There's One, Only!

Test test test

I took one of those online IQ tests the other day, and I was wondering how accurate they are. It was the Tickle Your Brain one.

Just out of curiosity, I'd be interested in knowing what my reader's IQ's are. I figure Harvey's to be a 'suffusion of yellow' ;-) (Bonus points for the reference!)

Oh and in case you're wondering, the test says that my IQ is 136. That appears to be just high enough for MENSA. So where's my application?

Look! I'm a river!

Saw this over at Susie's and killed 5 minutes.

Which Extremity of the World Are You?
From the towering colossi at Rum and Monkey.

Yet Even More Banjokes

There's a banjo player and an accordion player sitting on the side of the road. Which do you run over first?
The accordion player. Business before pleasure.

What's the best thing to play on a banjo?
A flamethrower.

How many banjo players does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
100. One to hold the lightbulb while the world revolves around him and 99 to say they could have done it better.

What do you get when you cross a banjo player and an alligator?
One well fed alligator.

Why did the banjo player cross the road?
It was the chickens day off.

What's a banjo player's favorite w(h)ine?
"Play Foggy Mountain Breakdown."

What's the difference between an onion and a banjo?
No one cries when you cut up a banjo.

What's the difference between a trampoline and a banjo?
You take your shoes off before jumping on the trampoline.

PGH: What Would Reagan Do?

This week's Precision Guided Humor assignment from the Alliance is pretty straightforward. What would Reagan do if he were President; how would he run the war on terror? I realize that we couldn’t completely scrap the 22nd Amendment to the Constitution. If that were the case, Clinton would never have been elected, Reagan would still be president (assuming, for the sake of the assignment that he never developed Alzheimer’s) and the terrorists would have never dared to attack us.

But instead, let us take a different path down alternative realities:

In 1998, three years after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease, Ronald W. Reagan is cured by the newest Jelly Belly™ Brand jelly bean flavor, Chitlins. (All of the new meat flavors were found to cure various brain related illnesses) After fully recovering from the debilitating disease, and observing the debilitating Clinton Presidency, he helps push through a repeal of the 22nd Amendment which allows him to run in 2000. With the younger George W. Bush as his new Vice-Presidential candidate, he wins with yet another landslide, over the Clinton/Reno ticket. (In an interesting minor note, with the cure of most mental diseases by the new Jelly Belly™ flavors, Al Gore recovered from his rabid eco-terrorist stance, and he retired from politics to become a male chorus member on Broadway.)

The Oval Office, Washington DC, June 23, 2004:

Ronald W. Reagan, POTUS and the most powerful man in the world paced in his office. Reagan’s antithesis had just released his biography, and he was musing over weather or not to repeal the Presidential Edict forbidding assassinations. In the end, he decided against it. He felt that Clinton would only benefit from being dead before anyone had a serious chance to call him on the lies in his book. Besides, Reagan had a war to run.

He sat down at his desk and pressed the intercom button to call his secretary. “Send in the Joint Chiefs.” As they filed in, he grabbed a handful of Jelly Beans. “OK,” he said as the candy jar was passed around. “Give me the update on the war.”

“Well sir,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs began, “your solution to the Falluja problem was just brilliant. By pulling out our troops as soon as all of the civilians had a chance to evacuate, we really kept down the collateral casualties. Then, waiting until the city had filled up with Al Qaeda before leveling it really maximized the long term benefits.”

He handed over a small stack of satellite photographs. “As you can see here, the site of the former city of Falluja is now the worlds largest glass parking lot. I’d like to add sir, that the military is extremely grateful for the opportunity to finally drop a big one. 60 years is just too long to wait between nuclear explosions.

“Incidentally, after the fallout had passed, and the population downwind was allowed to return to their homes, they all commented on how much nicer the area smelled.”

“And how are things going in Saudi Arabia?” Reagan asked.

“Your plan there is going just great. We’ve got all of our people out of there, and it looks like Al Qaeda will soon be overthrowing the Saud Princes. Then, we can go right back in, kill all of the terrorists and set up a democratic government. From there, it’s only a matter of time until the rest of the Middle East starts to want real, representative governments too.”

“How about in Iran?”

“We’re not really sure about what’s happening there right now, sir. After we nuked Falluja, the Ayatollahs all… well, they kind of went to pieces. Someone mailed us what we think is the head of the former Iranian Leader.”

Reagan chuckled to himself at the news. “But what kind of government are they trying to set up?” He pressed the General.

“We think that they are heading for a democracy.” He answered. “But as of yet we’re not absolutely sure. Right now, the country seems to be having a giant Frat party. Everyone is running around getting drunk and shaving off their beards. But once the beer runs out, we think that they will be having free elections.”

