Your Monthly Minor Media Mangling of Misanthropic Mastication

 Your love is like monkeys flinging poo

What will be revealed in the latest government UFO/UAP Dog and Pony Show?

That Biden forgot how to spell UFO? No.

The truth. 

Ok, some form of the truth.

Damn near a tiny part of the truth, at least.

Can you imagine? 

• alien ships creating traffic jams by flying over congested areas in great numbers. Rubberneckers taking time to stare, making morning commute even more ridiculous. Assholes find out that when you beep angrily at saucers, the occupants stop, get out, and blast you with their ray gun. You ain't comin home tonight, idiot. Traffic gets much more polite.
• aliens becoming integrated into society. Even they laugh at hip facial hair and man buns.
• abductions take place in the open, aliens admit anal probes were a joke.
• aliens charged for cattle mutilations
• aliens demand to be recognized as alien-Americans
• world hostilities stop. Except for China, of course.
• aliens discover alcohol, fail at one-nighters due to equipment incompatibilities.
• saucers start to display bumper stickers - No Fat Blezamps, My Other Car is a Ford, If You Can Read This, You're in Black Projects, I Heart Roswell

Almost related: Can you imagine the first manned trip to Mars when Astronaut #3 forgets his cigarettes? It will be the 1st time a ship ever turned around (at the cost of $2 billion). Everybody wants to grow lettuce on Mars - he wants to grow tobacco. When asked about filters, he says, "Filters are for sissies" (in John Wayne's voice). He gets put in the cargo hold during landing because he keeps asking "ARE WE THERE YET - I NEED A CIG." He gets his own tent because no one else wants to smell like an ashtray. Wipes out the Martians after he teaches them to smoke. When told about this, he says, "Oh man, that's heavy - I need a cigarette." Rest of the astronauts feel superior because they all have NASA blunts. He can't leave Mars for Earth because he's almost out of cigarettes and can't bring his tobacco plants on the ship. The others are terrified of him losing his lighter, because he'll wander outside the ship and use the afterburners to light up.

• The tobacco companies didn't know this shit was addictive like the CIA didn't know crack was addictive.

Today I identify as  screwed

• a fire broke out the other day, in a Washington, DC, Green Zone. The fire was quickly warned to disburse, and when it failed, it was shot and pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. Trump was blamed for fanning the flames.
• The National Guard hopes this serves as a warning to all who plan violence in the area.

Mainstream or Pr0n?:  Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Eat Good Fat, I'm Not Hanging Noodles on Your Ears, Shaft, Inside Phuket Airport

• didja ever break into a lost one's apartment and stay there for a while cuz you missed them? 
• No, not me, I swear. I prefer to wear a piece of their clothing. Like their underwear. This is why I always chose girlfriends who were the same size as me.
• I broke up with somebody once (just once). She'd ignore me then call me to come pick her up somewhere. When I got there, she wasn't around. Then she'd tell me I needed to leave her alone. I think she broke into someone's apartment.

You have no choice but to watch Big Pharma commercials. One of the side effects they tell you to look for is a rash on the perineum, which is the patch of skin between your anus and front-facing plumbing. How in the universe do oral medicines put a rash there? Why is that exact spot important? How can you get people to check it for you? 

Have no worry, fair readers, because you are among the most well-informed readers on the planet. Just in case you aren't intimately familiar with perineal issues, here is a search, complete with pictures (pitchers or pixtures if you live in Philly).

One of the causes is Stevens Johnson Syndrome, named after 2 dudes named Stevens and Johnson, who were the guys who discovered it. Not wanting to have their names associated with this nasty business, they used fake names (although we happen to know their names are Robert Johnson and James Stevens). According to the literature, Stevens Johnson can be caused by anything from sneezing too hard to truck driving to really serious anal sex, and I mean serious. The thrust here, and I am not referring to anal sex, is that this is Really Nasty, and you should get your perineum to the hospital ASAP.

