Friday, August 20, 2010

The Power of Humor

What can you do with humor?

Sure you can have fun with it—or else why do people pay for the comedy shows and those comedy channels? You can also use it reduce tension, find a great bargain, keep your children in their seats…you name it. There are a thousand and one use of humor, but it leads to an ultimate goal—laughter.

Laughter is powerful, and much more powerful than most people think.

You can make women laugh and fall in love with you.

That sounds like a pretty bold claim doesn’t it? Let me explain.

Human beings have an obsessive desire to remain consistent. It is physically impossible to dislike the person who has already made you genuinely laugh, as you can’t resolve the conflicts and incongruity between laughter (liking someone) and disliking someone.

In other words, women tend to get closer to a guy who has consistently made them laugh! This not only occur at a logical level (“oh, being with him gives me so much joy and I want more”), but also at a subconscious level (maintaining consistency). Once you were made laugh by someone, it will be very inconsistent if you still maintain an antagonistic attitude towards that person.

Therefore, I use laughter to make women fall in love with me. The more women I could make laugh, the better get. You see, love is derived from the feeling of happiness and happiness is directly associated with laughter.

I’m sure in your entire life so far, you have made many, many, many women laugh, and sometimes you can get pretty good at it—sometimes with a particular woman or under some particular circumstances.

Sure, all of us can crack a joke or two. Sometimes we can be quite funny for a whole night... Can we all do it time after time, night after night? Do we all know the secrets that will make humor a natural part of you so that it's effortless to be humorous and charming?

Maybe not.

Some guys talk about the "art" of making women laugh.

Sure, they can call themselves "artists" as they like, but the problem is... once something becomes an art, you won't have rules to rely on and you can't measure the results. Making women laugh suddenly becomes an uncertain event.

But the fact is...Making women laugh is a science.

The fact is… human beings' reactions to different types of "humor stimuli" are predictable.

And there are tested-and-proven methods to match a humorous line and a subject's education, personality, and cultural to create laughter.

Any man, regardless of looks, intelligence, education, personality, can learn the mechanism of humor and laughter and develop his own style of humor.

About the author

The Perks of Global Warming

Marya Mannes once wrote, “The earth we abuse and the living things we kill will, in the end, take their revenge; for in exploiting their presence we are diminishing our future.” Obviously Ms. Mannes preferred the status quo - health, sanity, logic, blah, blah, blah. Why? Green House Roulette is so much more intriguing.

In the country, weather affects everything. For five years Western South Dakota has been gripped by drought. Water and hay are vanishing. Farms and ranches are blowing away. While the government bails out victims from hurricanes and says, ‘South Dawho?’ our cattle are pissing dust mites. Fortunately, things are looking up.

There is some good news! Those pesky glaciers are finally melting off! Last year an eight-nation report estimated an area of Arctic icepack the size of Texas and Kansas is gone. For those who are geographically impaired, that is an area bigger than a breadbox.

At first, news of devastating global climate change might seem a bit of a bummer. Then I read an LA Times article and had a change of heart. The article began with the usual gloom. Greenland’s ice cap is melting. Our coasts will flood from rising seawater. Inuit hunters are falling through thinning ice. Melting glaciers change ocean temperature and salinity contorting the jet stream, which results in altered weather patterns worldwide. Multitudes of species are dying off . . . It was disheartening.

Then I got to the article’s final paragraph. Bam! My faith was restored. Here the Times pointed out the perks of global warming. Seriously, the article actually ended saying: “The report is not all gloomy. A warmer Arctic could increase the number of some species, such as Arctic char, a fish. It could extend the growing season for wheat in Canada and open up now-treacherous sea routes, such as the Northwest Passage and the Northern Sea Route, which parallels Russia, for shipping and resource exploration.”

Three cheers for the LA Times! It’s true! All is not gloomy. With that glorious bit of sunshine pumped straight up my ski bibs, I was able to see things in a whole new light. I started thinking of other advantages to global warming. Soon you will agree that people from all walks of life will benefit.
For starters, Inuit Hunters will benefit! Once Inuit have nothing left to hunt there will be no need for them to risk falling through thin ice. Plus, by needing food they will be ripe for a floating (pontoons, not ice) Arctic Super Wal-Mart. “Go get ‘em, Sam.”

Boat owners will benefit! Not only will there be smooth sailing through the formerly bothersome ice of the Northwest Passage, but each summer, cruise ships will be able to run tourists straight up Bourbon Street in New Orleans.
Scuba Divers will benefit! There will be no more burning coral cuts. In fact there will be no more coral. Once all the reefs are gone, divers can pack away first aid kits and dive straight in. A little silt never cut anyone.

Canadian Wheat Farmers will benefit! You see, there is a 10% decrease in yield of corn from Midwest crops for every degree of global warming. No worries though, now wheat can take the place of corn. Think about all those scrumptious Wheat Dogs at the ball game. How about popped wheat with butter at the movies or steaming wheat on the cob? All scream ‘yummy’ to me.

While it is a bit ironic that ethanol is made from the corn crops global warming devastates, I am sure some aspiring chemist will rise to the challenge of developing ‘Wheatanol.’ Imagine Canuck Wheat Farmers having more influence than the Saudi Royal Family.

Dune-Buggy enthusiasts will benefit! The Dakotas will soon reopen for your 4-wheelin’ pleasure. Join the Mount Rushmore Nose Climb on July 4th! It will be a bugger of a challenge!

Eco-Tourism Operators will benefit! Companies could offer new “Emaciation Tour Packages.” Tourists get closer photos of polar bears and whales when they are too lethargic from starvation to meander away. In addition, long treks to Inuit villages can be avoided once they are forced to beg on the streets of Nome (or cashiering at Wal-Mart).

Finally, the next generation of Bush family politicians will benefit! Once again they can avoid addressing campaign issues, this time by distracting dehydrated voters with witty campaign phrases like; “No Kyoto Pact-No Ice Pack,” or “Dead Seals Never Flip-Flop,” even promising “No Char Left Behind.” Not to mention offering new, SPF 800 tax credits.

Well, by golly, I do feel better! Shall we spin the Rolette wheel some more?

The Party Store

Every now and then I like to frequent our local liquor store to stock my bar. Our neighborhood store is nothing special, but has what I need when I need it. I have never paid a whole lot of attention to the sign as I entered the establishment. The sign clearly states that not only do they sell beer and wine, they also sell party supplies. Great. You never know when a party may break out and having a store with party supplies at your disposal is nothing but a posititve thing.

I walked into our neighborhood establishment and strolled through the isles. My bar was already stocked sufficiently, so alcohol was not on the list for this trip. Today's trip was for nothing but party supplies.

I greeted the man behind the counter with a smile. "Hello" to him must mean,"please tell me every insignificant detail of yourself" as he proceeded to tell me about his day up to that point. Thanks. I care. This man was nothing but a distraction in my procurement of party supplies. I strolled through the isles, acknowledged the offer to help me find anything. I knew what I was looking for, I don't want Mr. Annoying's help. The store isn't that big, and I think I can find the party supplies I was looking for.

A little time passed, and I continued my search for party supplies. Up and down every isle i looked for things that were necessary for a party (hence the name party supplies.) After thorough examination of the store three times over, I came to a startling conclusion. My idea of party supplies may be a little different than theirs. Here are the "party supplies" i found at the store.

Ice. Yup, ice is needed for parties. Afterall, its what keeps the beverages cold. A great party supply indeed. Unfortunately, this was the only thing we agreed on.

Porn. Racks and racks of all varieties of porn magazines lined one whole wall. I know some party people will tell you that a party isn't a party without the latest issue of Greasy Babes. I tend to disagree. In my experience, nothing breaks up a party like that one crazy guy with his pants down screamin, "wooooo, I got the latest issue of Swank...its PARTY TIME!!!"

Lighters. Again, not my idea of a party supply. I gave up the lets burn things party a long time ago and I have think most normal adults have too. But what I seem to be learning here is that most normal adults are not buying their party supplies from a liquor store.

Beef Jerky. Okay, I don't think I have to really expand on this. Anyone that EVER brings beef jerky to a party should be lit on fire with the lighter they most likely bought as well. If you must make a reference to beef jerky being the ultimate compliment to porn, you may do so. I'm not touching that one.

That's it. That was all I could find that would even come close to being party supplies, no little parasols for drinks, not even a SOLO cup to be found.

Needless to say, I was a little disappointed, educated and a little weirded out at the same time. I like to think of it as the trifecta of human experience.

The Origins Of Spring-Cleaning, Or Along Came Eve

I always know when April makes its yearly debut without consulting the calendar because my wife usually says, “Let’s clean out the garage today.” Trust me on this one, it is no April fool’s joke, but someone gets fooled. And believe me, I’m just not anybody’s fool. I’m my wife’s fool.

Somehow, her “let’s” has a funny singular ring to it and we had, if I remember correctly, a double ring wedding ceremony. Hers is on her left ring finger while mine somehow ended up in my nose.

For some reason spring brings to women, wives in particular, an uncontrollable urge to clean something. It doesn’t matter what that something is, it has to be cleaned. Moreover, it does not matter how clean or dirty that something is or when it was last cleaned, it must be cleaned again.

This represents a basic philosophical difference between men and women. In the beginning, man was perfectly at home with dirt, then along came Eve and introduced spring-cleaning.

We have no idea how long it was between Adam and the time Eve came onto the scene, but it was long enough to get the entire Garden of Eden dirty, necessitating a thorough cleaning.

Thus began the yearly ritual known as spring-cleaning. This tradition has been handed down from mother to daughter since the beginning of time. As far as I can ascertain, no father on record has handed down to his son any way of putting a stop to this nonsense. And don’t think I’m not just a little upset about that.

I think our forefathers could have found a fifth father to help come up with a workable plan to get rid of this yearly onus.