“OK, good enough for now. What’s the situation in Syria?”

“Not pretty. At least for the terrorists. Letting the Israelis loose on them was a pretty mean thing to do. Our intelligence predicts that there won’t be a terrorist left alive in Syria by the end of the week. On the other hand, there is now a lot of empty land for the Palestinians to move into. We may have killed two birds with one stone there.”

Reagan thought over the news for a minute, absently chewing his Jelly Beans. After a few moments thinking, he decided that he wouldn’t change anything for the moment. Everything in the Middle East seemed to be going the way it should. “Very good, gentlemen. That will be all for today.”

The generals all stood, and one by one saluted Reagan as they left. Reagan returned the salute to each of them, but stopped the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs before he left. “One more thing General. How is our invasion of France going?”

The general laughed. “It’s already over. You know how Chirac said that the French would fight to the last man?”

“Yes.”

“Well apparently, the last man was a dockworker living in Marseilles. And he left the country last week. Apparently to join our Marines.”

“Has any of this leaked to the press yet?”

“Nope. They think that it’s a WWII memorial ceremony honoring U.S. soldiers. So they didn’t send any reporters at all. That and the fact that we only used one platoon of Marines kept it pretty much out of the press’s attention.”

“Good. Now maybe we can finally get rid of the Socialist over there too.”

The General left, softly closing the door behind him. Reagan scooped up another handful of Jelly Beans. The world was in good hands.

More Zen...

Chinese for lunch today. So it's time for FORTUNES!

Now is the time to go ahead and pursue that love interest!
Lucky Numbers 1, 2, 3, 11, 27, 27

Some men dream of fortunes, others dream of cookies.
Luck Numbers 4, 15, 16, 24, 36, 45
(and on the back)
LEARN CHINESE - Spring roll
Chun-juan

There is not greater pleasure than seeing your lived ones prosper.
(All of the spelling is exactly the way it was on the fortune.)

Filthy Lie: Evil Glenn's Father's Day

“… and then it came to pass, that there was a certain large Norwegian named after the Thunder God Thor. He was known to one and all as Fat Thor. And one stormy, June day, he saved his village from a ravening horde of accountants.

It was then decreed throughout the land, that the third Sunday of every June would be forever known as Fat Thor’s Day.

This tradition was brought to North America in…”

I turned off the TV special on the origins of Father’s Day. I had already bought my Dad’s gift, and I didn’t need to think about it again until Sunday. Right now it was time to relax. Time for a nap in fact.

Just as I was about to nod off on the couch, a large rock came sailing through my window. I picked the glass shards off me and picked it up to throw it back.

That’s when I noticed it. The note wrapped around the stone.

Oh no.

I was afraid that it was time for another assignment, and I was right. With trembling fingers, I opened the note and read.

Agent GEBIV,

Your mission, should you choose to accept it… well actually, weather you want it or not, is to discover what Evil Glenn has planned to do on Father’s Day. And remember, we still have that picture Evil Glenn took of you last week. So you better not slack off on this assignment. Of course, if you are discovered, we will disavow all knowledge of your actions. Unless you are photographed in another compromising position. In that case, we want the copies.

H.

This message will self destruct…

Now!

*KA-BOOM*

The paper exploded right in my face, knocking me over the back of the couch. Which fortunately protected me from the effects of the rock exploding. But while the couch took most of the impact from the rock fragments, there was nothing to stop the impact of the couch on my chest.

When did he start using exploding rocks?

I slowly pushed the wreckage of the second couch of mine that Harvey had destroyed off of myself and limped over to the phone. I figured that I was going to need a little help, because it looked like time for another…

MISSION: IMPLAUSIBLE!
(Cue Theme Music)

Fortunately for me, my blogless brother was in town to help celebrate Father’s Day with our blogless Dad. I just hoped that he would be able to hack into Evil Glenn’s computer. I wasn’t looking forward to attacking Evil Glenn’s fortress again any time soon.

We met up outside of a house with un-encrypted wireless that we had discovered the last time he was in town. I explained exactly what I was looking for, and he got right down to work.

Just a few minutes later he was in. It would have taken less time, but he got distracted by a popup for “Refinancing! With low, low mortgage rates.” If I hadn’t been there to remind him that he didn’t have a mortgage to refinance, who knows what he’d have signed up for?

Once we had access to Evil Glenn’s computer, it was just a matter of finding his personal planner. I knew that what we were looking for would be there. After all, you don’t get to be a centuries old vampire with plans to crush the blogsphere without good organizational skills.

