentle stream flowed slowly beneath my feet.

Floating by were pamphlets and brochures from political campaigns I'd never heard or dreamed of, nightmarish platforms and absurd testimonials. Scrawled on the walls were unreadable messages from who knows when.

It never branched off, just kept going straight and was somehow always dimly lit.

Eventually, I came to a tree where all the pamphlets had gotten stuck, soaked in water. They were bunched up on the branches as if hung there like ornaments. As I yanked on one, though, it stuck fast -- and when it came loose, it did so only with a snap. The campaigns were some kind of fruit grown here in my bathroom pipes.

My shit fertilizes this crap, I thought. It gives me a sense of ownership, at least.

I pee on the tree and then keep walking, a few fruits in hand. I speculate that I can eat these informational packets if the need arises. I feel vindicated by the idea of it: whatever nutrients have been leached from my refuse by this tree will be recouped by my body, diffused backward into my system at last.

I'm not collecting with interest, but it's at least a tiny compensation.

I need a rest, I think, leaning down against the pipe wall here beneath my bathroom -- all of which I'm beginning to believe is somewhere inside of me. As I fall asleep, even though I'm traveling essentially in a straight line in my own house -- and what might even be my own body -- I giggle a bit at the fact that I think I might be getting lost.

Politicians I Have Tasted #15

2007-12-09T15:16:00.000-08:00

Tony Blair in Cabernet Sauvignon Reduction

INGREDIENTS

3/4 teaspoon dried rosemary
1/4 teaspoon dried basil
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
salt and pepper to taste
Tony Blair
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/4 cup minced shallots
1/3 cup aged balsamic vinegar
3/4 cup chicken broth
1 tablespoon butter

READ REVIEWS (248)

DIRECTIONS

In large pot, stir together the rosemary, basil, thyme, salt and pepper. Rub it all onto Tony Blair, making sure to get it on both sides. Place him on a plate, cover and set aside for 15 minutes to absorb the flavors. He will do most of the work for you, lapping it up with his tongue.
Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Place Tony Blair in the skillet, and cook for about 3 1/2 minutes per side, talking to him about his favorite things and movies, or continue to cook to your desired doneness. Doneness is a personal preference. Do not let Tony influence your feelings about doneness. He will only try to deceive you. Remove from the skillet, and keep warm on a serving platter.
Add shallots to the skillet as if you were mad with power, and cook for a few minutes, just until browned. Sigh with relief and satisfaction as you mix in some vinegar, scraping any bits of Tony Blair from the bottom of the skillet (his skin is tender and has grown attached to the pan -- you must be forceful with him, exercise tough love here like elbow grease), then stir in the chicken broth. Continue to cook and stir over medium-high heat for about 5 minutes, until the sauce and Tony Blair have reduced by half. If you don't, the sauce will be runny and not good. Remove from heat, and stir in the butter. Pour over Tony Blair, who -- if he isn't dead or unconscious -- will have much to say and talk about. Offer him a few nuts or bits of stuffing and he may grant you a few choice words of wisdom or a smooch on the mouth as you eat him.

Serves 4

Wine Tip

Try with a California red wine , like Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot or Syrah.

When Politicians Combine #1

2007-11-19T09:52:00.000-08:00

Early in my life, I was baptised by the reverend George Hamilton and the great deacon Thomas Jefferson.

Moving with the majesty of migrating whales, the two of them combined their bodies into one huge megapolitician that spoke six languages and could write sixteen new bills in a single fortnight.

They baptised me with their fifteen arms again and again until not only all of my sins were washed away, but my skin and my skull and my brain as well.

They told me that the worst sins are in fact our bodies and all of the things that we are made of.

New: Faster, More Sensitive Anthrax Detection System

2007-11-06T12:22:00.000-08:00

Detecting anthrax has long been an ugly and detestable practice. Rippling muscles on the point of bursting and redundancy -- along with a brand of machismo that outdoes the most sexist of pigs -- make modern anthrax detection one of the most caustic forms of detection.

Yet, scientists recently unveiled a method of detecting anthrax that enjoys tea, sweaters, and knitting.

This anthrax detection system walks old ladies across the street, carries their groceries up the stairs, gives them a sponge bath, and makes them feel like they've started their lives over again on a bed of fresh pillows and baby wipes.

The government recently started using it at a number of US Post Offices. Asked for an opinion, the Post Office remarked, "Well, being a large network of buildings and roads and codes does make life difficult. It's hard to get your bearings. Having something a little bit nicer in your life for once sure is a relief."