But, it is spring and the time-honored ritual has come to our domestic den. Spring is in the air and spring-cleaning is on the agenda. I, on the other hand, had other plans, which did not include soap and water. So much for my plans. A husband’s plan is always subject to his wife’s rescheduling.

Every year I asked the same question. How in the world does spring get so dirty? And, more important, why do I have to clean it? I didn’t mess it up.

I believe Mother Nature ought to clean her own spring and not push this responsibility onto husbands like me who have better things to do with their time.

One year I got confused and cleaned my spring in the fall, which screwed up my whole winter wondering what I would do when spring actually arrived and it was already cleaned.

Spring-cleaning would not be so bad if I could use my definition of clean rather than my wife’s. One man’s clean is his wife’s “when are you going to clean that?”

At the least, it would be helpful if spring-cleaning only came on leap year, which would give me an opportunity to hop out of the way before my good wife could spring into action.

In our house, the annual spring cleaning focuses on the garage. When my wife gets it into her head to clean the garage, I get it into my head to get clean out of her way. In the scheme of things, how important is a clean garage anyway? It’s not as if Martha Stewart is going to make a surprise visit.

As a veteran husband (with the scars to prove it), I have discovered one thing in my house. Behold, a greater than Martha Stewart lives at my lodgings.

My philosophy is simply, a dirty garage is a happy garage. It just doesn’t make my wife happy and when she’s not happy neither am I — so I am willing to live with an unhappy garage. These are the compromises enabling husbands to survive generation after generation. At least, enabling this husband to survive spring-cleaning one more year.

I have no idea what my garage does during the winter to get so dirty, but I wish it would stop it, or at least clean up after itself and not cause me so much grief.

When the idea of spring-cleaning comes up, I take one gander at the object of the endeavor and try to duck out as quickly as possible. I usually run into my wife standing at the door and realize my goose is cooked, usually to a nice golden burnt.

My idea of cleaning the garage is opening the garage door and the back door and let nature take its course. However, when I suggest this, an ill wind blows my way, if you know what I mean.

Garage cleaning invariably leads to garage sales. Garage sales are amazing.

Instead of donating my worthless junk to the neighborhood dump, I sell it to my neighbors, who will put it in their garage sale next year. This keeps neighborhood junk in circulation for years, and then some antique dealer buys it and starts the whole cycle again in New York City.

One man’s junk is another man’s antique.

My wife insists cleanliness is next to godliness. If that is so, why did God create so much dirt?

God is also in the cleaning business and you can be sure His is the ultimate leaving nothing unclean.

The Apostle Paul explains, “Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his mercy he saved us, by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost.” (Titus 3:5 KJV.)

When God says, “Let’s clean out your life today,” trust Him to do a thorough job.

The Finer Points of Poverty

I'm poor. And I'm not ashamed of it. Actually, I'm kind of proud of myself for being poor. It's an accomplishment that many people will never attain. Some people will go through their whole life and never know what it's like to experience some of the finer points of poverty like eating ramon noodles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner 5 days a week. My heart goes out to these types of people. The Fourtunate Ones. People who've always had electricity, nice cars, and proper clothing.

I wasn't always poor. I had to work hard at it. I had to quit several jobs without finding new ones. I had to spend 75% of my paycheck at the bar when I knew my bills would have easily taken 90%. I had to max out credit cards and never pay on them. I had to give money to females that I knew would never pay it back. And most importantly I had to move to a small town where $6.00 and hour is considered 'good money'.

I didn't know that I was putting myself in line for poverty while I was doing all these things. I just woke up one day and realized that I couldn't pay my car note because I only had 11 cents in the bank. And that's when it hit me: I'm POOR! It took me 25 long years but I finally nose-dived below the poverty line. I was now in the same category as the homeless and welfare recipients. No more was I hindered by riches. I had shed that lifestyle. I got up and fixed myself a mayonaisse sandwich to celebrate. Delicious!

As a poor person I am entitled to certain privledges to which the well-to-do won't every be privy. I decide haved to list a few:

- Instead of lugging around a wallet full of heavy dollar bills I now pay for important purchases like gasoline and food with spare change that I scavenge up around the


- I get to shop at stores with improperly spelled titles like Sav-A-Lot, Thrif-Ti-Mart, and DisKount King. These stores offer a wide variety of out-dated, slightly damaged merchandise that Wal-Mart shoppers can only dream of.

- I get to drool at resturant commercials on TV because I know I will never be able to afford meals like that again unless a rich relative dies

- I get to wear my friend's hand-me-down clothes and shoes. This means that I rarely match and my feet ache constantly from wearing shoes that are three sizes too small.

- I get to freely engage in the offical sports of the National Poor People's Association: begging and borrowing.

- I get to go to bed every night with the comforting thought that if I ever do meet Ms.Right I can't afford to date her.

I'll stop there because I see the envy rising to dangerous levels in a few reader's eyes. These readers probably have steady jobs and nice homes or apartments. Their bills are probably caught up. They probably have an immense wardrobe with properly sized shoes. Their bank account probably never drops below $5,000. I apologize to these readers if my boasting about my impoverished condition has made them feel inferior and totally removed any self-esteem they may have had left. All I can say is that I never meant to be poor. I was just in the right places at the right times. Maybe one day all of you will find yourselves on the Road to Rags as well. Until then you can check in with me if you want to know what it's like. I'll be the guy on the side of the interstate off-ramp with the 'Will Work For Food' sign. Pull your Mercedes right up and ask me anything. I promise I won't laugh.

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Thursday, August 19, 2010

The Da Vinci Code; This Year's Biblical Box-Office Bonanza

The Da Vinci Code is now off and running as this year’s megabuck Biblical controversy. Question is, why do we seem to be afflicted with such a nearly annual entity?

Slight thought reveals the obvious. Given the big numbers that a major studio has to turn to make a return on a movie, it’s hardly a wonder that they keep turning to what they, in their needy bottom lines, consider the biggest subjects available.

Apparently, The Bible is pretty much at the top of their list.

Here they can find one topic after another that, treated cannily enough, is guaranteed to outrage the sensibilities of millions of comparatively sincere and innocent people – and, as a result, garner enough free publicity to ensure that the usually mundane redo of Biblical history will become a must-see movie for millions around the world.

Proof positive, last year we had the sincere savant of the box office, Mel Gibson, release his Passion of Christ on an expectedly ruffled world, and this year we’ve got resourceful action-adventure scribbler Ron Brown unloading the Hollywood version of his Da Vinci Mother Lode.

No doubt in coming years one of the less-scrupulous perpetrators of popular outrage will write a book and/or make a movie about such admittedly touchy stories as the Virgin Mary and what exactly the Angel Gabriel was doing there the night he told her she was going to conceive.

While this proclivity to Biblical blockbusters is inevitably tough on believers, it’s also hardly a source of placid delight to those who look on the entire explosive subject as evidence of almost inconceivable gullibility, even high up the ladder of either advocacy.

Which, unfortunately, confirms just how wide an audience Hollywood can expect to attend such ventures toward assured filmic bullion.

The Blonde Joke's On Us: The Dumbest Woman On Earth Was Not A Blonde

I've lived my entire adult life with "dumb blonde" jokes. Whoever started them, probably spawned by pornographers allured by Marylyn Monroe types (probably with dyed hair), should be locked up in a room with a hundred blonde professional women on a month-long sabbatical from bad bosses. Think he'd make it out alive? I think he (or she) definitely be a changed creature after that month. He'd gain a new understanding of blondes, that's for sure.

If you really want to know the truth of it, the dumbest woman to ever walk the face of earth had dark hair (likely, though we may never know for sure.) She was, without a doubt, the dumbest woman to ever live. Her name? Eve. Very unlikely blonde, seeing as how her issue to this very day is mostly brunette or have black or dark hair. So get the blonde thing out of your head for just a moment. You see, she and Adam were originally created equal (many women today have a big problem with that "man having dominion over women" thing), otherwise, as I see it, God would have taken a bone out of Adams foot to create Eve. He didn't. (Now, wait, all you Bible believers- you have to read the rest of this before you'll understand just when Eve lost her "equal" status.) The bone came from his side, his rib. To me, this signifies equality. Well, then what does this dark-haired woman do but sashay up to a serpent and strike up a conversation with him (precursor to flirting, I suppose?). Didn't she think it unusual that a serpent could talk? Guess not.

That was Dumb act #1.

Now for dumb act #2:

After a little chit chat, (Gen. 3:1..."Really?" he asked the woman. "Did God really say you must not eat any of the fruit in the garden?" Gen. 3:2"Of course we may eat it," the woman told him. 3:3 "It's only the fruit from the tree at the center of the garden that we are not allowed to eat. God says we must not eat it or even touch it, or we will die.") she believes this creature (remember a serpent that can talk) when he calls God a liar, basically (3:4 "You won't die!" the serpent hissed. 3:5 "God knows that your eyes will be opened when you eat it. You will become just like God, knowing everything, both good and evil." 3:6 The woman was convinced.) Now, it doesn't look like it took much convincing, does it? How dumb is that, after the head honcho of the place, the owner, the boss (the best boss ever, one who actually loves his workers) says don't eat fruit from that tree, and a snake or serpent (that's not supposed to be able to talk) can 'talk you into it'?

Dumb act #3:

The dark-haired woman proceeds to eat the fruit (Adam, by the way, was right there with her- why didn't he pipe up and say "uh, hon, I don't think this is a good idea...I don't trust that serpent (that can talk, remember?). He was most likely dark-haired as well, remember.

Dumb act #4:

She turns and offers it to her husband. All the while the serpent is watching. I never saw a serpent grin, but I'll bet he did.

Dumb act #5:

They hid from God. Whose idea was that, I wonder?