It didn’t take us too long. Soon, we had found what the epitome of evil had planned for the day.

June 20, 2004 Personal Planner

7:00 AM: Eat breakfast in bed, served by my many blogchildren.

8:00 AM: Make the Insta-children clean up the mess from eating in bed.

9:00 AM: Go to the orphanage and tease all of the children for not having fathers. (It’s so easy to make them cry on Father’s Day or Mother’s Day)

10:00 AM: Call Harvey and tell him that he is being served with a paternity suit.

11:00 AM: Call Frank J. and tell him he was really adopted.

Noon: Lunch with Insta-Wife

1:00 PM: Call Harvey while pretending to be his wife’s doctor. Tell him all of the pregnancy tests are positive.

2:00 PM: Go to Father-Son hobo whacking with Insta-Dad.

3:00 PM: Go back to the orphanage and announce that everybody’s fathers are coming to pick them up.

4:00 PM: Tell all of the orphans that their fathers died in car accidents on the way to the orphanage. HAHAHAHAHA

5:00 PM: Call Frank J. and tell him that I’m his father.

6:00 PM: Call Harvey with three more paternity suits.

7:00 PM: Dinner. Alone. Mmmm, blended puppies.

8:00 PM: One more call to Harvey with a paternity suit. (I can’t get enough of that. HAHA)

9:00 PM: Bed (Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and evil beyond mortal comprehension. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)

After reading Evil Glenn’s plans for Sunday, I was just glad that I hadn’t made enough of a splash in the blogsphere to be a target this time. I hoped that this would warn Harvey and Frank. Just one of those calls would be enough to terrorize me.

Suddenly, my brother called out, “He’s tracked us! He’s sending a spike!”

I yanked the wireless card out of my laptop just as my blogless brother disconnected his. From inside the house, we could here a loud popping noise as the electrical spike fried the wireless transmitter.

Oh well, that’s why we don’t use my connection any more.

Deep thoughts

Do you ever get so pathetically lonely curious about how those dating sites that you get spammed with all of the time find in your inbox work?

Um...

Me neither.

PGH: Terrorist Olympics

GEBIV: Welcome everybody to the live broadcast of the first Terrorist Olympic track and field events. We’re bringing you the action live from an undisclosed location somewhere in the Middle East. Of course, we were not formally invited. Only CNN is here in an official status. But we were allowed to join this Special Forces unit as they maintain their surveillance of this terrorist training camp. Say hello to our listeners guys.

Soldiers: Ooh-rah!

GEBIV: Thanks guys. And joining with me as the color analyst is my blogless brother Culbrez. So, blogless brother of mine, what do you think of the events that we have lined up for today?

Culbrez: Well, I’d have to say that for the terrorists, the advantage has to go to Al Qaeda. They have the best funding. But don’t overlook the Basques or the PLO. They’re known as guys who never give up. Even when they’ve already lost.

GEBIV: Good points. OK, lets get to the action. First up is the dynamite relay.

Culbrez: This is run just like a standard thousand meter relay race, but with a stick of dynamite. On a pretty short fuse I might add.

GEBIV: And there’s the starting gun! Ooh, bad luck for the PLO runner. It looks like the starter shot him in the left thigh. He’s really starting to lag behind. And there goes the exchange for the Al Qaeda team. They’ve got a pretty good lead going and… oh no, the Al Qaeda runner has just veered off into the crowd. That’s going to hurt his time. And, yes, I believe that the PLO runner has just thrown his dynamite into the judges’ stand. That got him lots of cheers from the spectators, but will seriously hurt the PLO’s chance at a medal.

*BOOM*

GEBIV: Looks like the Al Qaeda runner has just blown up in the crowd at the third turn of the track. That means that the other sticks should be going off any second now.

*BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM*

GEBIV: That’s the end of that race. It looks like the ELF runners got the farthest. I guess that makes them the winners of this event.

Culbrez: Yeah, they might have even finished the race before the dynamite went off if they hadn’t swerved to go around those ants.

GEBIV: Yes, too bad they blew up that family of liberals near the final turn, but there’s always more where they came from. It looks like the officials have rounded up a few new judges and are ready for the next event.

Culbrez: It looks like they’re going to be doing the Pole Vault next. This is where they have to jump a Pole, and lock him in a large safe for ransom.

GEBIV: I think that this will be a tough event for the terrorists. Our sources tell us that the Pole, Michael Szafranski, they kidnapped is a former member of GROM, the Polish Special Forces. I don’t think that this will be the ‘piece of Baklava’ that the Syrians said they thought it would be. As there is only one Pole for this event, all of the teams will be starting at the same time to grab him. The one that manages to lock him in the vault gets the gold, and the precious overall medal points.