Other government offices have things to say on the matter as well. Says the Pentagon: "If I could bathe in the this anthrax detection system, I would." The judicial branch? "This shit is like heroin. I'm hooked."

In fact, fears of a widespread addiction to this detection system are not unfounded. Historically, people and places are loathe to be infected by anthrax, so any detection system at all was already desirable -- but now that it's so sensitive, things may get out of control.

The Department of Weights and Measures says, "I'm steering clear of the stuff myself. Too risky. Give me a punch to the face and tell me my teeth are anthrax free. That's how I like it and that's how I'll take it."

Still, only time will tell how sensitivity will really affect the anthrax detection market.

Maybe I'm Becoming Invisible, Too

2007-10-26T19:17:00.000-07:00

Today, as I walked through the park toward downtown, I was followed by an empty track suit moving of its own accord.

Pressing my ears to the gutter drains, I heard names whispered, but not mine. People's identities whisked about like diplomats at the airport, but the drains had nothing on me.

This suit was running off the tubes, then, swimming in another river all together. What was his hook, I wondered, and was I his fish?

When I tried to ambush him, he just crumpled like some old clothes -- like any regular inanimate track suit.

I thought about putting it on, but instead I picked it up off the grass, and plopped it into a washer at the closest laundromat. I would have gone straight for the dryer, but there was a "wash first" policy -- strictly enforced according to the signs.

Once the suit was in the dryer, I left and didn't come back, but only after I watched the thing tumble for a bit.

Later that night, I spent some time trying to make my socks move of their own accord. I gave up eventually, satisfied that they stood perfectly still as if by stubborn purpose.

That's good enough, I think.

Children Erupt From The Mouth of McCain

2007-10-11T17:34:00.000-07:00

While giving a speech in Iowa today, John McCain made a serious political fumble akin to Howard Dean's infamous scream: while explaining his stance on foreign relations with Turkey, a fourth grade boy named Todd burst forth from his mouth. Trying to make light of it, McCain simply brushed the boy aside, but no one could ignore when, in the middle of explaining why Turkey should not join the EU, an entire elementary school's worth of children poured out of his face like water from a busted summer hydrant in the Bronx. The children, now a virile internet sensation, have been handed over to the wires and cables and are under the care of millions of eyes and ears for at least the next five minutes -- after which they are expected to have never existed in the first place.

McCain, covered in a thick cloud of controversy, is expected to clear up with a chance of light showers in time for the weekend.

Terrorist center may add natural disasters to list of terror suspects

2007-09-25T10:59:00.001-07:00

From CNN:

About a hundred times a day, from anywhere in the world, a phone call comes in that sounds something like this: I think I've got a terrorist suspect here, can you check it out?

Answering those calls are dozens of operations specialists in a highly secure center in a classified location in northern Virginia. With access to the government's secret terror watch list, their job is to make sure nobody on the list falls through the cracks.

But fall through the cracks they did, when a massive 8.3 earthquake struck along a fault line located directly below the secret watchdog headquarters.

When called to see if the fault line or the earthquake, which wrenched apart the buildings foundation, were known terrorist suspects, the organization did not respond -- eliciting a strong reaction of discontent from the public.

An Open Letter to Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad:

2007-09-25T00:33:00.001-07:00

A Few Links to Chew

2007-09-17T11:50:00.000-07:00

Good day, friends!
Here are a few delicious bits by some folks whose taste buds I find pretty sweet.

Future politicians
Politiku

Enjoy,

Rufus

Designing a Child For Every Mother

2007-09-16T11:23:00.000-07:00

From CNN:

The Democratic party has opted to impose a new platform for all of its candidates and party members. The move has stirred up some controversy among both key members of the DP and a majority of the GOP.

"First off," says Al Gore, "you might not know this, but there are certain people both in and out of the Democratic party who act as a sort of king of the Democrats -- or group of kings even -- and what they say goes. It's just easier that way, we all feel."

The plan, as handed down to the Democratic party on stone tablets, requires that America design one final child to be born from every mother at once.

The blueprints for this child are only in the development stages at this point, but they are expected to drop -- covered in amniotic fluids and in full detail -- from a pulsating hole somewhere in Washington later this week.

Across the country, mothers are reacting differently. Sarah X in Seattle remarks that "I believe this will make the birthing process a lot easier," while Alice Y from Houston complains that "I can't even begin to understand how I'm going to dress 1/150,000,000th of a child on the first day of school."

Yet, a booming voice that resounds from almost every direction is deaf to such complaints say Democratic insiders. "We sit in terror as the great voice that commands us rattles off its plans for the future, mumbling as if half asleep, and there is nothing we can do to affect it other than to carry out its wishes."

