More Cigarettes in the Fridge

 

Your love is like  making love to a poisonous jellyfish

There is a house on the block with a large flag that reads TRUMP 2024.

In my hood, it's as easy to get a republican into office as it is to get a libertarian.

Of course we're all voting for the green pen, right?

Today I identify as  anything but a football fan

Michigan is Banning Inmates From Reading Totally Normal Books

The state's prisons have banned almost 1,000 titles, claiming over half of them pose a “threat to the order and security of the institution.”

ThermionicEmissions has obtained the banned books list:

1. Dungeons and Dragons rule-making books
2. Grant Writing for Dummies  [definitely a threat to order]
3. German in 32 Lessons
4. Horton Hears an Escape Plan
5. The History of Shivs and How to Make them from Everyday Items
6. Where to Hit an Armed Guard to Temporarily Disable Him
7. English as a First Language
8. Prison Blueprints Throughout History
9. What Happens When You're the Bitch?
10. Mama Said not to Forget Your Rubbers

Scientists Determine Best Place to Stand In Your House When a Nuke Hits

lefty Tip: right on the roof, so the blast doesn't have to go looking for you. There will be nothing left worth living for, and you can get it over with painlessly. If you manage to hide out in your house, your death will be slow and painful. Ain't nobody comin' to help you. You won't even be able to get on Faceyspaces, so you'll wish you were dead anyway.

The little blue pill really is magic! Men with erectile dysfunction who take Viagra are 25% less likely to suffer an early death than those who don't, study suggests

Further study concludes that Viagra has very little to do with it. What do you do after you take Viagra? Theoretically you have sex. This is the key. People who have sex want to stay around, so they don't bother dying. 

Makers of all erectile dysfunction medicines want you to know that, based upon this study, you should take the pills even if you don't have erectile dysfunction. You will live longer.  Side effects include a very happy wife or a very pissed off wife. Don't take Viagra if you're allergic to Viagra (you idiot).

We have bags of it round the back 

Let me start by saying that they're not attack bags. So that's a load off your mind already. We have bags. So what - everybody has bags. Well, sure, everybody has trash bags and paper bags, but we have bags. It's difficult to describe them because I'm a guy, but I'll make the attempt: when you go to a non-supermarket type store and buy a bunch of stuff, you get a bag to take it home in. It's darn fine and darn large; twice the size of your average paper bag (27 milk cartons large, 5.7 kilometres Canadian). It has fine handles on it, that won't break when you're hauling your Stuff home. It's made out of something that isn't cheap plastic that will break if you try to do something stupid, like lift it. It might even be woven. Men don't generally say words like woven. Woody. Wainscotting. Divan. Valance. Window Treatments. Guar gum. Guam.

So we have these bags. I don't know how many is enough, but we have more than that. I lump this into "things I don't understand and don't care about because my brain can only hold so much information and this is a complete waste."  SHE knows. What's even stranger is that her family knows. Well, the women anyway. They're absolutely fascinated with them. Apparently when we give gifts, we give them in these bags, and people (ladies) love them. I try as best I can to just let this pass by, but my analytical mind, which keeps me awake at night wondering if gravity is real, wants to know why. It's like a bunch of hens after feed. They want to know where Wife got them. They're so nice. 

To make matters worse, and they always are, Wife has taken to buying many bags when we're out, so she can give them out to everybody who thinks they're so wonderful. So you see, we now have more bags. When we go to the cashier, we have a pair of shoes, a silver thing for display on a table somewhere, a tiny screwdriver set, a pair of jeans, and 25 bags with the store's name on them. The cashier looks at her strangely about the jeans bags, after which Wife explains. Cashier says what a great idea this is. Wife says to just put our purchases in these bags. Cashier is happy and her life is complete. My part in this? I carry the bags to the car.

I'm waiting for someone to call Wife "Bag Lady." That will be the last thing they remember saying when they wake up in the hospital.

Police Contractor That Promised to Track Homeless People Hacked

Yes, they were tacking the homeless through facial recognition.

lefty's laws: if it can be done, it will  

Madison Square Garden has facial recognition that has already barred people from entering. Walmart and other retail giants use facial recognition. You need to contact these entities and tell them this is not acceptable. Let your representatives know. It's coming and sometimes already here, whether you like it or not. Look at your drivers license and weep.