Next week: why search engines mix up perineum with perianal 

Dear lefty 

• In class today, Teacher handed out samples of a food we were discussing. I got nothing, even after some got seconds. What do Good Manners call for?
• ask the teacher if you somehow became invisible, rip the seconds out of the others' hands, clap the erasers over the teacher's samples, or simply whizz on the floor. I guarantee you this will never happen again
• sometimes you need to make a bold statement to be remembered. In that case, find the biggest student in class and whizz on him. This will raise your place in the pecking order and cement your social status

Today the Russians hacked into my bank, but failed to raise my balance. They listed my penis as 8" on the bank form, so I have that going for me.

• On Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love," the first phrase of the guitar lead is the melody from "Blue Moon."

Working from home has required very few adjustments. From me.

I cannot say the same for Others. In fact, sometimes Others make me want to go back to the office.

Today's meeting topic is...

[5 year old who everybody knows sings beautifully] La la LA LA LA lalala

I'm in a MEETING!

Oh, sorry.

And Bob will be telling us about...

BARK BARK BARK BARK

Using Microsoft Teams...

La La La lalalala

No, really, I'm in a meeting.

Oh, sorry.

...and sending a meeting invitation to...

CLANG BANG BOOM BOOM POP BARK BARK BARK BARK

STILL in a meeting.

I wasn't singing, I was cleaning.

Sometimes you clean louder than garbage trucks.

This way we'll all be able to attend...

YEAH, RIGHT, MEN ARE SCUM AND YOU GET WHAT YOU DESERVE.

Can you please not yell at the tv?

Was I yelling? If I don't tell them, how will they know? LOOK AT THAT HAIR! CAN YOU IMAGINE?

Technology is amazing, and you can find an answer to most of your problems. I bought one of those ON AIR signs to light up when I'm in a meeting. It was a tremendous idea, which I now realize will fail spectacularly...

Hi, what should I do with these pencils?

[pointing to ON AIR sign]

Oh, sorry. I didn't look.

Lalalalala, La la...

[pointing to ON AIR sign]

Oh, sorry. I forgot.

Oh, sorry. I didn't see the piercing red sign blinking at eye-level.

Oh sorry. The dog distracted me.

I saw the sign, but I needed to know about the pencils!

I'm thinking of adding Remote Shock capability to the sign, so the 2nd time it hears noise, it shocks the person (not the dog) making the noise. Ok, maybe a mechanical buzzer-thing to scare the crap out of them. Technically speaking, my job makes the pencils a reality, knowwhatimsayin? 

• for any of you curious about bipolar disorder, 1 days it's bed the whole day. The next day it's 6 hours of singing and yelling at the tv. Fortunately it's well-controlled.

So we all know not to judge a book by its cover, right?  I just found a concert video station and tune in to see what's on now and then. I noticed whenever I see man buns, shaved sides of heads, or fancy facial hair, the music absolutely sucks. I'll be sure to let you know if I see man buns and the music's great, ok? I'd strongly advise against extensive breath-holding.

Ask 12 musicians and you'll get 12 answers as to which is the lowest form of music. I have endless lowest forms of music, but combine lowest forms of music with movies and you have a recipe for disaster: yes, the musical. Even the dog hates musicals.

I remember watching the movie with L.A. in its title, because everybody was raving about it. Someone asked a question, and BANG - off it went into song. It got no better and was stopped 5 minutes in. I am particularly upset that there was no kind of warning before the movie, like WARNING: in case you didn't know, this is a MUSICAL. Act accordingly. You should probably watch Airplane again, like you always do. They label movies, why not a musical warning?

I should probably love movies, being a musician, but.... they make my skin fall off. A character can answer with a syllable or 2, without breaking into song. Especially when the song sucks. Hmm... this could also explain my dislike of musicals. How about if we develop a rating system for them?

1. at maximum, 1 song. Still tasteful.
2. over 2 songs - definitely getting uncomfortable.
3. it's a full blown musical - AVOID!

I have a good friend who performs in musicals. They have to load me up with liquor and give me a bullet to bite down on, so I don't interrupt the show. Then they whisk me to the car as soon as the show is done, so I don't tell my friend what I think of musicals. Mrs lefty, a very clever woman, says the key to living with me is learning to manage me. It cuts way down on her embarrassment and I'm too stupid to notice, so it's a win-win.  