An enormous stadium is being constructed in the Mojave Desert where all the women of the nation will be ushered to at just the right moment-- so that they might shoot beams of highly concentrated light from their genitals in order to create the final child. His first act is scheduled to be a televised soccer game.

"Finally claiming a place in the global football circuit is key to America's foreign relations," says the Booming Voice From Everywhere.

Who To Vote For

2007-09-11T20:25:00.000-07:00

According to recent statistics, the next president is most likely to:

1. Receive electroshock therapy
2. Do so live and on television as the State of The Union address

Research

2007-08-12T13:17:00.000-07:00

Before the advent of industrialization, laundry was done not in machines but in streams by "letting the stream carry away the materials causing stains and smells."

We have to ask ourselves: Is this still happening, albeit on a larger scale?

If so, where exactly is the "stream"?

And who are we washing? Which one of us, or even what part of us, is a "stain or a smell"?

Stand back and ask yourself this question: Am I red wine, cranberry juice, or a lucky club soda?

A connection perhaps?

As well, track suits rose in popularity in the 1980's. They are praised for the following characteristics:

If wearing the full tracksuit, you can easily hide stolen items under your clothing
One can also hide quite large weapons, such as knives or baseball bats, or a plumber's pipe

Why are we keeping piping bundled up in track suits?

And what part of our own plumbing is hidden under someone else's track suit?

Do some of our drains travel down through the walls, out into the dirt, and then into the nylon folds of some thug's tracksuit?

Does it stop there, or do the pipes usher us into their bodies as well?

And are these perhaps the very pipes through which we are "washed" -- all or part of us taken away like stains and smells?

I can't find anything in particular missing on my person, yet I have a pervading sense of unease. In the grocery store and around town, it does appear that other people are missing perhaps a vital organ or cognitive chunk -- yet, they seem not to notice themselves.

I carry a wrench now so that I might unscrew curious piping -- to see who falls out.

So far, all I know is this: there's a whole lot of water headed off somewhere -- where to I don't know, but perhaps into the bodies of other people -- and we may or may not be floating in it as pieces and parts.

High Risk Mortgages Become Toxic Mess

2007-08-10T17:23:00.000-07:00

From The Washinton Post:

When Linda Scranton refinanced her mortgages on five separate houses over two years ago, she assumed the smaller monthly payments could assist her in saving more money for retirement.

Instead, the Lakeberg, California, dermatologist soon found herself sinking in financial quicksand amidst widening mortgage issues that are yanking down home prices and preparing to drag the U.S. economy into a new recession.

Yet the financial quicksand soon became real quicksand as her debt took physical shape. "She literally started to be pulled into the ground by what I can only describe as anti-money," her sister told reporters Monday. "I mean, her entire home was kind of sucked down into a huge pit of not just nothingness, but kinda like the opposite of somethingness."

Though Linda is sitting at the bottom of an enormous well made of a new economic matter, she is certainly not alone. Down there, thousands of families sit wondering how this tragedy happened in the first place.

Meanwhile, the homes surrounding those like Linda's are feeling the burn as well. Corrosive monetary acids and interest rate gases spill out from the pit and destroy anything within a mile radius.

The debt is killing wildlife and eroding homes into piles of unusable bills. The areas have been evacuated, and anyone in debt has been either rounded up or quarantined.

Though perhaps unrelated, just outside the evacuation zones in many states, factories are reportedly appearing on the horizon, smoke billowing from them, unknown and unmarked.

Tracking, Pursuit

2007-08-10T16:41:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I returned to the laundromat, entered the dryer, crawled through the cave, and willingly let the hooks snag my cheeks and drag me up.

Pulled upward, I heard the cars rolling through the streets -- again like distant birds and squirrels.

I never seemed to get closer to the sounds of the town, yet they also never seemed any more distant, no matter how far I let the hooks drag me. Certainly, we had eclipsed the distance I had traveled down from the laundromat -- the hook was taking me somewhere beyond laundry, beyond the dryer.

I soon sensed something else around me in the darkness, a brush of something here and there, a grunt or warmth beneath and above me. At first I couldn't be sure I wasn't just pulling sense from the random humming and static, but the grunts and brushings and warmths escalated to almost a chorus. A lone beam of light, shone far above me, and when I passed through it, illuminated all around me were the writhing bodies of fat, naked men -- lathered in an oil or mucous and struggling to breathe, their cheeks taught and stretched along the hook and against their own weight.

The school of us slid upward, pulled by the strings, as if it would never end. For hours it seemed we rose, the ground beneath us all but a memory. I lived many lives there, thinking and rethinking old mistakes, but my thoughts were halted by the embankment.