Culbrez: Some of the Special Forces guys here tell me that we may be in for a bit of a surpise!

GEBIV: Well there they go. Looks like the starter missed all of the “athletes” this time. And… wow! What a turnaround. It looks like that Pole was armed to the teeth. I don’t know where he managed to hide it, but the M-60 that he just pulled out of nowhere is just mowing down the contestants. He’s just killed the last of them and is running out of the arena. Our Special Forces friends here are getting ready to cover his escape, but it looks like that won’t be necessary. He’s so completely stunned the crowd that none of them are even trying to catch him. It looks like he’s in the clear and on his way up to our position in the overlooking hills.

Culbrez: I’ve just been told the story by one of the Special Forces. It seems that last night, a few of them snuck down into the area where he was being held and slipped him a little “equalizer.” They offered to just bring him out then, but he wanted to stick around and show them what happens when they try to jump him when he’s not already asleep.

GEBIV: Well, it looks like he showed them the error of their ways all right. And here he is now. Mr. Szafranski, would you like to say a few words to our listeners?

Michael Szafranski: Well, I just want to say that I’m glad I got a chance to make them take one for their teams. I also want to say that I would like to dedicate this small victory to the memory of Ronald Reagan. He showed us what to do to terrorists a long time ago.

GEBIV: I have to agree with you on that. He did it so well, that the Libyans didn’t even field a team for these games. And we’ll be right back with more after a word from our sponsors.

******

COMING SOON, TO AN OPPRESSED COUNTRY NEAR YOU!

THE US ARMED SERVICES,

WORLD FREEDOM TOUR

(Sorry, France and Germany have sold out.)

******

GEBIV: Welcome back! Next up is the two hundred meter hurdles. The “athletes” are all lined up and ready to go.

Culbrez: Just a little note for our listeners, the hurdles used here are rolls of cantina wire. This makes them a little shorter than Olympic standard hurdles.

GEBIV: Yes, but that is more than offset by the fact that they are made of razor wire and that each runner is carrying 25 kilos of plastic explosive.

Culbrez: I have to say that you’re right on that one. The winner in this event is the terrorist who can get past the hurdles and blow up the bunker at the finish line first, right.

GEBIV: That’s correct. And they’re off. Ouch, another piece of bad luck for the PLO team. It looks like the starter got this one right in the head. It almost looks like the starting officials are singling them out.

Culbrez: Maybe that’s because all of the track officials are Hamas members?

GEBIV: Yes, they seem to be a little annoyed that the PLO leadership decided that none of them could qualify for the games… And back to the action. It looks like the Syrian runner has gotten bogged down after the second hurdle. He was out in front, but I don’t think that he will be able to maintain his lead while loosing that much blood. And he’s down.

*BOOM*

But not without taking the other teams with him. He was nowhere near the finish line, but he set off his explosives anyways.

Culbrez: I think that just like in the relay race, whoever got the farthest is ruled the winner.

GEBIV: And it looks like they are going to give the victory to the Basques in this event. It looks like their runner won it by a nose… or is that an ear?

Special Forces Sniper Spotter: It looks like the left ear to me, sir.

GEBIV: Well there you have it. The Basques win by an ear. And I think that the next event is the long jump.

Culbrez: Our informants tell us that in this event, the “athletes” will be jumping to see who can get the farthest across a small field of landmines. They’ll each be carrying five sticks of dynamite, and the distance is measured to the center of the crater. In the event of a tie on the distance, the one who made the largest crater wins.

GEBIV: The strong favorite here has to be the North Koreans. They’ve grown up with minefield on their border, so they know just how to hit one to set it off just right. It looks like the officials have decided to have all of the contestants jump at the same time across a wide swath of minefield. And there they go, they all have a good run up… and the Taliban entry has balked. That won’t sit too well with his bosses. And down he goes. The “jump or get shot” standards have to be maintained or none of the events would ever get done.

We’re just waiting for the smoke to clear to see who the winner is. And we have a surprise! It looks like the PLO jumper has failed to hit any of the mines. He’s standing, completely unharmed on the far side of the minefield. That’s too bad for him. Even though he jumped the farthest, he will be disqualified for not having a crater. And the results are in, and the North Koreans have taken the gold as expected.

Culbrez: Well, it looks like the officials have taken care of the PLO jumper. The starter for the 50-meter dash has just shot him in the back.