Dumb act #6:

They look for someone to blame it on (3:12 "Yes," Adam admitted, "but it was the woman you gave me who brought me the fruit, and I ate it." 3:13 Then the LORD God asked the woman, "How could you do such a thing?" "The serpent tricked me," she replied. "That's why I ate it.") Now I don't know about you, but that conversation was a blatant manipulation, i.e. a lie, by the serpent, but not a trick. Eve believed a lie, just believed what the serpent said. (Remember this the next time a snake or lizard comes up to you and strikes up a conversation). Genesis Chapter 3:16 is where Eve, (a dark-haired woman? Again, we'll never know for sure), sold out her equality, not only for herself, but for all women from then on (3:16 Then he said to the woman, "You will bear children with intense pain and suffering. And though your desire will be for your husband, he will be your master.")

They were both dumb, at that time. God didn't make them stupid, but they sure had an Adam and Eve moment. I don't think you have to have any particular hair color to be dumb. You could even be bald. So dumb-blonde-joke-tellers, get over it already. If you don't like who you are, at least quit putting others down to make yourself feel better.

Interesting, that when I used to work for a company which employed mostly people of another nationality (including the boss), they could make "dumb blonde" jokes all day, which is a reference to my racial heritage, but if I said just one slanderous joke referring to their race (which I wouldn't have, even if it was legal), then that would be considered by the law to be a form of assault, among other things.)

Maybe blonde jokes should be outlawed. You think?

© 2005 Dianne James

The Bare Truth About My Butt Quiz

Forget about the SAT, never mind the FCAT, and remove forever from you mind any thoughts about the ACT. All these test pale in comparision to the examination that I just failed. Failing those test may have minor repurcussions like never making it into college and therefore being forced to work at fast food resturants well into you 40's. That's nothing. I just flunked a quiz that could scar me for life.

This morning I was doing my usual morning ritual of checking my email and all my affiliate programs to see if I had made any money online yesterday. I hadn't, in fact I never do, but I've found it's a great way to waste an hour or two. What usually happens is I get sidetracked by some banner or pop-up and I end up lost in the middle of cyberspace signing up for a free registration to some weird website just so I can get a free ebook with a title like 'Online Profits From Artichoke Juice!". This morning, however, I stumbled across a real winner. I came across a link that I just had to click. I was at reading redneck jokes when I saw 'Fun Quizzes: Can you guess which butts are male or female?

From the extreme look of excitement in your eyes I can tell that you feel the same way I felt when I saw the Butt Quiz link. My first thought was: 'Pictures of female butts! Yeeeessss! And it's a quiz so I don't have to feel dirty about it. It's educational! Yeeeesssss! I immediately clicked the link and started my quiz.

In hindsight(no pun intended), the expression 'Fools Rush In' comes to mind. I blindly rushed into this quiz in a testosterone induced urge to look at female hindparts and I forgot to think the whole thing through. I forgot to take a moment and reflect. I forgot that there were going to be male hindparts on the quiz too. Hairy male hindparts. In thongs.

Needless to say, I failed the quiz. I got 8 out of 15 right. That's about 60 percent. An 'F' in almost all 50 states. Even New Jersey. I, Tim Ward, humor columnist and straight male could not distinguish between the gluteus maximus of the male and female gender. I started to wonder: Were some of the butts that I said were female really male? If so, does that mean I find some men's butts attractive? Do I have a male butt fetsih that I didn't know about? Do I secretly enjoy slapping guys on the butt after a good sports play? And what about the woman's butts that I classified incorrectly? Has it really been that long since I've seen a bare female behind? Am I forgetting what the female body looks like?

All these questions have been running through my head since I failed my first Butt Quiz. It got to the point where I'm thinking about scheduling a retest. But this time I'll be sure to plenty of studying in advance. So ladies, if you see me taking large hard looks at your posterior region, I'm not a pervert, I'm just doing a little research. And to the fellas, forgive me if I give more that the usual amount of congratulatory butt slaps on the basketball court for awhile. I'm just trying to further my education...And maybe work through a fetish or two.

You can take the Butt Quiz for yourself at:

Terrorist Receives Surprise Sendoff; Meets His Allah

As all the world knows, Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi, the self-appointed and savage representative of Al-Qaeda in Iraq, was given a surprise sendoff last week. What no one seems to know is what happened when he met his Allah before the entrance to the paradise he and his fellow misrepresentatives of Islam’s best hopes long to be whisked away to.

Fortunately, we were there. How, you might ask?

When we heard that Mr. Al-Zarqawi was finally the object of his just reward, we, of course, did like most of the weary and repelled observers of his atrocities and bid him a speedy journey to his well-deserved destiny. But we also sent an email to Allah, asking if we could witness his arrival at what Mr. Zarqawi and other leading terrorists insist, all the better to influence their ill-informed stooges, is The Gate Where 27 Virgins Await.

We now present, recorded with our persistent care, the somewhat heated conversation between Allah and the rightly flabbergasted Mr. Al-Zarqawi, who approached somewhat groggy from the explosion that propelled him to eternity, but when he beheld Allah, he managed a hopeful smile.

AZ: Hi, I’m Musab al-Zarqawi.

AL: I know. Tough time to be a terrorist, isn’t it?

AZ: Then you know?

AL: Of course. I know everything.

AZ: You do? Then you must be Allah?

AL: Yes, I am.

AZ: Really? Hey, great to meet you. When I was a alive, I always told my followers, “Allah is a pal a mine.”

AL: Thanks.

AZ: Wow, I feel like I died and went to heaven. So where are my twenty-seven virgins?

AL: What virgins?

AZ: The twenty-seven I’m supposed to get for being an Islamic martyr.

AL: Excuse me. Up here we don’t have female sex slaves.

AZ: You don’t?

AL: No, we have equal rights, that is, for everybody under me.

AZ: Equal rights for men and women?

AL: Why not? I made them both, didn’t I? I tend to arrive at my rankings based on behavior.

AZ: Oh, great, because, as I said, I’m a martyr.

AL: I’m sorry. Up here, you don’t qualify.

AZ: I don’t? Why not?

AL: A martyr may do many things, but among them we don’t count murder.

AZ: Even when he murders in your name?

AL: Who does he murder in my name?

AZ: Infidels!

AL: Do you know me by any other name?

AZ: Heck, no, all my life I just thought of you as Allah.

AL: What about the name “God,” as in one of my favorite Islamic sayings, “God is Great!”?

AZ: Oh, “God.” Sure, I remember that.

AL: Good. Do you know that a lot of other people know me know me by that name who are and aren’t Islamic?

AZ: They do?

AL: Yes. It’s by far the favorite name humans call me by. In fact, people all over the world often refer to me as “the one true God.” Do you know what that means?

AZ: What?

AL: What you seem to have forgotten. I’m everybody’s pappy.

AZ: Everybody’s? Even Americans?

AL: Oh, especially Americans. I know they make mistakes, but at least they try to do the right thing. And I’m a big advocate of doing the right thing. So I have a different definition of infidels than you do.

AZ: Oh. What’s that?

AL: Anybody who forgets that, since there is only one God, namely, yours truly, then everybody believes in the same God, no matter what name they give me.

AZ: Really? Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that.

AL: Why not? Thanks to me, you have a brain, don’t you? And I expect you to use it.

AZ: But I did.

AL: Yes, but not, I’m afraid, in a way that merits admission to my Paradise.

AZ: No?

AL: No, dummy. We have another place for people who murder other human beings, whether those humans believe in me or not.

AZ: Even if they don’t believe in you?

AL: Yes, I grant freedom of thought. It’s the very foundation of being able to choose right from wrong. My more important concern is whether or not they harm or help other people. And the ones who murder them, oh, as I said, I’ve made a special place for them – and you qualify for admission.

AZ: I do? What place?

AL: The name of it, oddly enough, rhymes with infidel.

AZ: Hell?

AL: Hell, yes!

At this point, Allah raised his hand and Al-Zarqawi dropped through the cloud he was standing on. Allah walked over and looked down through the hole. Then He rubbed His hands together, as if to wash them off.

He noticed us, packing up our recording equipment, and gave us wink. Then He headed back toward Heaven.

Taliban Asserts Control Of North Waziristan; Tourism Dips

The Taliban has reportedly asserted control of North Waziristan, the famously wild mountainous region of Pakistan that borders Afghanistan. As a result, tourism in the area has taken a decided dip.

As one American tourist commented, “I really like to visit places where television and music are forbidden. I’m also a big fan of summary executions. But, in the case of North Waziristan, I think I’ll make an exception.”

The wifely half of an American couple who enjoy travel in the Middle East, said, “We’re so disappointed. My husband and I were really looking forward to a summer jaunt in North Waziristan. I hear it’s so wonderfully medieval.”

President Pervez Musharraf of Pakistan, an invaluable ally of the United States in the war on terror, affirmed his stance, by saying, “We are determined to find and destroy tourists wherever we find them.” Then he caught his apparent slip of the tongue, and continued, “I’m sorry. I meant to say ‘terrorists,’ not ‘tourists.’”

However, the press was overwrought by his misstatement and whizzed it around the world in seconds.

The rapidly spreading word-fire further discouraged recreational travel to North Waziristan.

The sudden decline surprised some observers, since the region is rumored to play host to the world’s most wanted murderous scamp, Osama Bin Laden.

The decline has also made it more difficult for visitors to the area from the CIA to pass themselves off as carefree travelers.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Sweet Trap

Last week, I came across a voice chat room, which was full of impressive nicknames. From the beginning, I started to notice an Asian female because of her appealing voice and her interesting way of telling love stories. “It must be a very cute girl”, I thought.

She was a talent storyteller. I kept wondering how she could master almost everything about our male world as if she was a writer of, a men's online magazine offering advices on dating, secrets of love, relationships and health. Dating tips and sex tips are perfectly transferred to her buddies.

After few minutes of listening to her lessons, I decided to chat with her individually. She was not as shy like a traditional Chinese as I supposed. She said that she lived in Boston and this prompted me to propose a date with her. However, before that, I asked her permission to see her face through the web cam. Black hair, big eyes, and a voluptuous body were what I imagined about her appearance at that moment.