It came into sight almost suddenly and soon we were over it, dragged like rags around the corner. As I slid across the dirt, suddenly feeling my heft in a new way, feeling it pressed against the ground, I followed the cord to its source: a horse. It heaved and whinnied, sucking the nylon string into its throat like angel hair pasta, its teeth and gums gnashing and splashing about.

All around me, the fat men were dragged as well, scaly and web-footed -- and as I saw one and then another enter a horse's mouth, skinned by the molars and swallowed, nothing left behind but a pink hide -- I quickly slid the hook from my mouth and rolled off behind my horse. I watched as its cord spewed back out and down over the cliff, back down into the cave, waiting just inside the dryer. And soon, the men were falling from the anuses of the beasts, birthed like oranges through a wet keyhole or nails through wood.

I scuttled away as some began to look around, gaining vision. I searched for somewhere to hide, but found only open asphalt in all directions. Scouring the ground, though, I found a grate and tossed myself down into it. I slid for only a few seconds and found myself in another cave, dewy and wet.

Following its corridors, I came to a line of holes, each spinning and full of clothes.

Dryers.

Yet, they were full. I peered through the pants and shirts, out through the glass, and on toward the people. They mingled and read newspapers, sat drinking sodas and tea. The smell of hot Cotton surrounded me as I watched them waiting, washing, drying.

I fell asleep there on the other side of the machines. When I woke, it was quiet, nighttime. I emerged from the closest dryer, let myself out, careful to re-lock the door, but found myself not where I remembered. Rather, it was a whole other town, snow on the ground.

I looked back at the locked laundromat -- I wasn't getting back in there tonight. Then I looked upward, but there were no hooks to attach to, no strings to pull me up and out.

I found a place to sit, and then I sat.

America, A Warning.

2007-08-08T11:03:00.000-07:00

Legislation I Have Used as a Weight Loss Program #4

2007-07-27T09:59:00.000-07:00

S.3930
Title: A bill to authorize trial by military commission for violations of the law of war, and for other purposes.
Sponsor: Sen McConnell, Mitch [KY] (introduced 9/22/2006) Cosponsors (2)
Related Bills: H.RES.1054, H.R.6054, H.R.6166, S.3861, S.3886, S.3901, S.3929
Latest Major Action: Became Public Law No: 109-366 [GPO: Text, PDF]

This legislation works your body on all fronts (and backs, for that matter), and may be one of the best fully comprehensive weight loss programs on the circuit today.

I started using S.3930 in mid May. By mid June, I lost over 20% of my body fat.

It's simple to use, too.

I like to start by wrapping the clause, "establish procedures governing the use of commissions to try alien unlawful enemy combatants (combatants) engaged in hostilities against the United States for violations of the law of war" all around my abdomen, to let it constrict my movement.

Then I like to take one definition of combatant, say perhaps, "a militia, volunteer corps, or organized resistance movement belonging to a State party engaged in such hostilities, which are under responsible command, wear a fixed distinctive sign recognizable at a distance, carry their arms openly," and have a spotter tie my ankles up with that and kind of stretch legs to the tipping point, really getting those muscles taught and fibrous, and then strap it all down with a peg.

Third, I like to unwind the clause, "Prohibits a person from invoking the Geneva Conventions in any habeas corpus or other civil action to which the United States, a current or former officer, employee, or member of the Armed Forces, or other agent of the United States is a party as a source of rights in any court of the United States or its states or territories," and have my spotter bind each wrist with it, then stretch my arms to the farthest point in the room, really making everything kind of pull, spreading the fat thin like a body butter.

Finally, I like to take section 8, which states "Amends provisions of the Detainee Treatment Act of 2005 relating to the protection of U.S. government personnel engaged in authorized interrogations to: (1) require (currently authorizes) the U.S. government to provide counsel and pay the legal fees of any such personnel with respect to any civil action or criminal prosecution arising out of an authorized interrogation," and I like to have that rigged as a series of gears and pulleys arranged such that when I clench my teeth the clauses only get tighter, until -- once I've bitten down hard enough -- everything just kind of rips open and falls all over the place like a cracked jelly donut.

Afterwards, a quick jog is recommended, maybe a protein shake.

Ambassador on Iraq atmosphere: 'Fear'

2007-07-19T11:30:00.000-07:00

Ryan Crocker, the top U.S. diplomat in Iraq, made clear the situation in Baghdad: the atmosphere is fear.

"We need to stop concerning ourselves with Co2 emissions, and start thinking about the mass release of anxiety," he went on. "Fear is coming out of people -- out of mouths and and noses, eyes and ears, and then getting trapped under the green zone and heated by extremism and gun fire."