GEBIV: And those runners are off. This event is pretty straightforward. If you discount the mortars they are carrying and the .50 cal machine guns urging them on.

Culbrez: Always important considerations.

GEBIV: Well, it looks like the planners did their jobs a little too well again. No survivors from this event either. I think that they are going to give this one to the plucky PLO runner.

Culbrez: You’ve got to give them credit for being able to field a team at all with most of their leadership being hunted down by the Mossad.

GEBIV: And that brings us to the final event of the day. The marathon.

Culbrez: The runners started about three hours ago and have been slogging their way through the inhospitable terrain while carrying several of the heavier, key components for a nuclear bomb. Our spotters have sighted the lead runners and say they should be entering the arena any minute now.

GEBIV: And here they come now. It looks like the Al Qaeda runner is in the lead. He’s in the final stretch and he’s approaching the final turn of the track.

Special Forces Spotter: Ok, the targets in range.

Special Forces Commander: Roger. Strike force inbound.

GEBIV: And the runners are approaching the finish line…

*KABOOOOOOOOM*

GEBIV: Well folks, that looks like the end of the games for this year. A strike force of US planes has just leveled the entire arena.

Culbrez: It looked like the Al Qaeda runner was in the lead when the laser guided bombs hit.

GEBIV: That would be pretty irrelevant at this point, as all of the judges were caught up in the blast too. And I think that will be the end of the broadcast for today. We’ll be bringing you the next series of events, the indoor gymnastic events, as soon as the undisclosed location for them is announced.

Somethings been bothering me for a few weeks now...

If you've ever bought shares in a Mutual Fund, or done any other kind of investing; at the end of the prospectus or sales presentation, you are always told "Past performance is no indication of future results." This is just the legal mubo-jumbo that they use to say that even though they just spent half an hour telling you how much money you could make, nothing is certain.

I have no problems with that. Hey, if we could perfectly see the future, don't you think there would be a lot more lotto winners?

And I don't have any problems with the salesperson getting a commission. Or the money manager making a percentage of the total fund's growth. (Both usually in the area of 2% - 5%) They are both helping you to make money. And more improtantly, are both helping the growth of wealth in general.

And "Past performance is no indication of future results" is just an indication taht your are taking risk for having your money work for you. The same risk that any business owner has when ever he opens the door in the morning.

But what I have a problem with, is that I've been hearing this statement at the tail end of a personal injury attorney's ad. (I won't say who's, I don't want to be sued) Is this the depth to which our society has sunk? That we are supposed to look at a lawsuit as an investment vehicle? All so that the lawyer gets to make his 15% to 30%.

I'm not knocking lawyers in general, I happen to know a few really good ones. But what bothers me are the ones who go out looking for people to sue, rather than people to help. You know, the ambulance chasers.

I know a lot of people will just say "Grow up, that's the way things are." But that still doesn't make it right.

I just can't help but feel that this is not a good indicator as to what we are becoming...

Filthy Lie: Evil Glenn's Revenge

The Fed-Ex guy ringing my doorbell woke me up way too early. I pulled on a robe and stumped down to the door. Blinking myopically at the figure in uniform standing in front of me, I signed for the package. He placed the large box on the porch, and gave me my receipt. Then, he handed me a letter in a plain manila envelope. Still a little groggy from lack of enough sleep, I tore open the envelope and read the typed letter inside.

Agent JeepboyGEBIV,

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to subject yourself to discover what Glenn Reynolds, Esq. Evil Glenn is going to planning to do for revenge to the deluded bloggers Alliance of Free Bloggers.

To accomplish this mission, you are directed to go to the Buffalo Zoo, and make out withstakeout the Penguin exhibit. You will need to do this under-cover, so, inside the large package that was delivered with this message, you will find the humiliating necessary costume needed to successfully complete this mission.

Do not open the package, until you get to your stakeout position.

This mission is of the utmost importance. So don’t delay in starting.

Gle Harvey

Boy, Harvey needs to get a new typist, I thought to myself. Those are some of the worst typos I’ve ever seen.

I ran upstairs to get my glasses (no time for contacts), and then ran right out to the Jeep. As I roared off down the street, I realized that it was time for another…

MISSION: IMPLAUSIBLE!
(Cue Theme Music)

When I got to the Zoo, I followed the signs to the penguin habitat. Once there, I looked around for a place to change. I spotted an open door in the building attached to the back of the habitat, and looking around to see if anyone would stop me, I ducked inside. Unfortunately, as I opened up the box that I had brought with me, I knocked the door shut, locking it. The dim light was just enough to change into the costume. But not quite bright enough to see what I was putting on.