Musk testifies in fraud trial, points out that not everyone believes what he says

He's great entertainment, whether he's trolling people on Twitter, not paying rent, or his cars spontaneously combust. Much like Howard Stern, you listen to hear what he's going to say or do next, like him or not.

A bird with a T-rex head may help reveal how dinosaurs became birds

An oyster with Dick Cheney's head may help reveal why oysters eat their young.

We're just shouting into the void, says US watchdog offering cybersecurity advice

Federal depts ignore almost 60% of IT defense recommendations

It's ok, they're still keeping us safe. You trust them, right? Be a PATRIOT.

 A fifth of passwords used by federal agency cracked in security audit

Inexcusable, but to be fair, it's probably worse where you work.... 

Americans Rank Congressmen Lower Than Journalists and Car Salesmen for Honesty and Ethical Standards

And this is a surprise? Congressmen ranked 17 out of 18, just ahead of telemarketers.

• Severe weather bombarded Texas yesterday, as somebody looked up and noticed a cloud.

Former president Donald Trump will be allowed back on to Faceyspaces and Instagram. The howling was heard across the world. Faceyspaces said there will be guidelines for Trump: nothing he posts will appear. Ever. They said this is to avoid misinformation. Meanwhile, the NSA has an account, and the CIA controls tv and radio. President Biden will be allowed to post without interference, but only if he talks about giving incredible amounts of money away. Biden's handlers high-fived each other due to the 'coincidence.'

Bottled Snakes?

So we smartasses know we're being tracked by our cell phones. Some of us don't care. Some of us are positively incensed, bordering on explosion. We turn off Location functions and the GPS, but we know we can still be located by cell tower triangulation.

We also know that apps use ad networks, potentially both spying on your location, and whatever other info they care to gather.

Well, guess what.... there's a new way to track us suckers. It takes 2,000 lines of code, inserted into an app that can go tens or hundreds of thousands of lines.  What can we do? Absolutely nothing at the moment. Well, that's not strictly accurate: you can turn off the phone. There are hardware and software features than can be implemented, but that depends on the phone manufacturer and Google (for android) or Apple (for iOS). Considering that manufacturers don't seem to bother pushing out security updates, I doubt we're going to see privacy upgrades.  Having said that, I'm not sure if we're going to see this code in apps, as there's detective work to be done to find where the phone thinks you are. This doesn't mean the operating system won't have it in the future.

When I said the only thing you can do is turn off the phone, I wasn't completely accurate. You can also firewall the phone and decide specifically where the app can go to, but that's only for really strict privacy weirdos, with control issues and way too much time on their hands (raising hand, sporting evil grin).

• New Zealand's airport customs folks, while examining packages, came across (non-live) snakes. Because there's always (non-live) snakes being sent all over the world.  Two of the little beauties were positioned on a base, 'standing up.' The other two were in jars. Because when we don't send taxidermied snakes, we send them in jars.

Knowledge Transfer

I believe in sharing knowledge, both at work and at home. Knowledge is power. 

Let's say you're going to England and want to sound like a native. Well, the first thing you have to do is learn the accent, which tends to vary from block to block. Then you have to learn the lingo.

Let's start: 

• When you need your car repaired, you take it to the GARRidge.
• If the plane goes down on the way over, the National Transportation and Safety Board (NTSB) will look for DAYbree. This is the kind of word you can be smug in knowing, but will not get a chance to use after the plane touches the ground.

Learning the accent and language are only two thirds of the package. For some reason known only to Julius Caesar (inventor of the dressing), the Brits spell words incorrectly. A lot of words. They watch their favourite television programmes in their vividly coloured pyjamas. In their defence, they pay for a television licence with aluminium foil. They keep their spare tyres in the boot of the car. Instead of a wrench, they use spanners. I have a cocker spanner.

England and the United States: two countries separated by a common language.

• There's another nephew orchestral concert this week. I'm already building myself up for the event. Wife suggested copious amounts of drugs. I may just go with the flesh-colored earplugs.

It's Saliva Time, Kids!

There is a Chinese delicacy called bird's nest, which is made from bird saliva. The Chinese are a very silly people.

Since this lovely dish is a delicacy, we can reasonably expect that Bird Saliva Harvester is an honored position in China. WANTED: Bird Saliva Collector for 1,500 year old Bird's Nest dynasty. All male heirs have killed themselves in advance, rather than take the position. Fair pay and ducks to hang in your window. No forks.

In the name of humanity, who thought up this dish?