When asked whether or not fear has a global impact on the atmosphere, Crocker said, "Let me put it this way -- the ozone stays in place because of a sense of well being and comfort. If we were to rock that somehow, to scare it -- it could go into a frenzy of whatever it does, I don't know."

The top diplomat in the Ozone added, "Fear is a growing concern. It's exponential, really. The more there is of it, the more afraid we get. It just kind of speeds up. When you throw unrest and insubordination into the mix -- it's a powder keg up here."

Others enjoy the climate change. "It's good for the skin," one Iraqi says. "It kind of bastes you like a meat." One entrepreneur is even cashing in on it. "I've been filtering the oxygen out and selling just the pure fear through tubes at my Anxiety Bar. People suck it down and either run screaming through the streets or cower in the corner for an hour. You kind of need it after work."

And for the kids? Balloons -- fear floats.

According to one child, "It's better than helium."

Yet, Mr. Crocker says fear isn't a toy, but rather a dangerous and combustible gas. He is expected to release an atmospheric improvement plan by late September.

Exchange

2007-07-19T11:22:00.001-07:00

When I dropped off my laundry yesterday, I left a note in the shirt pocket. It read, "I'm tracking your suits."

When I picked up the clean batch, the note wasn't there. In it's place?

"Our suits are tracking you."

"None Of The Above" is GOP favorite

2007-07-17T12:47:00.000-07:00

From CNN:

In recent polls, more Republicans chose "None Of The Above" as their top choice for the presidency.

Mr. Above has been running for president for over fifty years and is proud to finally get some recognition.

He feels as if he is still an outsider and an underdog, but hopes to continue mustering support.

"I don't exist and have no prior record of legislation or bills. I'm a blank slate, really."

Many voters welcome the idea of a blank slate. "Before, I thought Obama was a good candidate because he let me believe anything I wanted about him -- but ultimately, Obama is a real person with real views and real features who can take real action. That's why I support None of the Above -- because I can think of him and project on him anyway I want. Personally, I think he's a woman," one Democrat elucidated.

Whether None of The Above has the finances to really run a strong campaign has yet to be seen and may depend on whether the American people are willing to give their money to no one and nothing at all.

Yet, some experts believe we already are. "I've been doing it for years, just throwing money away," says one Indiana lawyer. "And I had no idea I was supporting this candidate all along, but since I have been doing it practically my whole life -- well, I guess I better vote for him, right? I wanna get my money's worth, the way I see it."

Mr. Above will spend the remainder of the primary campaign absolutely nowhere.

Body Is "Probably" Missing Student/Down The Laundry Hole

2007-07-09T20:30:00.000-07:00

From Foxnews.com:

" Investigators suspect a corpse discovered in a meadow Monday is that of a university student who went missing last month in Madison, where she was last seen subsequent to a night out at the bars."

"Authorities combing an area roughly 10 miles south of Madison came upon the body on private property in a wooded area littered with laundromats and dry cleaners.

Dane County Coroner John Stanley said it was tentatively identified as probably 22-year-old Kelly Nolan."

Probably? Who else could it be?

"Investigators have yet to get a 'detailed, up-close' look at the body, which was dressed in a track suit and covered up in a densely laundered area, starch everywhere, but preliminary evidence suggests it is Nolan, Stanley said."

What is officer Stanley doing in this laundromat?

"Police spokesman Joel DeSpain declined to describe the condition of the body but said it was obvious to detectives that the person had been killed.
Authorities were led to the scene via Nolan's most recent cell phone call to a nearby laundromat."

Running across state lines, I drove my Chevy just south of Madison. I arrived around 7 pm, stopped into the local Mobile station. Bought coffee. Had a late lunch of Snickers and Snapple. Raspberry Iced Tea.

I sauntered through the town, did a little window shopping, and then carved my way to the meat of it. Dead center of this little town was a four block radius of dry cleaners, laundromats and car washes. It must be the cleanest town in America.

I shuffled from one to the other, opening dryers and peaking over shoulders into washing machines.

And then I smelled it: fish.

It was coming from a dryer just to the left of a Russian woman breastfeeding a child while she folded her unmentionables. I scooted past her, opened the dryer door, took a quick look around, and slipped in.

Following the scent, the dryer opened up into a larger tunnel, dark and damp with snails and salamanders all about. I guided myself along the walls, blind but determined.

Deeper into the dryer, a dim light from far above shown down from the street, the distant sound of cars like birds in the trees. The light illuminated a figure slumped across the rock. Upon inspection, I found it to be dead, a track suit wrapped tightly around its throat and sea weed stuffed in its bloated mouth.