Related, but not, is the invasion of music into tv shows, generally at the end, before the credits. It started relatively recently and created howling. If you don't believe me, go to your window and open it at the end of a popular show. Listen for the howling. Aren't you surprised? Any shows having music before the end are to be completely avoided, plus a letter to the show, producers, and tv network sent. Tell them we're going to Cancel the show if they keep putting songs in it. Other groups Cancel things for racism or whiny complaints about how someone offended them. We cancel for a real, present danger to the American public: songs in tv shows. Lucifer, the actual devil on earth, does not require music to do his satanic thing. It doesn't help the characters resolve their inner conflicts. It doesn't even help them achieve bowel movements when slightly constipated.

I will not even begin to go into shows being 24 minutes long, to make room for the inane commercials. There are special boxes and software to compress shows to exactly this amount of time to fit. It's pretty damn funny that after 6 minutes of inane commercials, I cannot remember 1 of them, nor what they were for.  Oh, the one where the guy is on the beach? That's pretty funny. What's it for? I have no idea. I think they were selling emus.

Chester Bennington - RIP - and Suicide

This is my maudlin, whiny plea after someone kills himself.

Just a short time after the suicide of Chris Cornell, we learn that Chester Bennington (singer - Linkin Park, STP) hung himself.  ThermionicEmissions sends condolences to family, friends, and fans... we're sorry for your loss. Chester was 41 and left behind six children, from two different wives.

My friend in the music industry says it's partially the industry's fault. I'm not sure if I subscribe to the theory but hear it out and draw your own conclusions. He says the artists are allowed and encouraged to go their own way, regardless of possible harm... this makes money for everybody.  The handlers and those around the artist should be aware of self-destructive tendencies, as well as signs of depression, and act accordingly. I agree with this part.

We could all benefit from learning signs and symptoms. Depression is a terrible, painful thing, and it affects many more than you think. Much like with alcohol and drugs, you cannot fix the problem - the person has to be willing. This does not mean you can't be there to listen or maybe urge them toward help just a little.


If you're thinking of hurting or killing yourself...

Stop.
Back it up a second.

Did you know you don't have to feel like this?
A lot of people grow up with this, not knowing it's not normal. They just feel like shit. Eventually they or someone recognizes it and they get some help.

Yeah, help.
If it's an emergency, call the National Suicide Hotline 1-800-273-TALK (8255). Maybe even if it's not. They have people you can talk to who can help you out and direct you to other resources.

If you have family, talk to them. Maybe they can lend a hand - or an ear.
Talk to your friends. One of them might be depressed or know someone who is. There are online support communities. Misery loves company.

Your county/city has a mental health office. If you can't find it, call the county or city main line and ask them. They're there to help you.

It's time to see someone. Someone who sees this all day long, every workday. You are not the only one to feel this way. Through talk and possibly meds, you can feel better.


You may think that everyone's better off without you...

You're wrong.
You're in a lot of pain now and it might be hard to hear but you're wrong.
Do you have family? Friends? A significant other? A pet? Online buddies? Somebody you chat with at the store?

You are going to leave a trail of devastation in your wake.

You might think it's just a little adjustment for them and they'll go on.
You're wrong.
Death isn't one and done: death is forever. It stays with you and you never get over it.

Try something for me, please: pick someone you love. A parent, grandparent, brother, sister, good friend, dog...  they can be living or not. Put just the two of you in a room. Now look them in the eye and tell them you are going to kill yourself. Wait a moment and listen to their answer. You are going to leave a trail of devastation in your wake.  Do you want that?


Yes, Mr. Know-it-All...

My wife suffers from a number of chronic illnesses; among them, bipolar disorder. When she gets depressed, sometimes it doesn't stop there and heads straight for the depths of hell. This resulted in suicide attempts. Through proper medication and therapy, she learned to at least be alert to her feelings. If she starts thinking about hurting herself, she goes to the hospital, where she hangs out until the urge passes and she learns some new coping skills.