Once I had the costume on, I was all ready to begin my stakeout. I checked the door again, but it was still locked. Stumbling around in the darkened room, I was, eventually, to find another exit. It was a smaller door, but it seemed to lead out. Unfortunately, I wasn’t very sure at the time. I couldn’t see out of the costume too well.

Finally, I staggered out into the open. At least I thought it was open. My progress was suddenly brought to a halt by my smashing headfirst into a large pane of glass. Then, as if the sound of my collision was a cue, bright lights went on all around me.

While I was standing there blinded, I heard a voice come out of a speaker that seemed to be in the ceiling.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, the worlds greatest wonder...”

I know that voice!

“JEEPBOY, THE TRANSVESTITE PENGUIN!!!!”

Just then, I noticed my reflection in the glass in front of me. I was standing in the middle of a penguin diorama and was dressed in this… perversion.

“You filthy, disgusting, perverted, slimy excuse for a human!” I shouted.

“Lawyer.”

Then, through the glare of the cameras that were now going off all over the place, I was able to make out a figure in an opera cape, socks and sandals sitting at a control panel on the other side of the glass. It was Evil Glenn himself.

Completely embarrassed, and more than a little enraged, I looked around for something to hide behind. No luck. There was nothing in the display larger than the small penguins I was standing among.

Finally, I snapped. I reached down and grabbed one of the fake penguins and threw it as hard as I could at Evil Glenn. (In an interesting turn of fate, it happened that the fake penguins in the display were all stolen lawn ornaments that Evil Glenn had liberated in his travels.) This meant that the little sucker was solid concrete, and was more than massive enough to go straight through the glass between us.

The concrete penguin missile then struck Evil Glenn squarely in the forehead before deflecting off and embedding itself in the wall behind him. I stomped over to where Evil Glenn was lying while tearing off the costume.

As I approached where he was lying, a black mist swirled up around him, and when it dissipated, he was gone.

While I was sulking back to my car, I figured out how I had been set up. I pulled the letter out of my pocket and turned it over. Sure enough, the “Product of Evil Glenn Industries” watermark on the back told me that this letter wasn’t from Harvey at all. The whole thing had been a trap from the beginning. I drove home, vowing to myself to get back at Evil Glenn someday, somehow.

Only, one thing was still bothering me. If the letter I had received was a fake, what happened to the real Alliance Assignment? It was the right time of the week for it.

Then, pulling into the driveway at home, I noticed the crater where the mailbox had been. A pair of Government Issue shoes at the edge told me all I needed to know. I knew the mailman had been reading my mail…

TAPS

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the hills, from the lake,
From the sky.
All is well, safely rest,
God is nigh.

Go to sleep, peaceful sleep,
May the soldier or sailor,
God keep.
On the land or the deep,
Safe in sleep.

Love, good night, Must thou go,
When the day, And the night
Need thee so?
All is well. Speedeth all
To their rest.

Fades the light; And afar
Goeth day, And the stars
Shineth bright,
Fare thee well; Day has gone,
Night is on.

Thanks and praise, For our days,
'Neath the sun, Neath the stars,
'Neath the sky,
As we go, This we know,
God is nigh.

Click here to listen to a sound file of Taps
performed by SGM Woody English, U.S. Army Band, playing on a B flat Bach Stradivarius Field Trumpet (bugle)

The Great Communicator has passed to a greater reward.

He will be missed.

Congratulations!

To Tom and Julie. Two close friends who just got married.

Wishing them many, many years of happiness together.

Filthy Lie: Evil Glenn's T-shirt Babe

I was lying on a float in the middle of the pool, soaking up some sun, when I noticed a strange object floating overhead. It looked just like a miniature hot-air balloon. As it drifted closer, I could tell that my first impression had been right. It was a little copy of a hot-air balloon. Complete with a little remote-controlled balloonist and sandbags. Then, as the wind wafted it directly over me, one of the tiny sandbags let loose, hitting me square on the nose.

I blinked the tears out of my eyes as I futilely reached around for something to throw at the balloon. Suddenly, I thought of throwing the sandbag back. I looked around for it and saw that it had gone straight to the bottom of the pool. I dove down to get it, but just as I surfaced, the balloon soared over the trees and disappeared from sight.

I swam over to the side of the pool and climbed out. I sat down on the edge and examined the sand bag. I hoped to discover some clue as to the source of the balloon, and indirectly the source of my sore nose.

I squinted at it in the sunlight, and was just able to make out the words “Property of Alliance HQ”, when the tiny bag literally fell apart at the seams. A handful of what looked like lead shot rolled off of my hand and splashed into the pool, and I was left holding a crumpled sheet of plastic with writing on it.