“Why d’ya like to see my web cam?” she asked.
“’Cause I like to behold a star shining in the sky”
“But I am not so attractive as you are thinking of”, she laughed.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I always believe in my senses which inform me that I’m talking with a beautiful lady”, once again I flirt with her, forgetting that she had just taught others some tips about dating.
“You’d better keep that good image in your mind”, answered she.

Finally, my endless wing words affected her and at the other end of the line, she laughed, approving to show me up. I was too eager to see an expected face.

My eyes were widely open. I could not believe in what I was watching. There was a smiling male face in the webcam. Beyond of my imagination, “she” was a very guy. Though shocked, I tried to think that she was joking. I wondered how a guy could talk in such a sweet voice. Being straight, he told me the truth. That was, he was using a software called Voice changer to disguise his voice.

Before we stopped, he did not forget to remind me not to tell others in the chat room about his identity.

Surgeon General Uncertain About What Hospital To Check His Grandmother Into

The Surgeon General, after reading the results of a recent report about the alarming number of fatalities in U. S. hospitals that are due to preventable human error, was uncertain about what hospital to check his grandmother into when he learned that she was suffering from shortness of breath.

He decided the time had come from decisive government action. As a result, all hospitals must now display at the registration desk the following warning: "The Surgeon General has determined that hospitals may be hazardous to your health and may result in accidental death."

The American Civil Liberties Union is protesting the necessity of posting the warning, maintaining it infringes on the right of hospitals to conduct their business with the normal expectation that a certain number of patients will live and a certain number will leave in a less vital condition.

A spokesman for the ACLU stated, "This is clearly an infringement of the right to free enterprise. Hospitals should be entirely free to inform patients they can expect excellent healthcare, even if the spokesperson is not certain the institution can provide it. Compelling hospitals to be forthright about the prospects for survival unnecessarily infringes on their right to misinform patients."

Commenting on the issue, Chief Justice John Roberts said, "I can't comment because I could get appendicitis at any time, and I certainly wouldn't want the hospital to suspect I may not, should I survive the operation, act in its best interest."

In an effort to bolster the government's case, the FDA plans to establish a task force composed of hospital inspectors who will impersonate patients. At the end of a one year trial, a determination will be made of how many are still alive. Further action will be based on the tally

Supreme Court Rules On Where Fish Can Swim

The Supreme Court ruled in favor of two Michigan land owners who maintained that fish had no right to swim in the water on their property and, as a result, the developers should be able to grace the wetlands with a shopping mall and a condominium.

Until now, the courts had generally maintained that fish have certain inalienable rights and that among them is the right to swim in and out of any waterway they can navigate.

The ruling was, however, not the resounding victory the land owners had hoped for, because it only applied to newly arriving fish; the ones already located in the wetlands could continue to swim there.

The splintered outcome opened the dam to more litigation in the lower courts, and attorneys for the ACLU vowed to defend the rights of all fish to enter and exit any wetland at will.

The ruling also muddies the Clean Water Act and may spur debate on whether or not fish should be permitted to swim in water at all, since their presence may shock people who look into a glass of water before they drink it.

Coming down solidly against the fish, Justice Scalia maintained that fish rights had gone "beyond parody," because they now seemed to cover even "man-made drainage ditches and dry arroyos in the middle of the desert."

Justice Stevens, however, wrote that the wetlands "had surface connections to tributaries of traditionally navigable waters" and so the fish should be able to swim there without undue hindrance.

Justice Souter wondered why Congress would permit fish in rivers but rule them out of waterways and wetlands that feed them, maintaining, "All you've got to do is let a fish swim into a tributary before you can arrest it for trespassing."

But Justice Scalia shot back that such logic would grant fish the right to swim in "a storm drain, because during heavy rains it could be considered navigable." He went on to say, "I suggest it's absurd to call storm drains 'waters of the United States.' They're drainage ditches. When it comes to waters of such magnitude, we should confine the swimming rights of fish to goldfish bowls."

Sun Will Only Burn For 5 Billion More Years; Humans Express Concern

We are often reminded that the sun will only shine in a way that can support life way out here on the earth for only about another five billion years. Sensing the eventuality of the cataclysm, we’re easily inclined to express our concern, along with our sympathetic distress for those far-off folks who will be standing on the earth when old Father Sol begins to turn down the heat.

It seems to us, however, that we have far more immediate concerns, for example, if we can last, in the event of a surprise nuclear war, maybe another billionth of a second.

Of course, there’s also the everyday proclivity of the human race to end concerns about the longevity of the sun for tens of thousands of fellow star gazers by having conventional wars and various murderous sectarian tumults.

But, since we’re all overly familiar with the inconvenient threats we might enumerate that may significantly compromise our longevity, the last more immediate concern we’ll mention is global warming, which could, within a hundred years or so, move the world’s beach resorts up somewhere near the peak of Mt. Everest.

Now, having dilated plenteously on impending challenges to the continuance of ourselves and our posterity, let’s move on to what seems to us the much more logical challenge that the hot news science has revealed about the sun’s capacity for combustion presents us with. As the hoary advisement goes, we should only live so long.

So let’s ask the question that, as far as we know, has yet to be considered. How might we band of explosive rabble rousers last for another five billion years, rather than self-destructing any time sooner?

Or, given our knowledge of other possible abbreviations of our continuance that might discomfort us – such as the chilling fact that we’re currently enjoying just another relatively balmy interglacial period that may only continue for another 10,000 years or so and that an asteroid or meteor may slam into the earth at some as yet unpredictable moment – how might we continue to frolic on the earth for at least as long as it might provide a hospitable abode for us?

First, of course, we should consider dealing with the biggest tomahawks that are in the air, primarily, the three B’s, by which we don’t mean the names of three eternal classical composers but pollution, population, and pop goes the A-Bomb.

Meanwhile, what invitingly positive items might we busy ourselves with during the next five billion years or so? After all, our unrealistic and yet, we suspect, achievable goal is more than just hanging on for the essentially eternal ride; it’s enjoying the wondrous flight through space and time.

So we suggest that, besides obsessing about the well-barnacled threats that have accreted in our minds and burden our otherwise eager capacity for joyful employment and lassitude, we absolutely insist on reserving ample time to contemplate the invitations to delight, large or small, that our everyday lives might provide during the razor-thin mark on the tape measure of time that represents our individual stays on the still acceptably fulgent earth.

For example, if you have something to do today that you know would be a remarkable or, at least, modestly praiseworthy achievement, we suggest you think about getting it done.

If you love somebody, we recommend you consider how fortunate you are, particularly if you’re relatively confident that the recipient of your invocations to mutual affection also loves you.

And so we go, from our grandest considerations right on down to even the most inconsequential massages of our pleasure principle, say, for example, checkers. If you somehow have time to play the game, we suggest you concentrate on your next deft moves. You’ll have a jolly time and, as you know, you as an individual gamester don’t have anywhere near five billion more years to make your triumphant jumps.

We conclude by saying that, rather than being exclusively concerned about whatever we’re to do when the sun flares out, we might more wisely consider occupying ourselves with the view through the other end of the telescope, that is, with the smaller delights and damnations that make up our daily lives.

Actually, when you consider how remote or beyond our influence most of the enormities we’re supposed to be properly troubled by are, you realize, with enormous relief, that the little things which effervesce in our daily lives are really, as bubbles to the tang of champagne, the biggest things.

In fact, it can be very credibly said that the more we discover just how astronomically big things are, like the incomprehensibly lengthy life expectancy of the sun, the more important the little things become. Imagine, then, the true cosmic significance of a ready smile or, even more deliciously, a tender kiss. After all, even the robustly effusive sun can’t do those things, even given five billion years to make the attempt.

We conclude by advising you to recall, as the welter of negative news that is the daily lot of all of us affronts your conning brow, what your grandmother often advised: count your blessings.

As a final service to those who have been gracious enough to accompany us on our wanderings about eternity and immediacy, we herewith present a list of blessings to count as we attempt to make our stay on the earth consonant with the eons Oh, Solo Mio is likely to shine out in a temperate manner.

They are taken from the daringly innovative piece of popular philosophizing by Charles Blaise, called Life Itself As A Modern Religion. If you enjoy this brief sampler, you might like to know that the entire book is a free read at

We consider it a surprisingly informed and sanely serious approach to our condition, as we hope to be a winningly informed and sanely funny rendition of it.


1. Bless life. It is Creation’s highest gift and the supreme natural form of matter and energy.

2. Bless Creation. It has given us life, in all its forms and with all its possibilities.

3. Bless our bodies, Creation’s handiwork. They are the temples of our lives and the basic source of all our joy.

4. Bless our brains. They enable consciousness and all of our thoughts, talents, and feelings. They let us experience self-awareness and sensations, make right decisions, contribute achievements, and enjoy life, while they coordinate our physical movements and conduct the multitudinous involuntary processes that sustain our lives.

5. Bless our spirits. They constitute our communicative feelings and thoughts and help us have good relationships with ourselves, others, other animals, plants, our inanimate environment, and all of Creation.

6. Bless our love makers, by which I mean our genitals. They let us enjoy sex life, renewing our union in Creation’s most physical way, helping us relax, and, most vital of all, letting us create new life.

7. Bless the other animals and the plants. They’re our animate partners in Paradise.

8. Bless the land, air, water, and all other things. They’re our inanimate partners.

9. Bless our peacekeepers. They help preserve life and our natural Paradise.

10. Bless our natural Paradise. It’s our basic home in the universe and the planet on which Creation has evolved us.

*© 2006 Charles Blaise. Reprinted with permission.

Stop Needling Me!

Sometimes it's possible to accomplish something important by doing nothing at all. Well, actually, I did do something. I resisted. I think that counts. Here's my story.

Many of my friends have been getting pierced and tattooed for years. It's huge. Every neighborhood has at least one bodypiercing/bodyart place. Seems like they outnumber taverns these days. Naturally, they want me in on it.

"C'mon Mike," they say. "It's fun! It's addictive! What? Are you afraid of needles? The pain feels good! And when it's over, you have something to show for it!"