After a bit of digging, it is rumored to have originated with a Mr. Too Faht, special cook to the King of China, in or around the year 245BBS (Before Bird Saliva).  The king wanted something new, something special, something so rare and delicious that the kings of other countries would be terribly jealous, when they gathered at their King Retreat, located at the fabled Basketball Stadium of China. Interesting historical note: archaeologists have ancient China mapped out, but have never been able to locate the Basketball Stadium. It is rumored that the reason the Stadium cannot be found is that it was located next to the mythical Chinese Driving School.

Too Faht, the cook, was a fat, lazy man, with the occasional brilliant idea. Unfortunately, the majority of his ideas were total shit. After the King's demand, Too Faht didn't want to bother because he had a planned an entire night of sitting. It was then that he came up with one of his more brilliant ideas. He would suggest something so disgusting, so supremely vile, that the King would lose his appetite and suggest Too Faht take the night off.

So the cook told the King of his latest idea for a delicacy, called bird's nest, made entirely of bird saliva. Too Faht stood there, visions of ChinaLoungers in his head, when the King thought about it and declared, "That must really be something Faht... make me one." And that is how we got Bird's Nest.

How the bird saliva is collected is a closely guarded secret, known only to Bird Saliva Collectors and their mentors, at Chinese Driving School. With that name, no one would think saliva collecting was going on, plus no one would show up at the school anyway.

• There is now a hair shampoo with caffeine in it. This way, at least your hair will be awake in the morning.

Our last installment featured news of more human feet washing ashore in Canada. In true American spirit, Detroit floated to the top, where human organs were found at a wastewater treatment plant. But that wasn't all. This was the second time in two days. Either the mafia is getting lazy or rank amateurs are attempting body disposal again.

• RAF Mildenhall is an American base located in England, where today, a man drove onto the tarmac, stopping just short of a CV-22 Osprey. After a brief firefight, the man was taken into custody. This is, of course, not terrorism. The base spokesperson hasn't see the video and the investigation is in its early stages, but she already knows it's not terrorism. America is lucky to have this kind of psychic talent on its side.
• He drove onto the airfield of an American base and parked near a plane. How in the Sam Hill (where did that come from?) did the man get near the military base? You have to have all your papers in order, including your birth certificate and whether or not you were breastfed to get onto a military base (don't ask how I know). If you attempt to breach the gate, you will quickly gather more holes than Swiss cheese. Maybe the airfield is accessible via a route other than the front gate, but that doesn't sound so tactically smart.
• Our friends at the TSA are worrisome enough, but now this?
• I remember when the Ospreys first came out. They had so many problems with it that the saying was "Boeing killed more of our people than the enemy." You'd think the guy would get out of the car and an engine would fall on his head or something.
• at least it's not terrorism.

How's Marshall?

Glad you asked. The previous chemotherapy stopped early because he's doing so well. He will likely go on oral chemo. The oncologist wants to do another operation, most likely due to the new kitchen she's planning. After all, we just finished paying off her Mercedes.

Meanwhile, Marshall is in great shape, physically and attitude-wise. He's running around like a puppy (at 13). He still whines a lot when he wants something. When we've had enough, we tell him. Then he goes to take a nap in the bed. He's an enigma, wrapped in fur.

In the Ridiculous Coincidence department, we were overjoyed that the oppressive vet bills have ceased. Maybe the Flying Spaghetti Monster would visit for FSMas after all! But it was not to be... somehow the city heard that there might be some discretionary income and sent a huge bill for funds not taken out of my check by my awesomely alert employer.

Certain schools of thought state that we live many lives, each time to learn a lesson.  If this were true, this time around, I'm learning to value what I have, as something always manages to suck up every dollar I make. I'd let you know what I find out, but there seems to be inexplicable difficulties involved in communicating post-mortem.

• it's another one of those weird weeks. For the second week in a row, it wasn't raining when I took the trash out (at gunpoint). Something's up.
• Speaking of weird trash, I've got something wrong with me. At this point you're saying "and it took you this long to notice?" I am utterly incapable of putting things in bags. Sure, I can grab some fries and put them in a plastic bag, but if I have to put something in an open trash bag, I will wind up wearing it or cleaning it up off the floor. My wife wonders why I won't go near her if she's holding a bag open, asking me to dump something inside it.
• It doesn't matter if she's holding the bag open with a three foot radius - whatever I try to put in it will wind up everywhere but IN it.
• I have yet to ask the doctors what happens in childhood that would cause this, because I have much more pressing issues to discuss with them.
• Someone suggested it might be related to my lack of basketball skills, but I pointed out that I'm equally horrible at all sports.
• I can put things into other things.... in fact, it's my favorite hobby. No one ends up wearing it*, nor does it wind up on the floor.  *unless specifically requested
• Sometimes I wake up screaming in the middle of the night. It's because I just had a horrible nightmare about trying to put one small bag into a larger bag. Eager to help, my wife bought earplugs.