Let's talk about devastation.
One day, a long time ago, my wife had to go to the hospital. She awoke in the emergency room, hooked up to all sorts of machines. She was terrified. Then she looked around the room at her best friend and her husband, who didn't know if she was going to make it. They were a wreck. She thought of her family, including a sister who fell and died, and the effects on the family. Right then, she swore there would be no more of this. She was in pain, but never really experienced the effects her actions would have on those around her.

I don't like talking about any of this but maybe it will help someone.
I felt miserable most of my life. It wasn't right. Well into adulthood it finally hit me: I wasn't supposed to feel this way (not very quick on the draw, am I?).  I was diagnosed with depression. It took a while to get the meds right, during which I got pretty low. I could sit in a chair for days, angry or sad or generally miserable, unable to do much of anything that involved getting off the chair. I would never hurt or kill myself.. it's not remotely possible. But at that time, I understood why people killed themselves. Fortunately I don't go there anymore.

Please learn from our experience. Please read it again if you're not convinced. Reach out.. you have absolutely nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Bipolar Disorder Has Captured My Soul

See - it isn't so easy updating songs to new names for old disorders.  What I'm told is an excellent description of the disorder is rendered by Stone Temple Pilots.

When tax records are requested, Al Sharpton tends to have mysterious fires. There's an old joke about convenient building fires being Jewish Lightning.  Google will not let me type this name, so let's call it Sharpton Lightning,

I've often said that a great deterrent is worth twice the punishment. Utah wants to bring back the firing squad, which is cool, but I was thinking of public flogging or the stocks.

Many of our nation's and world's problems can easily be overcome by one solution: fear. Take this fine example of how to fix the schools issue.

Because we all know that taking a power saw to a baby's neck is an unspeakable act, you will all be happy to note that, according to autopsy, the baby was already dead when the power saw was employed. 

Communist Party leaders are afraid that the Dalai Lama will not have an afterlife. Worried enough that this week, officials repeatedly warned that he must reincarnate, and on their terms. Now there is a party with some power.

Meth lab found in Walmart. Explosion in aisle 3. That certainly explains a lot.


Forensic experts in Italy said Thursday they had reconstructed the DNA of a national war hero and poet by analysing semen he left on a handkerchief given to a lover 100 years ago. The gift of semen is timeless.

Doctors perform first successful penis transplant. Note: this is not a Hillary joke.

It's springing outside. There is not only sunshine but damn near fifty-some degrees outside. This is almost bikini weather, although perhaps not for me.  Apparently spring fever has sprung, judging from the sights on the way home today.  Maybe it's the weather, maybe it's Dairy Queen, I don't know.

So there we are, parked at Dairy Queen because we decided that we couldn't live without a malt (yes, a MALT) to keep us from eating dinner til ten tonight.  There was a curious mixture of skinnies and fatties. Was it an old Supreme Court justice who said "I can't define obscenity but I can recognize it when I see it"? If he could have seen what I saw, he'd tell you he was fortunate to be dead.  This sixty-something lady, who was extremely well-endowed in the buttocks and legs, was wearing bright white yoga pants with floral patterns all over them, like a walking, misshapen drapery.

While watching the fauna, the dog, firmly standing on my lap, was watching the ice cream go by. He really likes ice cream and malts. In fact, there is a very small list of things he doesn't like. He was watching people, hoping they'd drop off a cone or shake for him. He remained horribly disappointed. Meanwhile I was taking in the occasional bit of MILFy goodness and some not-so-MILFy goodness. There was an awful lot of traffic, which turned out to be driven by free cones. The dog was pissed.

Then I saw the cherry on top of the sundae....  an approximately ten-year-old girl and her friends, all in Catholic school uniforms.  The young lady in question had the biggest thighs I have ever seen, on a ten-year-old or a forty-year old. And she was wearing a uniform that featured a moderately short skirt. It was horrifying, especially when she sat down.  When she walked, I could hear the sound of sandpaper rubbing against itself.  I grew up near a Catholic school whose graduation picture featured many students in pregnancy uniforms.  Is it presumptuous to wonder about a fat uniform? A burka, perhaps?