I moved onward into the darkness, the smell of fish growing stronger. Something scratched my face and then tugged hard on it. Struggling, I flailed my arms and swatted the air, hitting strong nylon strings that dangled from above. They were lines -- lines with baited hooks waiting in the dark. I got low to the ground and crawled forward.

The tunnels became too cavernous and confusing for me to investigate fully. I had to turn back. On my way out, I found these two pictures underneath a slug:

As I crawled out of the dryer, I placed the pictures in my breast pocket -- but there was something else in there.

I pulled it out: halibut.

Had I been following my own scent? And if so, who slipped me the fish?

Everyone is a suspect.

Toning Your Glutes

2007-07-09T09:54:00.000-07:00

I have had two children and have lost a lot of weight since they were born. Still, my butt is flat and I want to round it out, like an apple or melon. What is the best exercise for that?
---K

U.S. Senators John Cornyn and Kay Bailey Hutchinson of Texas are the time-honored way of training your gluteus maximus (butt). You can add resistance by lifting them both while holding interns in your teeth or with a lobbyist across your shoulders. If you opt for the lobbyist, make sure you have a spotter.

Varying the width of your politician will change the emphasis of the exercise. The closer together Cornyn and Hutchinson are, the more your quads (front of the thighs) will work. As Hutchinson and Cornyn scamper about getting further apart, you'll feel the exercise more in your hips and butt. The two of them are prone to spasms and yammerings of legalese, but this will keep your metabolism up.

Some people have complained that senators make their butts bigger. I think those people are: a) Eating more than they think they are; and b) Not good Americans. Nevertheless, if you use senators at a slower frequency and take honest, normal and patriotic steps -- as opposed to leaning on the politicians with your arms and staying on your tiptoes screaming about the welfare state or global warming -- you can recruit those butt muscles into an army of steel.

Any campaign requiring hip extension will work your butt, and I think the best exercise of all for that is skating with two politicians on your feet. Ever see a speed skater's butt? No other athletes depend on hip extension as much as they do, and sliding a top U.S. Sen. John Cornyn and Kay Bailey Hutchinson will only add to the tension and resistance. If they keep their upper bodies almost parallel to the ice (or road, if it's in-line skates you're talking about), it will be not only a great butt exercise, but a great overall leg exercise, and that's why speed skaters have such nice lower bodies littered with legislation and funding scandals.

How to Purchase a Politician

2007-07-09T07:45:00.000-07:00

I took a trip to the local Coney Island politician monger -- we'll call him Frank -- with a single question in mind: how do I pick the perfect politician?

Upon entering the market, Frank greeted me with a smile and a firm shake.

"The first thing you need to know when picking a politician," said Frank, "is they are smart. You know why politicians are so smart? Because they travel in schools."

"And within schools are classes." I dared to quip.

"Exactly," said Frank. "And what do you find in every class?"

"A teacher?" I queried.

"No no no," Frank reprimanded. "Every class has a fat kid. And that's the one you want. The really fat one, because they taste the best."

Before I could even ask, Frank answered my next question: "You know which one is fat by watching who the others mock and torment. Plus, they are generally much larger than the others. Come with me."

Frank invited me behind the counter and gestured to follow him into a back room. I was led down a series of dark and ever-narrowing hallways with many twists and turns, steps, tunnels and secret doors.

Eventually, we met a tall, muscular man who wore dark sunglasses, a headset and a stony expression. He stood guard at a sleek metal door.

Frank tapped a card on his key chain to a series of dancing red dots on a small screen. The guard stepped aside and we passed.

We entered into a sort of aquarium -- a strange and marvelous aquarium that surrounded us entirely, with no right angles. We stood in a glass bowl surrounded by water.

Schools of politicians swam under and above me, right in front of my face, with beady eyes, erratically flapping fins, little puckering fish faces.

Jeb Bush gave me an empty sideways glance as he nursed lazily on the glass. Shivers shot through me and I turned to my guide.

"When buying a politician," said Frank, "it's important that the place you buy it does not smell like fish. This is very important."

"Well," I said, "it certainly doesn't smell like fish here. But what is that odd scent I am smelling?"

"Fear," Frank replied.

We picked out the fattest politician in the tank -- a nice chubby Gerard Larcher -- and started back on our return journey.

That night, I invited my sister for the feast. We were both so excited about my purchase, we didn't cook it right off. Instead, we propped Gerard Larcher up on a chair at the dinner table and laughed at him and his socio-political concerns for a good two or three days.