France just halted an auction of a manuscript by the Marquis de Sade, referring to it as a national treasure. Eh - national treasure... instruction manual... whichever.

• President Trump, and his cadre of Very Smart IT People, have officially blamed Wannacry on North Korea. North Korea's response, from King Kong very Ill, was, "Nyah nyah, you can't catch me, imperialist pig, with your hair even sillier than mine!"

I'm thinking of getting politically involved...

Where's the Other Half of my Dog?

It was getting to be time. In fact, it was past time. Marshall the Cocker went out for Halloween as JK Rowling's Hairy Cocker.  When you're unemployed, you have to cut things back; things like expensive groomers.

Speaking of Indians, why is it that certain groups grivitate toward certain occupations?  Both recent groomers have been gay Mexicans. No thank you, I don't want his nails painted (I am not making this up).  And all of the dentists in my neighborhood are Indian. And the PITA job recruiters are Indian.

My best job offer ever came in this week: would I like a three month contract in Montreal, Canada? Ummm.. no. I've had some real doozies, but Montreal?  At least stay in the same country, guy. Plus, as we all know, it's not polite to speak French in public, making this offer impolite and rude.

But enough about that topic. Whenever I say job, an angel gets shot out of the sky. Have you ever tried to get blood out of white wings? It's not happening, people.

So Marshall gets back from the groomer, half the dog he used to be. To be honest, he looks silly. And as if that weren't enough, they put a bandana around his neck.  Talk about rude!  My dog needs a bandana like the president needs a dunce cap.  No, wait a minute.. my dog needs a bandana like any dog needs a bandana. I've killed people for less. What's next - a bee costume?

Mind you, my wife thinks he looks cute. My wife also thinks I look cute: there's no acounting for taste.

Cat Food Ballet has gotten even worse at my house.  I think I've figured this out... the cat gets his food behind a door so Marshall doesn't nudge him out of the way and eat all of it himself. Poor Marshall has to stand on the other side of the door, waiting for the Cat Food Gods to open the door so he can lick out the bowl. Sometimes he sits there for ten minutes, cleaning the cat food bowl of every microscopic bit of its former contents.  It turns out that the cat purposely leaves some of his food in the bowl for the dog. We know he was raised with dogs but that doesn't even go halfway towards explaining this behavior. One day my wife watched the cat push a pizza box off the table so both of them could eat it. Everybody loves pizza in this house. So the cat and dog are co-conspirators: the old swatting and barking bit is just for show.

The cat is slowly training the wife and it's not pretty to watch.  Having his claws makes our life a bit more complicated, as he won't play with a cat toy, he prefers to use furniture. My wife used to let him outside when he started this and after a few days, he had her trained to let him out with a scratch. He also trained her to feed him on command. Whenever she goes into the kitchen, he races in there and sits by his bowl. If that doesn't produce food, he head-butts her leg and annoys the crap out of her until she produces the food.  Then, of course, he eats a bit and opens the door for the dog to come in and finish it. Sometimes he walks to the dog bowl and eats some of that, making the circle complete.


MAIL AND STUFF


Relatives are out of town for an event. My job has been to pick up mail and manage trash cans. Unfortunately I've proven pretty good at managing trash cans but I am terribly afraid to look for a job managing them. Plus I never wanted to be in management.  Unfortunately this golden effort has been sabotaged by the real trash guys, who failed to empty one can.  How am I going to tell my family, including She Who Must be Obeyed, that there was a Trash Can Emergency on my watch? It reflects very poorly upon me. What if they go away again and won't let me manage the cans? What about the mail - will I still be allowed to pick it up?