I find myself looking less and less like my friends because I'm not a human signboard for little animals, death, and calligraphic text. To compound the situation, I don't pick up the light in every room, reflecting off little pieces of metal everywhere. (And I do mean everywhere!) But I have a secret to share. I'll get to that shortly.

While they've been spending their paychecks on this hoopla, I've been quietly satisfied with myself, exactly as I am. I'm not suggesting my friends do it out of insecurity. Some do, obviously, but many got started because their parents told them not to. I'm no momma's boy, but I'd like to know what kind of a reason is that?

People are not packrats. OK, that's not true. I am a packrat. I keep way too much stuff. But that's not really what I mean. I'm talking about the fact that packrats are known to trade an item in their pack for ever-shinier objects. I do it too, but the one that kicks me is how my friends trade fifty dollar bills for yet another shiny piece of metal, or yet another patch of scribbled skin.

Now, before anyone thinks I'm complaining, let me point out that I believe in freedom to choose, and if that makes them happy, I'm not going to stop them. What? Like they'd listen to me? I'm the prude with no tattoo, remember? How would I know what it's like?

From my point of view, I don't need to find out. I don't think it's necessary to be a slave to the idea of trying everything once. Some things I don't feel the need to try.

Lately, some of my friends have found that their obsession is working against them. I'm still single with no kids, but many of my friends are either married or are single parents. And that's where the difficulty comes in.

Some of my friends have kids that are between six and nine years old. About that age, kids start noticing their parents a little more as people. They look at them differently than they did when they were infants. Mostly, because kids grow up incredibly fast today. Much faster than when we were kids, so they notice things quicker too. Lately what they've been noticing is mom and dad's tattoos and piercings.

A woman at work told me just last week that she has no idea how to convince her nine-year-old daughter why she won't take her to the parlor and get her tongue pierced, "just like mommy."

So here's my secret. I have resisted tattoos and piercing because I believe in being a natural person. I think the metal and the ink only serve to detract from the outer beauty of my friends and it does nothing to enhance their inner person. So I see no reason to use my body for someone's canvas.

Friends can be so myopic. They don't want to see their kids all boogered up because they see their kids as beautiful exactly as they are, but they hold themselves to a double standard. They continue to encourage me to get some bodyart and I continue to resist.

Why am I such a holdout? Do I really fear the needle? No, of course not. I'm the one who used to play with clothing pins and sewing needles, pushing them through the tops of my knuckles like a juvenile Freddy Krueger. I also used to do the infamous sewing-needle-shoved-through-the-flexed-arm trick. The difference is, it was just play to me, and I wasn't trying to make a fashion statement.

I simply have a philosophy that says a person needs to stick to their values and not give in to peer pressure. Piercing and tattoos have led my friends to nothing but empty pocketbooks and hard questions from their kids.

Maybe I'll go to work one day with needles through all my fingers like I did in school. That'll show 'em!

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Stand Up Comedienne - Gagging For A Joke

What type of person sees the funny side of a joke or gag told by a stand up comedienne, what type of person doubles over with laughter after the punch line of a joke has been delivered?
What kind of person is more prone to giggle when watching someone play the fool? Well the answer to that is simple? A person one who wants to laugh. Laughter represents happiness.

Celebration parties will always include some form of entertainment - whether it is in the form of a musical band - solo singer or magician etc. But the most popular performer of all invited along to entertain is a stand up comedienne and the reason for that is because they can accommodate their act to suit the mood.

Stand up comics have a mission to accomplish each time they perform their act and that is to make people laugh with their funny jokes - some funny folk amuse party guests in other ways with hilarious foolish antics or silly mime games.

Depending on the event or occasion the comedy performance may be structured around the parties theme e.g. a child`s party may have characters like a clown or if it is an all male wild stag night gathering - then expect the stand up comedienne to deliver the goods in the way of naughty blue jokes. Jokes and gags come clean or dirty - this is your party therefore the choice of entertainment is entirely up to you.

The best thing for you to do if you are to host an event which involves a stand up comedienne - is to do a little research, check out what you feel will go down well with your party guests. An atmosphere where laughter holds a strong presence tells you that the party is definitely a success.

Sometimes it is the host that takes on the role as the funny performer (stand up comedienne) if this is your intention then ask a few close friends for help in rounding up a few party gags - by doing this you have guaranteed laughs because those who shared their jokes with you will always find them funny. Stand up comedienne jokes and gag material can be found online. If you are finding it a struggle to get your act together then why not listen to or watch a video on stand up comediennes to gather tips. Online entertainment sites provide all you need to know on funny folk, so if you are gagging for a good joke then go online.

Another good idea is to practice acting out your stage show in the mirror - this is a great way to make sure you look the part and that part is the star attraction at the event.

Songwriter Confessions #1

Looking up this week from getting a reggae backing to sound like St Ann rather than St Felicity, I spotted the small dark mist in the usual corner behind the left monitor speaker. I have sometimes believed absolutely that this is my best muse, back from a pizza run to the outer starbelt. Or maybe just the golden ring around Uranus. Anyhoo...It seems to bring inspiration in a dark way: more Keith Richards than Cliff Richard, and I feel the urge to write something that involves leather, whips and a snare drum that sounds like Pavarotti hitting the water from the top board. I dig out my file called Heavy Riffs That AC/DC Lost Under The Driver's Seat. It would help if the word MURDER appeared in the first lyric line: that always gets the bowie knives out. As Sam Goldwyn said: Start with an exploding volcano and build up from there to a climax.

I can't emphasise how important the first two lines of the first verse are, in any song.This is where you the artist set the hook in their miniscule attention spans or not. If you simper your way into a song, as per a style I like to call Captain Cliche, you've probably lost them before the second guitar comes in. Please avoid a first verse that goes like this: ooh I love you, yes it's true, what am I supposed to do, baby I know without you, all my dreams are down the loo...blah blah...

Anybody still awake? The only thing that might just save that song would be a beat strong enough to flip Lazarus out of the grave and over the horizon. I never thought that the years I spent writing ad copy for various ad agencies would be worth so much to me now. The rule in advertising is: when you've written the headline, you've spent 80c of your dollar. It's got to hook them. It's gotta say something different about a subject you've heard a million times. Take the neverending subject of LOVE ( also known as LURV...the NASTY...and BUMPING UGLIES) If I taught songwriting, one of the first projects I would set would have to be: write a song about LOVE, but make it interesting.Make it different. Make the listener say: I never thought of it that way before. Now Paul McCartney, being famous, doesn't have to work as hard as the rest of us. So he calls it: Another Silly Love Song. With a chorus that goes: iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. Phew, Macca...time to open the window!

Here's how I do it: my song is called: If You Were Icecream... and the first verse is: If you were icecream, I would eat you, with a very small spoon... if you were starlight, I'd go to meet you, halfway to the moon... I think that's a lot more interesting than Paulie's but hey, he's famous, and I've just started kicking at the door. For more examples of how I approach first verses and songs in general, scoot along to my new site or click on the link below.

Must get into town for some new acoustic guitar strings. Haven't changed them for a year, and No..there's no direct link between underwear rotation and guitar strings. And-a one...two...three...

Smoking Gun In Cancer Revealed; It's The Smoking Throat

OK, smoke fans, the facts are out once again. According to the new and pretty inarguable Cancer Atlas and the updated Tobacco Atlas, which were published by The American Cancer Society, if "Smoky, The Scare" gets his way, tobacco use is projected to kill a billion people in this century. (By the way, wouldn't it be more reassuring if the word “Prevention” was in the Society's name?)

Now, that’s what we call recreational population control. The figure amounts to ten times as many folks as smoking sent choking to the grave in the 20th century.

And ready for this? Tobacco use causes one in five cancer deaths, or a total of 1.4 million graveward bound souls a year.

Now, here’s the good and much underappreciated news: Dr. Judity Mackay, a senior policy adviser of the World Health Organization, tells us, "We know with cancer, if we take action now, we can save 2 million lives a year by 2020 and 6.5 million by 2040."

So here’s our bit to stop cancer in its tracks. And we’re not going to pull any punches, because, if you still smoke, you obviously haven’t listened to anybody yet, and we care about you too much not to give you our best shot.

Here goes all the ways we know to annoy our friends who smoke with advice that is invariably resented but not always dismissed. In fact, we actually have two friends who stopped smoking after we had at them.

So let's light up with logic:

1. If you can’t quit smoking, pursue your fetish when you're not around us.

2. We don’t date people who smoke, because we don’t want to die in their arms. It’s not death we’re afraid of; it’s their breath and the way their clothes smell. We find both spiritually wilting, not to mention sexually.

3. Everybody loves you, but somebody you know is following you, everywhere you go, and this person wants to kill you, and do you know who this person is? The person in you who wants to smoke. The person in you who doesn’t want you to smoke, while weaker right now, can be made strong enough to toss the sneak thief of your life out for good.

4. Do you know what people think every time you light up? Wow, what a dummy. Provoking this response is particularly incriminating if you think you’re a genius.

5. Don’t tell me you’re so desperate for pleasure that just for the little buzz you can get from dragging all those carcinogens into your fragile body you’re ready to die? How much do you like Lorillard and the other ciggy makers? So much you need to die for them?

6. Do you know that smoking is like rat poison? You ingest a little every day. You think you’re fine. But actually your entire body is being poisoned. That’s why you look yellow and your skin wrinkles prematurely. Actually, if you could do an autopsy on yourself while you’re still alive, you’d find that all the organs in your body are shriveled up from the poisons. For instance, pathologists tell us that your organs, instead of being smooth and healthy, look more like prunes. But you keep dragging the junk in, because you think you’re fine. Well, you’re not. You’re deadly ill. And then one day it happens. You go from being ill to being landfill.