Sorry, I'm feeling a bit irked today.

The dog, however, got really interested while I held the two malts. He kept trying to arch his tongue to get through the little hole in the dome top of the malt.  He succeded, to the amusement of my wife. She stopped laughing when I told her the dog had eaten her whipped cream.  And when we were done, Marshall got the cup, which he spent fifteen minutes worshipping and removing the top from.

What's Black and Scrubs Your Back?

Martin Loofa.
[timely, no?]


So I have a new job.  More on that later.

The real excitement is depression.  Let me rephrase that... two solid months of depression.  Let me embellish. My dear wife has gone through two solid months of depression. Folks with bipolar disorder tend to swing from manic to depressed (Manic Depression - Jimi Hendrix). Two months of depression is really rather a lot. For anyone. In fact, it's unprecedented here.  After a brief conversation with the psychiatrist, it was time to take a trip to....

THE HAPPY PLACE

Yes, the Happy Place<tm>. Otherwise known as The Booby Hatch. Funny Farm. Loony Bin. Madhouse. Laughing Academy. Etc.  I'm kinda shocked at all the synonyms for this. I'm kinda unhappy too, as I like to refer to our house as The Madhouse.

It's not what you think it is.  Or maybe it is, depending on what you think.  Over the years, there have been a few trips there, little with any real comedy potential.  Generally, things are pretty calm. This time we hit the jackpot.

There are many units there, for people with different disorders and capabilities. This one seemed fairly nice.  I was allowed two one-hour visitations per day (this would have worked better when I was unemployed, not that I'm nostalgic or anything). When I got there, I was introduced to Nina, a very nice girl. Ten minutes later, Nina handed us a note. It said we were a great couple and that Jesus loved us. We should play the lottery precisely because Jesus loves us.

Uh-oh.

Then there was Sara, an eighty year old lady with one of those diseases that makes you shake. She would get so angry at her hands for shaking that she'd yell horrible things at them. Anatomically impossible things. As a result, she scared the poop out of most people (except for my wife, of course). There was also Julio, the Manic Hispanic. Julio is a great kid but apparently under-medicated. They were watching DVDs and Julio was reciting the lines along with the characters. Loudly.  Mania and noise have a negative effect on me so we moved to the next room.

In the next room, we were serenaded by Vicky the Snorer.  We'd get a word or two out and then [SNORE] and a few more words [SNORE]. A nurse interrupted her slumber to let her know that this was not good behavior. She agreed and quickly resumed snoring.

Nina came back and asked if we had read the letter.  Apparently Nina had written a letter to everybody, including the staff and visitors, about Jesus.  I think most of them knew already, so it got to be annoying.  I told my wife that they had better explain that this was not acceptable before someone with less understanding than me (really?) popped her in the nose.

Today's visit started with Nina asking if she could sit with me until my wife returned. With all of the goodness I could muster, I said yes.  She actually got an entire sentence out before she mentioned Jesus. If we weren't at the Happy Place<tm>, I would have brought out my inner Satan. She was good enough to leave when my wife came back.

Shortly before I arrived, Nina flipped out on her group, which upset everyone. I suspect they finally decided to send her to the Jesus Ward.  A further person debated me on how great a president Obama is. I had to keep reminding myself to behave. Of course she was arguing this point - the lady was in the mental ward.

If you're still following this, you probably have one question: how did they allow me to leave?
No, the other question: how is my wife.

Thanks for asking - she's pretty good, all things considered.

FALLOUT

You're probably asking yourself what's been going on at the house while Mom's in the hospital.
Glad you asked.

The real loony bin is the house.  The pets have taken full advantage of the situation. Marshall has taken to waking me at obscene hours of the morning to go outside. Mind you, this only happens when Mommy goes away. So far he's gotten me up at 5, 3 and 7 on alternating days. Here I am, all set to sleep late (job starts at 8am) and the little monster decides to play Fun with Daddy.