On the way to pick up the mail today, I asked Marshall if perhaps there were anybody who wanted to take a ride, perhaps in the car... he looked at me wide-eyed and ran halfway up the steps. No one knows why. So I asked him again and he got all excited, almost hovering above the step but still not coming off the step. Finally he moved when I picked up his leash.  It's almost as if he's very hopeful but not entirely certain so he wants to be asked a second time.  If my wife's napping and I have to go into the room, he follows and jumps onto the bad, making himself comfortable, usually on my pillow. When I leave, I tell him to follow me. He just sits there. So I have to close the door, at which point he leaps off the bed and I re-open the door so he'll come out. It's like COPS, when the police have to tell everybody twice to PUT YOUR HANDS UP.

After picking up the mail, I put on my seatbelt and took off. Definition of seatbelt: the thing that holds your dead body in the car after a crash. In PA, there is no motorcycle helmet law but there is a seatbelt law. Anyway, it's mighty uncomfortable in the car, largely because there's a leash there. On closer examination it appears that I somehow managed to put the seatbelt on through the leash. I couldn't do that again for a million dollars.

On the way home from the groomer's the other night, we got into the car and I noticed the passenger seatbelt warning light flashing.  Apparently I don't have the smart car, which shows a picture of a dog instead of a person on the flashing light.  Can't it tell the difference between a forty pound cocker spaniel and a... much heavier person? The wife made the mistake of leaving her Dunkin Donuts coffee cup in the console.  In a matter of seconds Marshall had the lid off and was face-down in the cup. I shooed him away, noticed the light turn green and in that second, he was back in the coffee. I yanked him out of the coffee and drove down the block and yanked him out of the coffee again. At this point I put the lid back on. And he took it off.  And I put my hand on the top of the cup, at which point he started trying to nudge my hand out of the way.  Trying to keep both of my hands on the wheel was most difficult, as I had to keep pulling him out of the coffee.

And how is the car, you ask?  [get ready...]
The car is fine, thank you. The house is fine too, thank you.
Why is everything fine?  Sage.
When one gets a house or car, a friend provides sage for something called Smudging. This is where you light the stuff and take it to every room in the house. You also see this is the Ghost Chaser tv shows, where they use it to cleanse the house of certain entities (you can choose to believe any of this or not). So Wifey smudged the house and, on the advice of a friend, did the car too.  And why not? At this point, I'm about ready to call a gypsy to wrap up ten thousand dollars and burn it to ward off the Evil Car Spirits.  When she was done, she put the mostly burned sage into a cat food can in the car, as an ashtray.  Fortunately we haven't been stopped by the police because it looks like a giant blunt.



IT'S IN THE BAG

Did you ever stop to notice how difficult it is to put stuff in bags?  Think really hard about this one, folks. Just try opening a fresh new trash bag, if you can. This is a major effort in itself, moreso if you're already holding something in the other hand. You wind up shaking it like mad and if it inflates, it makes a horrible noise, causing the cat to Go Elsewhere in haste.  If you somehow manage to get the bag open, you will require a phalanx of assistants to get whatever you're trying to get into the bag whilst simultaneously making certain that it's not landing on the floor.  It's veritably impossible, I tell you. Even with one assistant, it's a peach. He or she holds the bag open. You attempt to put the first item in the second bag. And you fail.  The seemingly open bag has now folded back up, in spite of your assistant's valiant work.

Again, the assistant opens the bag.  This time you're trying to put a bag inside a bag, which makes the task exponentially difficult to a degree incomprehensible even to Albert Einstein, which makes things even more difficult as the has the temerity to be dead.  Even if you get half of the bag into the bag, the other half with not fit or will wind up on the floor, taking the second bag (and possibly the assistant) to the floor with it.

One day I thought I won the war.  After a time or six trying to get something into a no-longer-folded bag, I succeeded.  I was joyous and thankful.  And when I turned to wash some dishes, the bag fell down on one side, spreading a disgusting substance all over the floor.  It was almost as if it performed some sort of acrobatic leap or possibly a suicide jump. Much mopping up and lots of screaming later, I had everything in the bag, as it were.

Going back to washing the dishes, I put a washed knife into the silverware drying rack, causing it to take a giant leap (for fork-kind) back into the sink. I carefully inspected the knife, thinking that it might still be dirty but no, it was perfectly clean. This must be related to the box of coffee k-cups we have on the shelf. It keeps hurling itself to the floor. Last time I put it where gravity couldn't get it and I actually heard it go to ground.  One day a friend walked by the dining room table and a glass hurled itself off the table. I had hoped that sage would have cured the leaping bit but apparently it did not.