7. Last, do you know that all the blood in your body races through your lungs every minute? That’s right. It all keeps racing there to give off carbon dioxide and grab fresh oxygen. Then it races to the far corners of your body with the breath of life. Unfortunately, it also drags the carcinogens along for the ride. That’s why, for instance, women who smoke often get breast cancer; breasts are very vascular and so they’re a frequent drop-off point for the poison.

Worst of all, if you die, you can’t read NewsLaugh anymore. Talk about sad. So stop it already.

Sit Back And Remember

Why is it, that any holiday, time off, or event, someone is sick? Do they plan it that way? I was sitting today, pondering, reminissing, and it came to my attention that every function I have ever attended had at least one of my family members sitting with the sniffles.

I was 7 years old. It was christmas time, and I was sick with my appendix. That was a good one. Is it coincidence? Or is there some greater evil out there that enjoys watching suffering in times of joy. We should find him, and tell him we are NOT impressed.

Timing is everything. There is a point, in every persons life, where everything seems to go wrong, and all you can do is sit there and watch it happen. But maybe it's a good thing. In fact, if nothing goes wrong, we won't know what's right. Perhaps what we need to do is change those tears of helplessness into tears of joy. That would be weird. "I love it when i get scarlet fever" Woops.

Here is a good one. This time, evil chose to be more mean than ever. I will tell you the holiday AFTER I tell you what happened. I had the chicken pox, my youngest sister had the chicken pox, my other sister had scarlet fever, and my parents were sharing the flu. Get this.... Thanksgiving. Thats right. Usually at thanksgiving time we go around the table, taking turns saying thanks for whatever you are thankful for. What a task. I was thankful for oatmeal baths!

It's funny how we are tested in such ironic ways. The outcome of our battles with nature shows what kind of person we can become, but what happens during the battle defines what kind of person we really are.

Sex Change Procedure Creates New Species, Neither All Male Nor All Female

Due to a revolutionary procedure, an entirely new species of human is now afoot on the earth – neither all male nor all female. And people who have undergone the procedure seem delighted.

A mostly female member of the species confided, “When you become a new species, it changes your whole outlook. I’m no longer really flamingly female or, for that matter, flamingly male. It makes me really happy. ”

“I’m an early adapter,” a mostly male person who had undergone the procedure told us. “As a result, I often feel ahead of my time, but, wow, when I come across another person who has gone through it, we really hit it off.”

Another primarily female incarnation of the remarkable development confided, “When you become a third species, it changes your whole outlook. I’m no longer really agressively female and certainly not rabidly male.”

What exactly is this revolutionary procedure?

We spoke with Dr. Emil Changemaker, the founder of the technique, and asked, “We understand you’ve created a new species of human being. Can you please elaborate?”

“Happy to oblige. First, this sex change operation requires no surgery.”

“It doesn’t?” we asked, surprised.

“No, the change occurs, not between the legs, but between the ears.”

“Oh, between the ears?”

“Exactly,” he confirmed.

“Please, go on.”

“Well, you see, until now, we had human types that are pretty much all male and all female. Of course, there have been a few exceptions, but not enough for most people to notice.”

“And now?” we inquired.

“Oh, thanks to the technique, there are quite a few more.”

“I see. As the world’s leading expert on the subject, how did you manage to create a new species?”

“Me? I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“You didn’t?” we asked, a bit taken back. “Excuse me, if you didn’t have anything to do with it, why are you the founder of the technique? You see, we never heard of a founder who didn’t have anything to do with what he founded.”

“Oh, I founded it just because I saw it happening and I brought it to people’s attention, first to my family, then to some friends. Next, I wrote an article. Then a book. Now, I’m working on a video.”

“Well, it sounds as if you’re doing the usual things a founder does. What did you see happening?”

“Well, I saw this third species evolving.”

“The one that’s neither 100% male or 100% female?”

“Exactamundo!” he exclaimed.

“Why is it evolving?”

“Primarily, because it’s time, actually way past time, I think, for the new species to make its appearance.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, when you just had the overly male types or the overly female types, you had one side being really macho and the other side tipping toward being ultra feminist. So they had a hard time inhabiting the earth together, let alone the same bedroom. And happily married? Tough hoe to row, I mean, a tough row to hoe. I’ve been through it and just the thought discombobulates me.”

“What about the new species?”

“The most welcome development you can imagine.”

“Why is that?” we asked.

“Because when this species evolves, you no longer have the snarling pro macho type or the rabid feminist type.”

“What do you have?”

“Well, basically, you have a person.”

“A person? That’s the third type?”

“Please, don’t underestimate what I’m saying. This is a real big deal, the most welcome development you can imagine.”

“What is so special about this new species of person?” we wanted to know, determined to corner him.

“Well, it’s a person who advocates people’s rights.”

“People’s rights?”

“Right! It’s an evolution that leaves the purebred brute or feminist back at the orifice of the allegorical cave. You don’t advocate the superiority of men or the superiority of women. You don’t even advocate equal rights for either.”

“Not even equal rights?”

“Certainly not, because the very act of advocating equal rights assumes there’s an inequality. It’s a self-propagating prejudice. Nobody advocates equality when it exists, do they?”

“Well, that’s interesting. So when you advocate people’s rights, there’s no inherent or implied prejudice?”

“Correct! I’m talking about a species that’s comfortable just being human – not as an overheated new advocacy but just as an easygoing assumption. Of course, the species is still very much aware that there are two halves of the human race.”

“That hasn’t changed?”

“No, just the way they think of each other – in the whole rigmarole together, peaceful partners, except for a little of the inevitable pot throwing that even equals can’t always avoid, especially men and women. It solves a lot of problems, in the outside world and in the home, downstairs and upstairs.”

“Hmm, I imagine it would. What do you think the future holds for this new species?”

“Well, it’s like all evolutionary developments. You never know if the new excrescence of the gene pool will flourish, or perish because of the pressures exerted by the more established species. My hope is that it will enlarge its presence and, perhaps over time, entirely replace the previous incarnations.”

“Wow, when this interview began, I never would’ve suspected.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I’m actually a member of the new species.”

“You are?”

“Well, at least, I like to think so. And I bet a lot of people who are fans of NewsLaugh didn't realize they’re part of a new species until they read this interview.”

“How long have you been a member?” he asked.

“Oh, I went beyond advocating one side or the other a long time ago. I think of myself as just a happy-go-lucky, ducky and whatever person.”

“Good for you,” he said, and took out a notepad.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “I’m the one who’s supposed to take notes.”

“Just adding you to my list of humans who have evolved to my favorite species. I like to keep track. The trend is my friend – and yours!”

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Sentencia Interruptus: The Texas Pause

I've actually never heard anyone talk about this, so it's up to me to break the news to the world about this phenomenon. It can be a monumental problem, if you don't know about it, understand it, and adhere to its rule. "It" is, and I believe I've aptly named it, Sentencia Interruptus, or commonly known (or soon will be) as the Texas Pause. Problems can arise in communications between husbands and wives, employers and their employees, teachers and students, and others, if one of the parties is unaware of this regional dialectic/linguistic idiosyncracy.

You've heard of never being able to get a word in edge-wise? This is similar, except untold paragraphs and unexpressed thoughts are now floating out in the universe, never to be heard from again- all because of the Texas Pause. How does this happen? Typically native Texans possess a speech pattern in which they will express a thought, pause for 3 or 4 seconds (sometimes longer) mentally preparing their concluding thought (we like to plan our conclusions for maximum effect.) Unfortunately, the other person in the conversation will jump in and start talking before the first person is finished. I know you'd never be guilty of thinking ahead about what you're going to say, instead of listening, but that's not the only problematic thing about this.

There are thousands of frustrated Texans who had profound things with which to conclude, who never had the chance, because someone else barged in, unaware of the Texas Pause. Can you imagine what brilliant ideas we, as a society, have probably lost as a result of this travesty of dialect? How many spouses have resorted to saying, "You never listen to me"? How many employers miss the "...and their new branch wants to order 100,000 more widgets than last month"? How many teachers pivot and point to another student while the first student to answer still had words stuck between the mind and tongue, choking on the fact that the incongruency of an incomplete thought has made them look really stupid? How many Texans have skipped dessert in a restaurant because the waiter or waitress shifted their gaze to the next patron for their order? I ask you, is this fair?

Because of the world's ignorance of the Texas Pause, we are losing valuable thoughts, educational opportunities, industrial productivity, and cherry cobblers by the millions. Please put a stop to this madness. Tell everyone you know about the Texas Pause........................................ and let's make this world a sweeter and more complete place in which to live. Pause and say "No!" to Sentencia Interruptus. Countless thoughts could be saved if you will only listen.

In October of 2005, then Supreme Court nominee Harriet Miers, on national television, admitted to having the Texas Pause.

In an interview with Fox News, Miers said, "I pause, before I speak." Sentencia Interruptus reared it's head, once again, as she appeared to correct the interviewer. Telling someone you pause before you speak is a learned assertiveness among those with the Texas Pause. Many others may, now, come forward to admit they have this, which will foster understanding throughout the world, where there has been none, yet. That might be a good thing, considering the international ramifications of any misunderstanding, especially when there's a Texan in the White House.

© 2005 Dianne James

Senior Ticketed For Walking Too Slow; Others Try Rollerskates

An 82-year-old woman was recently issued a ticket in California for crossing a street too slowly. A police officer, who arrived on a motorcycle, told her she was obstructing traffic – and issued her a summons for $114.

Responding to the uproar caused by the curious traffic ticket, the municipality has begun to wonder if it should work out ways to help seniors cross streets without fear of incurring a penalty.

It is, of course, much too optimistic to hope that the municipality and the nation at large will speed to their rescue with such startling innovations as walk signs that last longer.

As a result, seniors, alarmed by the pricy citation, particularly those who are living on social security, are taking steps of their own, as they frantically search for ways to hurry along. Of course, electric wheelchairs have long been an option. But many simply don’t see themselves in the undeniably helpful items, at least, not until they encounter accidents due to the other resources they’ve been turning to, for instance, roller skates.