When we were really hungry, and my sister felt sick from laughing, we covered Gerard Larcher in Kosher salt, threw him in the oven at 350 degrees for roughly 2 hours. The meat slid right off the bones. I served him up with a wedge of lemon an a glass of Pinot.

As a toast, we reminisced about the days in which Gerard Larcher had said such things as "our aim is not to create a clan or to be social vigilantes, nor to collect a maximum number of signatures, but to bring others with us in our wake."

Well, Gerardy, perhaps we can send out an invite to bring those people to your wake instead.

He was superb.

The Only Politician to Have Ever Tasted Me # α, Ω

2007-07-07T21:31:00.000-07:00

I was caddying an invigorating round of Golf for Japan's former lower house member Shinichiro Kurimoto, when a bad slice on the sixteenth hole placed his ball in an indented (fried egg) lie in a nasty sand trap. As we gave each other that meaningful "well, here we go again" look, I handed him his trusty McGregor V-Foil Easy Outs sand wedge, and he placed me entirely in his mouth.

Afterwards, while relaxing at the local hot spring, he was overheard saying "Well, I feel like I'm tasting and feeling the wrath of the lobster here. The softness of the ochre is what makes this so playful, a very well thought out plot, I think. I can feel the aroma of the ocean wafting over the mountains; it just explodes, in my mouth."

And, as Kurimoto-san started to scrub my back, was I blushing? Or was it merely that famed Nagasaki heat?

Fierce Heat Wave Fuels Western Mythology

2007-07-07T19:34:00.000-07:00

A severe heat wave has teamed up with a council of English professors clandestinely working on a chartered boat in the Mediterranean. The result has sent Greek gods running amok throughout Europe and the United States on Saturday.

Authorities have responded by hiring an army of red ants to place rose thorns and nitroglycerin between the lips of the baby Midas as he sleeps -- an attempt to halt the soothsayer's predictions of a second coming of great wealth and power in the kingdom of the pre-Christian gods.

As a safety precaution, homes, roads and all wildernesses are forbidden in the dryer areas of northwest Texas. The residents have been transported safely to a simulated pre-civilization environment in space where they will chew on Kola nuts and cocoa until things calm down.

Intense fires, which have torched about 400 square miles, were sparked by lightning bolts blasting from Zeus' staff on Friday afternoon. The lightning bolts have been escorted north and northwest Saturday by high winds and Hera's sacred chariot.

Firemen attempted negotiations with Cleobis and Biton, aiming to send the two young Argives on a mission in which they would fasten themselves to the bottom of Hera's chariot, cut loose the white oxen and guide the chariot out to sea where it would spin out of control, crash and sink without a trace.

Talks are still in session as black smoke increases the risk of orgies and various other forms of hedonism.

Sounds like a good time.

Sometimes I Believe This Is All America Needs

2007-07-07T11:00:00.001-07:00

Other times I believe it's all that I need.

Former 9/11 panel member says U.S. still not secure

2007-07-07T10:18:00.000-07:00

Today I bought a washboard for emergency use.

From The New York Times:

"Dry Cleaning Services and Chinese Laundries are gaining strength and the United States is still not as safe as it should be, former Indiana congressman Tim Roemer said Saturday.

Speaking roughly seven days after attempted bombings in Britain, as well as amid emerging controversy over a navy blue track suit and a multi-million dollar case of consumer negligence, the 9/11 commission member chided the U.S. Congress and the White House for not taking sufficient action to secure the country from attacks from within.

Roemer demanded lawmakers move forward on utilizing safety measures the commission promoted and asked President Bush not to veto or threaten to veto the proposed legislation.

"Only a small portion of these bipartisan recommendations have come to fruition," Roemer said during the weekly Democratic radio address. "The White House's execution and funding of them has received failing grades."

He identified washer and dryer security as one of the most critical issues for protecting the country.

"We still do not have the ability to know fully who and what is coming through the holes in our cleaning devices -- those tubes could lead anywhere. It's totally unregulated," he said. "We've left the door open to attacks."

Roemer seems to be in the know, but this picture of a young Tim Roemer is curious. He is standing in front of Northshore Elementary School in South Dakota, and I checked -- they do have cleaning services on the premises. What could Roemer want with elementary school washing machines and a track suit? Why does he need to go so fast?

In addition, I found this picture in the dryer at the laundromat on 4th:

Are they fishermen?

Suit Challenging Domestic Spying Dismissed?

2007-07-07T08:29:00.000-07:00

From CNN.com:

A federal appeals court Friday ordered the dismissal of an ACLU lawsuit challenging President Bush's domestic surveillance program.