With butterflies doing summersaults in my stomach, I flattened it out and read.

“Agent GEBIV, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to discover who will be the Instapundit T-shirt Babe, and what will be on the Instapundit T-shirt. This mission will be full of soul wrenching peril and most likely cost you the lives of yourself and your whole team. But we really don’t want to waste anyone else on it, so don’t fail.

“This message will self destruct in 5 days…”

Boy, Harvey is getting a cheap. He won’t even pop for the expensive 5 second counters anymore. I crumpled the note back up and dropped it in the trash as I ran inside to change. I knew that I was going to need my blogless brother’s help on this one, and he lived 4 hours away.

As I started up the Jeep, I knew that this was the beginning of yet another…

MISSION: IMPLAUSIBLE!
(Cue Theme Music)

A little over 7 hours later, I was knocking on the door to Culbrez’s apartment. (I knew I shouldn’t have taken that right turn at Albuquerque) Fortunately, he was home. Not too surprising since it was close to 2:00 in the morning. As he led me upstairs to his rooms, I asked him if he could help me.

The look he gave me could have peeled paint. And the eyebrow twitch seemed to sum up all of my faults as a computer user. I decided not to question his abilities again.

We quickly set up my computer and hooked into his wireless system. For whatever reason, he wanted as much computing power as possible to help me. Soon, he was surrounded by computer keyboards like some sort of strange electronic rock composer.

As he set up, I asked him “Why don’t you have a blog?”

He looked over and answered. “Well, it’s like this. You know the old saying. Those who can, do. Those who can’t…”

“Blog. I get it. Let’s get to work.”

He cracked his knuckles and started hacking. Within minutes, he had hacked into Evil Glenn’s computers. “OK,” he said. “We’re looking for a T-shirt babe, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So where do you think we should start?”

I thought for a minute. Then an idea came to me. “Why not check for upcoming posts? He might already have his T-shirt Babe picked, and just be waiting to post it.”

Sure enough, within a few moments, Culbrez found what we were looking for.

“Ugh. Is that what I think it is?” He asked.

“I’m afraid so,” I replied.

“And on the shirt…?”

“That’s right. A puppy being blended.”

He made a small retching sound. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at a milkshake for as long as I live.”

“Just give me the link, so I can report this back to Alliance HQ.”

A few second’s later, the link for Evil Glenn’s T-Shirt Babe showed up in my inbox.

Evil Glenn's T-shirt Babe

While I was putting it into this report, I heard him say, “Hmm. What do these other links go to? Here, check these out.” He sent the links over to my computer before clicking on them himself.

1st Runner Up

Second Runner Up

Miss Congeniality

I was just looking up to ask him what they were for, when over his shoulder, I could just make out the title of the directory they had sent him to. “Penguins”

“No! Don’t!” But I was too late. I could already see the smoke coming from his monitor. I yanked him out of his chair right before the tube blew. Unluckily, this propelled him directly into the large radiator sitting below the window. Then, knocked loose by the impact, the upper pane of the double hung window slammed down onto his outstretched arms.

I fixed him up as best I could and left before his landlord came up to see what all of the racket was from.

As I drove home, I couldn’t help but wonder what was in those files. But I wasn’t foolhardy enough to actually try them. Who knows which one, or if it was all, that caused the computer meltdown.

A little less than a week later I was watching the news…

Announcer: A large explosion has created an enormous crater here in the Buffalo City Landfill. Investigators are baffled at what could have caused such devastation. Debris from the fill have been discovered as far away as Niagara Falls, and are believed to have been the cause of at least 16 separate traffic accidents. We’ll keep you informed as we get more information…

I glanced out the window, and looked down into my once clean pool.

Oh man.

PGH: Terrorist Blogging

I was just about to bite into a fresh-made Bavarian Cream Donut when I had a premonition. Somehow, I knew that this donut was not going to end well for me. And not just because it wasn’t on my diet. I did what I always do when I feel that sort of omen. I ignored it. I don’t believe in ESP anyway.

As I bit down into the confectionary delight, there was a soft click, and a muffled voice came from somewhere inside the pastry.

“Agent GEBIV, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find an example of a Islamo-terrorist blog and to report it back to the Alliance. If you are captured, we will do our best to rescue you, but as we are no longer allowed to use any, *ahem* ‘persuasion’ in our interrogations, don’t expect too much.

This message will self destruct… NOW!”

*SPLAT*

Man, that was the last Bavarian Cream in the shop. And this was the last Tim Hortons that I wasn’t blacklisted from.