We also understand that bicycles have been selling briskly, particularly near retirement communities.

Of course, those who are fortunate enough to live with more able partners have the luxury of looking into other options, such as little red wagons and, in rural areas, wheelbarrows.

In a nutshell, seniors are turning to every possible mode of expedition they can think of, which generally means they’re equipped with the age-old facilitation of wheels.

While these alternative modes of transportation might offer suitable answers during balmier times, there is some concern about what to do when snow and ice cover the ground. Among the more daring sorts, there is talk of skis, while others are considering ice skates.

Until then, we can at least be glad that the dear recipient of the instigating ticket was not also issued points. Enough of those, and she’d have to be concerned about losing her walking license.

Senior Ticked For Walking Too Slow; Others Try Roller Skates

An 82-year-old woman was recently issued a ticket in California for crossing a street too slowly. A police officer, who arrived on a motorcycle, told her she was obstructing traffic – and issued her a summons for $114.

Responding to the uproar caused by the curious traffic ticket, the municipality has begun to wonder if it should work out ways to help seniors cross streets without fear of incurring a penalty.

It is, of course, much too optimistic to hope that the municipality and the nation at large will speed to their rescue with such startling innovations as walk signs that last longer.

As a result, seniors, alarmed by the pricy citation, particularly those who are living on social security, are taking steps of their own, as they frantically search for ways to hurry along. Of course, electric wheelchairs have long been an option. But many simply don’t see themselves in the undeniably helpful items, at least, not until they encounter accidents due to the other resources they’ve been turning to, for instance, roller skates.

We also understand that bicycles have been selling briskly, particularly near retirement communities.

Of course, those who are fortunate enough to live with more able partners have the luxury of looking into other options, such as little red wagons and, in rural areas, wheelbarrows.

In a nutshell, seniors are turning to every possible mode of expedition they can think of, which generally means they’re equipped with the age-old facilitation of wheels.

While these alternative modes of transportation might offer suitable answers during balmier times, there is some concern about what to do when snow and ice cover the ground. Among the more daring sorts, there is talk of skis, while others are considering ice skates.

Until then, we can at least be glad that the dear recipient of the instigating ticket was not also issued points. Enough of those, and she’d have to be concerned about losing her walking license.

Senate Takes Up Debate On Regular Marriage

The Senate, fresh from its rancorous but indecisive debate on a constitutional amendment that would have banned same-sex marriage, has now taken up debate on an amendment that would ban regular marriage.

A leading Republican senator stated, “When you consider how high the divorce rate is, you know there are a lot of unhappy marriages out there between men and women. I’m not sure continuing to allow them is in the national interest.”

The Democratic whip said, “In addition to the divorce rate, you’ve got to look at how many parents are disappointed in the amount of gratitude their children show and how many children don’t think their parents love them enough. Since parents usually want more gratitude than their children can give, and children often demand more love than most parents can give, it seems there’s an inherent problem with a marriage that can produce children.”

President Bush took an unwavering position, saying, “The kind of marriage we allow in America has to set a good example for the children of this great nation, and, frankly, I don’t think a lot of marriages out there are hitting that high marker. So I urge the Congress to pass the amendment. No more regular marriages, no more bad examples for our children – it’s as simple as that. And the result is guaranteed, because, in all likelihood, there won’t be anymore children.”

Saddam Hussein Seeks Mcdonald's Francise

Saddam Hussein, in his latest bid to escape execution for crimes against his own people, has applied to McDonald’s for a franchise. The application is widely regarded as a move by his defense team to convince the court that, if his life is spared, he will be a model citizen in the Iraq of the future.

In his application, Hussein states that he has a great deal of fast-food experience from his months on the run. He also states that, if granted the franchise, he will cease and desist from pathological social behavior that brings into question his qualifications to be a reputable franchisee. He has applied for a location in Bagdad that affords a view of one of his former palaces, so he might find peace in reminiscence as conducts his burger business.

Upon approval by McDonald’s, the agreement will be submitted to the court. At that time, the defense is expected to claim that he should be acquitted on the grounds that there is no precedent whatsoever for hanging a McDonald’s franchisee.

Depending on the outcome of Hussein’s plea, his codefendants may or may not apply to McDonald’s. There is some disagreement among them, as to whether or not their should try to corner the McDonald’s market or have the courage to compete with their former boss by opening rival chains, such as Burger King and Wendy’s. One defendant is reportedly considering an Appleby’s franchise, apparently because of a misunderstanding. He wishes one day to be accepted as “American as apple pie” and is unaware that the chain is, in reality, just another burger joint.

Ramsey Clark states, “The move by Hussein to become a McDonald’s franchisee clearly indicates that he intends to reform himself and should be given opportunity.”

While many Sunnis seem eager to patronize the former dictator’s restaurant, Shiites and Kurds are threatening to boycott it.

The American military has voiced concern about possible reprisals, particularly the threat of suicide bombers disguised as drive-through patrons.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Rush Limbaugh Humor: 2 Adult Beverage Recipes Any Dittohead Will Love

During the course of his celebrated career, Rush Limbaugh invented the term "adult beverages" to refer to alcoholic drinks so as not to offend mothers with young children listening to the show. But no insight was given on where to find the best dittohead adult beverages. That's why I created The Dittohead's Guide to Adult Beverages, a political humor book fans of the show will love.

Just try out these great recipes:


Glass: Your Own Cupped Hands


1 Part Triple Sec (as long as it wasn’t made in a wicked corporate factory)
2 Parts Whiskey (homemade by Sierra Club members in an earth-friendly distillery)
1 Part Grain Alcohol (flammable liquid used by the Earth Liberation Front to burn SUVs)
1 Frozen Pond (the result of any number of man-made environmental catastrophes)
1 Dolphin (the pinnacle of creation, according to environmentalist wackos)

Instructions: First, cut several ice cubes from the surface of a frozen pond (these should be abundant due to the smog effect blocking the sun's rays in preparation for the coming ice age). Avoid using a freezer to produce your ice cubes, because freezers are a capitalist-concocted first cousin of man's worst enemy – the air conditioner. Next, combine ingredients (along with your pond cubes) in your own cupped hands. Don't you dare use a glass instead of your hands, because the process of making glass destroys Mother Earth.

Origin: This adult beverage is named in honor of environmentalist wackos, a fringe movement (not to be confused with serious and responsible ecology-minded people) that believes mankind is the greatest threat to nature, seeks to destroy private property, and longs to establish a socialist regime to impose their nuttiness on the rest of us.

Special Note: For years environmentalist wackos have told us that dolphins are superior to humans – despite the absence of dolphin highways, libraries, or institutions of higher learning. But for all their supposed brilliance, I challenge any environmentalist wacko to find a dolphin that can make an adult beverage as good as this one!


Glass: A Highball Glass Emblazoned with the EIB Network Logo


1 Part Rum (shares the first two letters of its name with Rush!)
2 Parts Blue Gatorade (consumed while playing a round of golf in honor of Rush)
2 Parts Sprite (in recognition of capitalist lemon-lime soda companies)
1 Prestigious Attila the Hun Chair (symbolic of complete radio industry dominance)
Talent on Loan From God (why liberals don’t stand a chance against El Rushbo)

Instructions: Utilizing talent on loan from God (assuming that, unlike most liberals, you acknowledge the existence of God), combine ingredients in a highball glass emblazoned with the EIB logo and top off with whipped cream (but please use the whipped cream in this adult beverage recipe the way Rush would use it and not in the manner in which Bill Clinton would use it). Enjoy from the comfortable confines of your own Attila the Hun chair, the undisputed seat of talk-radio industry power.

Origin: This dittohead adult beverage is affectionately named in honor of Rush Limbaugh – lover of mankind, protector of motherhood, supporter of fatherhood (in most instances), general all-around good guy, and a man designated by the US Department of Education as a bona fide “weapon of mass instruction.”

Special Note: This adult beverage is documented to almost always taste great, 96.712 percent of the time, just as El Rushbo is documented to be almost always right, 97.963 percent of the time!

Rural Relocation – Considerations and Adjustments

So you’re thinking about going country? It’s time to abandon the frenzy of city life, drop the ‘G’ from the end of your verbs and trade your Gucci for goats. You long to be in a place where business is done on a handshake, where your backyard is bountiful and where folks welcome you with warm apple pie and a smile. You want the simple life.

Over 1.6 million people moved to rural communities during the first five years of this decade. Several stayed. This migration continues – reinforced by dozens of national and regional periodicals presenting sanitized ‘country chic’ to millions of armchair rednecks. Having read a myriad of books and magazines about goin’ county, you are convinced it is for you. Why not?

Editorials immerse you with prose of serenity found. You are infatuated by the ideal of carvin’ your own nitch in the wilderness, collectin’ the morning eggs and whittlin’ on the porch swing each evening. Throughout the country, gentlemen greet women with the tip of a hat and a polite, “Howdy Mam.” You long to raise your children in a community where graciousness abounds while folks commune with nature in perfect harmony. With each flip of the page of County Cool Magazine you feel your stress level dip.

Before you lapse completely into a coma, bear a few things in mind. Full-page glossies of family reunions held beneath towering, shabby-chic barns make for better magazine copy than centerfolds of locals trying to avoid making eye contact with your U-Haul. Stylized black and whites of cowboys branding in the parched mid-day sun sell better than snapshots of the Mayor’s dead horses being left to rot all summer long, directly in the center of town. Furthermore, triumphant tales of battling the elements flow better than ancient country septic lines. No one knows why the media doesn’t ‘glam-up’ peeing in your barn. It must just be a fickle public.

Fickle indeed. I for one moved my son from our life long home in San Diego to my birth state of South Dakota three times before it stuck. Each time I recoiled in under a year. Best friends, scores of humanities, the Pacific surf and Thai food are a lot to give up at one time. Harder still was the shattering of my rose colored glasses.