I thought I got away with ignoring him the first time but he showed me: he got into something and had diarrhea. The other times were just for fun.  Ever have to keep watch on a dog at 3am, so he doesn't run around the side of the house and bark? In the freezing cold? Naked?

As I mentioned a while back, the cat is diabetic, so he needs insulin shots. Unfortunately his daddy doesn't do needles, so a brave family member stops by to Dart the Cat. Unfortunately the brave family member lost my keys, so the cat missed a day or two. As a result, he's been rewarding me by peeing all over the house. Naturally I found this out the hard way. We actually have puppy pee pads two feet from his litter box because he likes going there for some reason. This is by his Southern Litter Box. The Northern Litter Box is near the kitchen. He avoids that one by peeing on the rug near the sink, which is how I discovered there was a problem. Ever do dishes and wonder if you spilled water, only to discover that it wasn't water? Yeah, that.

Marshall won't eat his food when nobody's home, although he will dive right for cat food, so I know he's not sick. He also goes Fishing for Treasure in the Cat Box, a game nobody wants to watch. To change things up, he 'helped' me clean the rug yesterday. I had to clean the rug because every time I clean the rug, he magically makes tissues appear, then shreds them all over the rug.  So he helped me clean by continually sticking his nose in the bag I used for picking up the detritus from the last time he shredded. He really seemed to enjoy that bag. After I got home later that evening, he had gotten into my work bag and consumed three fruit bars, shredding the silver wrappers all over the rug. Mind you, there was not a single crumb of fruit bar - only wrapper.

KMART

On the way to the Happy Place<tm>, I was ordered to stop at KMart and pick up a few games and puzzles for the folks.  Happy to contribute, I unhappily stopped at KMart. Unhappily because KMart is a hell hole. Every time I go there, there are unbelievable lines at the cashier. Apparently putting more than one or two cashiers at registers physically hurts management, so they make sure there aren't enough cashiers at any single time.

The parking lot had so few cars in it, I wondered if they were even open. After locating everything I was ordered to procure (coloring books are with office supplies and puzzles are with toys), I made my way to pay for them, with just enough time to get to the hospital.

Heh heh heh.
I had forgotten where I was.

There were exactly two lanes open, one of which had customers bailing out. The register must have started spitting out lungs or bullets or whatever KMart registers spit out (anything but register tape or change). People were fleeing the aisle with arms full of boxes and bags.

I was in the other lane, which had inexplicably ground to a halt, for no apparent reason.  Ah, I thought to myself.. I'm at KMart. This is precisely why I don't go there, not even with my wife.  Several millenia later, there was only one person in front of me. By this point, I had given up on seeing my wife on time.  The lady in front of me had one tiny little box (of fiber bars, don't ask), so this was a slam dunk.

Not so fast, Coloring Book Boy.

The register had stopped spitting out register tape, so the guy allegedly operating the register called a halt to operations (how could one tell?) and threaded the paper into the machine.  Or rather, he tried to thread the tape through the machine. He seemed to be a fairly competent cashier, which should have made me suspicious in the first place, so I figured I was in the right line for once. However, the simple act of putting new paper in the register was obviously beyond his meager capabilities. He kept jamming it in, folding it, ripping it and completely failing to get the paper through the slot.  I suggested if perhaps he hit it, REALLY HARD, that might help.  After a few more failed tries, I told him that I was going to hit it REALLY HARD. I even reached out to help him.

A small cheer went through the line as the cashier finally succeeded in putting more paper in the blasted machine. Fiber Lady paid with some sort of loyalty card and, as a result, somehow wound up getting fourteen receipts (I was terrified the paper would run out again) AND a whole lot of change that required meticulous counting out.

Sweaty and nervous, I stepped up to the plate (my only sports metaphor for the year). Register D00d got me checked out in record time, although he bagged stuff up and never exactly told me how much I owed. Having eventually gotten that out of the way, I ran to the car and took off.

When I got to the hospital, I noticed something was missing. Yes, Register D00d had somehow managed to keep one of the coloring books for himself and I somehow managed to not notice it til an hour later. WHY DID I EVER GO TO KMART?


So yeah, I have a new job.
I'll tell you about it next time.