President Bush secretly instituted the National Security Agency's domestic spying program after 9/11.

The plaintiff -- a navy blue track suit -- had no legal standing to pursue its claims because the empty suit could not show it was targeted by the National Security Agency's warrantless spying program, the court decided in a 2-1 vote.

"It cannot establish that it's an 'aggrieved persons,'" wrote Judge Alice Batchelder, of the 6th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in Cincinnati, "Because it is neither a person nor capable of being aggrieved."

Alice, requesting anonymity because of the sensitivity of the case, added that "The suit can't even walk. The pictures are staged to make him -- er, it -- look more human, but most of the time this suit just sits laid out on a bed or folded over a chair. It's an insult to justice."

Reliable sources are whispering that this legal track suit might be the very same suit recently embroiled in a Chinese dry cleaning scandal. We would all be surprised to know that this suit was not a tailored two piece business outfit, but rather an advanced running accoutrement. Why does it need to go so fast and why doesn't it want the government to hear what its doing? All I can say is, if that suit thinks it got away clean -- think again. The wires are buzzing.

Rice Warns of Increasingly Dangerous Flan

2007-07-06T18:39:00.001-07:00

In times like these, go with the pudding.

Legislation I Have Used As a Weight Loss Program #2

2007-07-06T18:27:00.000-07:00

The immigration bill has worked wonders on my upper body. Amnesty proposals have really toned up my pecs, and border patrol concepts have revitalized my biceps into killing machines -- real mean guns.

I am going to keep working with this one. As part of a 6 week program, immigration legislation might be a real wonder program.

Using the controversy pulling so strongly in both political directions offers much better strength resistance than the Bowflex for example. Keep your eyes on this up and comer.

Conclusion: Veto it.

British Terrorist Suspects Look Into Jobs in U.S.

2007-07-06T14:24:00.000-07:00

You would think being a terrorist is work enough. That may be true, but for two British terrorists, who also hold demanding full-time positions as doctors, there's no such thing as enough.

In fact, according to them, real work may not even exist at all -- but if it does, they are going to find it.

The two suspects in the failed car bombings in Britain made what the FBI described as "pretty unique inquiries" into "work" in the United States.

"We were utterly baffled," said one FBI agent speaking under anonymity. "We had no idea what they were talking about. They seem to believe that what we as a civilization and individuals call work simply is not real -- it's an illusion we foster on a daily basis worldwide. I mean, they were pretty nice guys, but they just kept asking where we keep the real work. I didn't know what to tell them. We were stupefied."

According to mysterious sources that may or may not have sounded Mexican or Chinese over the phone, the two suspects called the FBI, U.S. Postal Service, various employment agencies, headhunters, large retail superstores and countless fisheries wondering whether "a truly existing state or work has ever been found or utilized, and can we please have access to it?"

The two terrorist suspects' inquiries have set off a flurry of anxiety among local fish shop owners who have given a slight indication that some kind of long-kept, cult secret may be weaseling it's way out of the fish net.

"Look, I can't say too much," said a fisherman out of Coney Island, Brooklyn, "but if those guys want real work, I can get them reel work. Unfortunately, considering their current international criminal status, it may be more difficult than it would seem. But you tell them if they need real work, I've got reel work."

A smug midget in a leisure suit declined comment when asked just what kind of work the fisherman might have had in mind.

The mystery deepens, gets fishier.

Legislation I Have Used as Part of a Weight Loss Program #1

2007-07-06T00:10:00.000-07:00

Only the rigorous of spirit should take on the gauntlet that is the stem cell research bill in their daily exercise routine. It is demanding and strenuous and left both of my triceps reeling. After six days of squats, pinwheels, and birth canal tugs, I can hardly say I have lost a pound.

Conclusion: Veto it!

Fabulous Baroque Minister McCain

2007-07-05T23:35:00.000-07:00

Two words. Lumpy Butterfingers. Baritone sax and viola.
Okay, that was two sentences. But who cares?
This is how I feel when I feel about McCain, our obvious choice for head chef.

America! This is what you've become!

2007-07-05T23:23:00.000-07:00

Come back to me...

Points Of Entry

2007-07-05T23:14:00.001-07:00

My tendons stretch the more I think of Bloomberg. My quads tense up when I look at a picture of Clinton. My abs retract when Orin Hatch struts by.

And so then I got hungry. And thirsty.

I made thousand Perot chicken. I fried Christians in a pit of olive-Obama salade.

And after the meal, I brushed my teeth. I stroked those fine bristles over my ivory bones with Romney mustachio toothpaste especial!

And I drank some water. And it rained...and it was good.