The secret to a successful relocation is knowing what to honestly expect so you can laugh cathartically when the inevitable bizarre scenarios emerge. Sudden disillusionment is rarely a knee-slapper. Nonetheless, once adjusted, country life is closer to Nirvana than most get here on Earth. Thus, while everyone else pumps pure country sunshine straight up your knickers, I consider it my obligation to provide balance to the Universe.

Almost daily I question my reasons for living in the hinterland. For these moments of apprehension, I maintain lists in my mind. My lists remind me both what drove me out of California and why I cannot abandon country life. A hardy dose of big city burn out definitely came into play. For starters, I realized I was so sick of commuting I‘d rather endure seven months per year in an icebox with no sunlight than sit in another traffic jam. With that thought alone I was ready to pull up my roots. I also decided to move.

In fact, developing a loathing of the Urban Jungle was vital to my eventual ‘success’ in relocating. In retrospect, my twig was definitely about to snap. Of course, so many city folk run around with fully bent twigs, we never realize the contorted conditions of our existence. That many people living in close proximity, under the confines of excessive regulations, is the proverbial pressure cooker.

Urbanites and recent country converts wondering if your view on life may be intensely contorted are welcome refer to my lists. They provide perspective. For example: Signs of how ‘screwed-up’ you may be would include the following.

You’re having your morning coffee, a cow walks through the front yard. You don’t own a cow. You freak out, hit 911 and sue the Meat Packers of America.

You believe shoes matching your nail polish is in any way a daily priority.

You don’t recognize that it is morally bankrupt to apply for a permit from a homeowners association to put out a lawn ornament.

You carry more electronic gadgets on your person than Radio Shack inventories.

You drive to work past ‘that same old group of homeless people.’

You smile and say, “Hi,” to strangers only because you know it screws with their minds.

Your horse board expenses equal the Gross National Product of Guatemala

You’re convinced you are invisible and need two years of plastic surgery just so city gentlemen won’t let the C-Store door spring back in your face.

You pitch a fit when your favorite salad bar serves cheese made with non-vegetarian rennet, then drive the kids to Burgers Burgers Burgers.

Your children spend more time in the TV den than in treetops and you think that’s acceptable.

You get a building permit and three estimates to hang a painting.

Any chimes ringing? If so, remove yourself form Urbania immediately! Your twig is at maximum contortion! Give the country three years and you will stay. Transition is difficult, but once your up-tight attitude is vanquished, your twig unbends. These are the indicators you are settling in to the ‘Simple Life.’

You’re having your morning coffee. A cow walks through the front yard. You don’t own a cow. You sit down and drink your coffee.

Shoes’ matching each other is low on the list of daily priorities.

Your outhouse is not just a chic lawn ornament.

You save getting the chickens drunk for when you have houseguests.

You have no idea where your cell phone went, but the Border Collie is wearing your pager.

You drive to work past ‘that same old herd of buffalo’.

Your bird feeder expenses are equivalent to the Gross National Product of Canada.

Elk mounts ordain the walls of your favorite salad bar.

Your children spend more time in the their tree house than in school.

Yes, these are definitely telltale signs, you have lost that city pace. Although you can never voluntarily raise your stress level back to match city slickers, you have not lost yourself completely. Search the little places. Vestiges of your past will appear. These are the traits of an American Hybrid.
While having your morning cappuccino, a cow walks through the front yard. You don’t own a cow. You toss it a biscotti.

You can’t decide whether to paint the walls of the outhouse in a contemporary or impressionistic motif.

You use the word motif in the same sentence with outhouse.

You actually make homemade preserves – wild chokecherries with a boisterous zinfandel you picked up in Napa last season.

Mascara before milking.

You winter in the gulf of Siam. You summer in bib overalls.

You smile and say, “Hi,” to strangers only because you know it screws with their minds.

You could never shoot a deer, but you can dress that sucker out in under two hours.

You fence in a sarong and thongs. (This one gets the neighbors talking.)

You frequently run to town for Hawaiian Tofu and Goat Chow.

You have a different pair of hiking boots for every occasion.

Egyptian cotton sheets and a commissioned replica of Picasso’s Woman with Three Breasts enclose the baby chickens being reared in your bedroom closet.

It’s true, every day more and more of us are getting too screwed up to ever return to the city. Still, for all our differences country folk and city slickers posses one commonality. Neither group thinks twice about the US Government’s Food Pyramid. I guess we have to start somewhere.

Rumsfeld Appoints Self Retired General; Rushes To Own Defense

Donald Rumsfeld, under fire from a platoon of retired generals who have called for his resignation, went on the offensive by appointing himself a retired general.

Accompanied by a currently employed general, who, as the head of The Joint Chiefs Of Staff, is his usual sidekick, he stated, “As The Secretary of Defense, I think I should at least be on an equal footing with a retired general, and, after careful consideration, I decided to become one.”

A reporter then asked, “As a retired general, what is your opinion on Donald Rumsfeld?”

“I think he’s doing an outstanding job,” Rumsfeld replied. “In fact, I think, while I’ve said no one is indispensable, there’s always an exception to the rule.”

“How about his handling of the war in Iraq?” another reporter queried.

“What war in Iraq?” Rumsfeld countered. “The war in Iraq was over the day we pulled down Saddam Hussein’s statue. What’s going on now is the post-war recovery.”

“There are some who say you underestimated the resources that would be required in the post-war period. Can you comment on that?”

“As a retired general, the post-war scenario is not my specialty. On the other hand, as The Secretary of Defense, I can say that, while I used all of my absolutely first-rate foresight, I am not clairvoyant. Therefore, I could not know beforehand how many Sunnis, who had it better under Saddam’s tyranny, would rather destroy their own country than live in peace with the Shiite majority. Since I couldn’t know that the two warring Muslim factions would destabilize their own country, I could not possibly anticipate how much stabilization we’d have to try to establish. Nor could I anticipate how many members of al-Qaeda would come rushing in and try to turn the self-destabilized country into the next frontier of their suicidal goal of establishing a pan-Arab medievalist Islamic tyranny.”

“Would you change anything in hindsight?” another reporter asked.

“Of course, I would. Like everybody else, I do have clairvoyant hindsight. First, I would have made myself a retired general a long time ago, so I could have been the first one to stand up for myself, instead of taking all the potshots I’ve had to before I realized how to deflect them. Second, during the invasion, I would have dropped a ton of leaflets on Iraq that predisposed the population to peace.”

“What kind of leaflets?” a reporter asked.

“Ones we would have, at that early date, been able to translate into their language with an Iraqi-English dictionary: Shiite + Sunni = Nice Peaceful Country. Shiite – Sunni = Lots of Dead People.”

“Do you think those leaflets would have made a difference?” a reporter asked.

“Of course. While no leaflet is indispensable, it would have helped these warring factions realize if you can’t live in peace with each other, you can’t do anything together except kill each other.”

The final question came from a reporter, who asked, “Do you plan to retire?”

“You missed the point,” Secretary Rumsfeld replied. “I already retired. How do you think I became I retired general.”

“I mean, do you intend to retire as Secretary of State?”

“I think one retirement every decade or so is plenty, don’t you?”

Robots Getting Smarter; Plan To Enter Politics

Robotic IQ is apparently on the up tick.

Now, we read, the accomplished mechanical wonders can drive, as long there’s not too much to steer around, be watchful lifeguards, and mimic human behavior in video games. And how far a leap is it from video games to political shenanigans?

So any number of the brainy bots have been discussing how they might enter what is, legendarily, one of the world’s least demanding occupations in terms of intellect: politics.

One robot revealed his political ambitions, saying, “I’ve been listening to Senators and Members of the House of Representatives, and I seem to have way more information than a lot of them in my database.”

And a particularly ambitious bot noted, “I haven’t heard President Bush say a thing that’s beyond my current chipset, except one word my dictionary doesn’t recognize. He’s convinced me that I could conduct the Presidency almost as a no brainer.”

In a recent survey, Americans were asked, “What do you think would do a better job of running the country, elected officials of the caliber we currently have or highly intelligent robots?”

A substantial majority exclaimed, “Bring on the bots.”

A second question was, “You realize that their intelligence is artificial?”

The usual response was that most people preferred it to what they perceive as the widespread absence of intelligence among the current rafter of politicos.

Robin's Rainbow

When my daughter was very young, one night she was saying her prayers. She paused and asked me, "Mom, if I pray for a rainbow, will God make one?" Well, what could I say? Anyone who can part the Red Sea, can make a rainbow for a six-year-old. I hem-hawed around for a few seconds, and then told her that, yes, if she believed... Then I thought, "What have I done? What if there's no rainbow tomorrow? What if there are no clouds? And if there are, what if it doesn't rain? I've hurt the faith of this little one!"

The next day, there was not a cloud in the sky. Of course. Great. Now Mom's a liar. It was Memorial Day, so we went to the cemetery to pay our respects. We were walking around, and I had hoped she had forgotten about the rainbow prayer. Apparently she had, but I had not. The scriptures say that if you believe, basically God gives you what you pray for, if you ask in Jesus' (Yeshua's) name. I was having some worrisome thoughts as we walked through that cemetery. Then we came upon a section which was being watered with sprinklers. Lo and behold, there was Robin's rainbow, just as plain as day. It was almost as if God was saying, "See? Oh you of little faith. I can make it happen, even when it seems impossible." I wish the story ended there, but it doesn't. I saw it, but I didn't see it for what it was, until later. I didn't recognize it, to show her that God had answered her prayer.
Her little simple prayer was a huge lesson for me. He answered her prayer, as it turns out, for me. How many times have I missed the blessing? Now I look for answered prayers in whatever form they might take.

I guessed I would forgive her for the oatmeal dumped between the wall and the refrigerator. And telling the neighbor she had a "mold" on her face. And, saying, "huh, uh... no Mom, this is what you said," when I was trying to be a little too polite in conversation. And wallpapering the hall with stick-on feminine napkins... Sigh... I miss those days.

© 2005 Dianne James