As I wiped the cream and frosting from my face after being unceremoniously thrown out of the coffee shop, I realized that it was yet again time for another…

MISSION: IMPLAUSIBLE!
(Cue Theme Music)

Well, I thought, torture warnings aside, this should be a relatively safe mission. I figured that I would be able to do the whole thing from the security of my own home.

I was wrong.

Finding a terrorist website was easy enough. Google is a wonderful thing. (Hint: terrorist, blog, islam, death to Americans) The only problem was, all of the Islamo-terrorist websites were in Arabic. And I don’t read Arabic. (I have enough trouble with English most of the time.)

I copied the page that I had found and saved it to a different file. Then just to be safe, I printed out a hard copy. Now I was ready to find a translator.

I had tried babelfish, but no dice, I couldn’t figure out how to work the translation programs. It looked like I was going to have to find a human translator. A quick check of the yellow-pages showed several local people who did Mid-Eastern translations. After checking the references on several of them, I chose the one with none. I figured that the other companies were trying to trick me into using their services. Only people who are trying to hide something have that many people tell you how good they are.

When I finally found the office, it was on the top floor of a disused grain silo, way in the back. But it did have a great view of the Federal Building and City Hall. I had to kick a few rats out of the way as I walked down the hallway to the office, and mentally I berated myself for leaving Slinky (the wonder Ferret at) home. When I knocked on the door, I heard what sounded like someone saying “Hide t’e miziles.” I wonder what that means in English? I wondered. Sometimes I really wish I was multilingual.

The door opened, and I entered. The man I assumed to be the translator was standing behind a large crate on blocks he was covering with a tarp. I looked down at the person who had opened the door for me and saw a small copy of the translator.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the man behind the crate said. “My name is Akhmed. I can translate any documents or papers you require. My diminutive friend standing next to you is Mini-Akhmed.”

“What does he do?” I asked.

“Mostly, he translates small things like notes, memos and Democrat Ethical Standards.”

I handed him the hardcopy I had prepared and he sat down and went to work. A half hour later, he handed me the translated copy.

The Evening Star of the Desert of the Tribes of the Nomads These are the Days of Our Jihad

Day 23
Momar is hogging the tent again. His prayer mat keeps coming over onto my side. Just because Most Holy Ka’amal favors him, he thinks he can push me around.

Day 25
Don’t have to worry about Momar pushing me around any more. He was overheard saying Most Holy Ka’amal was wrong about what soup to server with mutton. I’m just glad they put the stake with his head on it down wind.

Day 28
Most Holy Ka’amal made a speech today. In it, he said that Allah revealed to him that flies are the messengers of Allah. So now flies are holy and swatting them is a mortal sin. I guess that explains why Most Holy Ka’amal never bathes.

Day 40
Just got back from the mission Most Holy Ka’amal blessed us with. We wounded at least three of the infidels and only suffered minor losses to ourselves. Only 43 dead, praise Allah! Soon we will drive the dogs from our lands.

Day 45
Moving into a new camp higher in the mountains. I guess Most Holy Ka’amal didn’t like the view from the last camp because as we left he kept on muttering “I have to be able to see them coming…”

Day 51
Rained today. A miracle! Hopefully, this will help cut down on the holy messengers.

Day 63
Most Holy Ka’amal is giving another speech today. I wonder what he is going to name as holy this time…

As I finished reading the translation, I looked up to see Akhmed coming at me with a large knife.

“The holy messenger flies have ordered me to kill you,” he was saying as he lunged at me.

Startled, I jumped back, tripping over Mini-Akhmed. This knocked the hand grenade out of his hand, sending the pin flying in the process. The grenade rolled up to the large crate, stopping just under the corner of the tarp covering it.

“The missiles!” Akhmed shouted. He dove towards the crate and yanked the tarp off. This only caused the grenade to roll further under the crate.

Without giving it a second thought, I dove out of the nearest window. That second thought would have come in handy, as I now found myself hanging from a ledge high up on the abandoned grain silo. I looked down at the Buffalo River below and prayed that it was going to be deep enough. I let go of the ledge a split second before the top of the silo exploded. The last thing I remember before I hit the surface of the water was seeing a flaming Mini-Akhmed arc across the city skyline towards Lake Erie.

Some time later, I found myself lying on the shore of the river. I looked over and saw Slinky sitting there next to me drying himself off. As I sat there and stared at him, I could only think of three things.

One: When did Slinky learn how to swim?

Two: How did he find me?

And three: How am I going to get the taste of the Buffalo River out of my mouth?

Who will it be?

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