The Fellowship
of the Bring is surrounded by sheep which they can’t move out of
the way because of the 35th Really Good
Idea.
“We have more problems,” said Lip Ton Tease, returning from his
shower entirely dry if not sweet smelling. “The sheep upstream are
urinating in the water.”
“This is all your fault heretic!”
“No, Uriculous” I said, “It’s yours.”
“Look,” said Lustavious. “I’m the Light Bringer which means
I can arbitrate fairly. It’s that bird’s fault. Let’s kill
it.”
“Catch me,” said Swampy taking flight and showing a remarkable
bowel capacity by the number of passes he was able to make crapping
on Lustavious. Lustavious thrust his finger into the air above his
head, his index finger impressively alight. Swampy farted into the
light and singed a few of Lustavious’ upper locks.
“This pitter patter won’t swoosh us from bah-bahs,” said Ono.
“I can’t sunbeam travel without a pristine shower,” said Tease.
Everybody looked at me.
“Look,” I said, “we could just push the sheep aside.”
“Sacrilege!” bellowed Akwar, who I thought had left.
“I’m already condemned,” I said. “I could do it.”
“Never!” harangued Akwar, who only harangued because she had
already bellowed earlier, and she needed to break it up a bit.
“Find another way, Destroyer,” said Jonma Claim.
“I don’t know,” I said. “We could try to make a tunnel.”
“I can dig,” said Jonma Carry who had been silent and immobile
since the night before. “I’m very good at throwing dirt.”
It wasn’t a boast. Jonma Carry was very good at throwing dirt.
The only problem was that the dirt seemed to land on people –
especially Jonma Claim, who spluttered and spasmed, and looked around
furiously for a third appropriate reaction beyond spluttering and
spasming.
“You could try snorting,” said Mage-e-not, who then disappeared
from the collar up after receiving a particularly disdainful glare.
“Glaring is good,” I offered. I didn’t get a sputter, spasm,
glare or snort for my suggestion. He saved his big ammo – his look
of derision, for me.
Two people stayed clean throughout the astonishing excavation. Lip
Ton Tease moved with dizzying speed, avoiding not only clumps, but
even specks of dirt as they flew from the tunnel. At one point, he
took out a fan, and by gently manipulating the wind currents, created
a clean hole in our increasingly muddy atmosphere, in which he stood
with serenity, and just a bit of monkish smugness.
Ono also stayed clean, entirely due to the efforts of Swampy, who
showed a remarkable athleticism smashing dirt clumps with his wings,
and redirecting them to Lustavious.
Akwar appeared one more time, received an impressively muddy deluge,
and disappeared. After that, I didn’t mind so much getting dirty.
I think Mage-e-not felt the same.
Jonma Carry dug deep into the earth, pausing only occasionally to ask
us to call him Jon. A tunnel five paces wide and hundreds of paces
deep formed, slanting down into the earth and under the surrounding
sheep army.
I went out to observe our besiegers. Just as Tease had said, they
stood in ranks, surrounding our little wood. Each beast stared in
our direction, not a single one of them flinched or shifted.
I had to agree with Lustavious. It was very unsheep-like.
“Destroyer!” shouted Jonma Claim. “We are leaving.”
“Is Jon all the way through?” I asked.
“No, but he has encountered someone we must speak to. We will all
stay together.”
Encountered someone? “Coming,” I said.
Chapter Non-Ten
The Nature of Satire
Headley here. I know it’s bad form to interrupt the flow of the
story, but I just want to make certain that you all remember that
this book is satire. That means I can make fun of ANYONE – even
Barry Manilow if I want (but who would dare?) and lawyers can’t
touch me.
Lawyers can’t touch me.
Lawyers can’t touch me.
Lawyers can’t touch me.
Lawyers can’t touch me.
I learned this trick from politicians. It’s called the BIG LIE.
If you want to tell a fib, no repetition is necessary. If you want
to tell something that is patently unjust or untrue, say it over and
over again, and presto… it’s true!
And we wonder why people don’t trust politicians.
Why aren’t these BIG LIES exposed? Refer to the The Use of
Satire by Headley Hauser. Go to Chapter 13, The BIG LIE
subsection NM (for News Media.)
Lawyers can’t touch me. (Times infinity plus infinity times
infinity to the power of infinity plus thirty-seven.) (As in
thirty-seven really good ideas.)
So now that the
spasm of disclaimer is over we can discover who Jonma Carry, who
prefers to be called Jon, discovered in a big hole in the ground.
But of course, we’ll have to wait till next Friday.
So recently the drive-time radio talk show host was talking about Big
Foot. He asked, (rhetorically, I think because nobody ever calls
in,) what mythical creatures do you believe in?
I believe in a mythical creature, but I didn’t call in, not wanting
to spoil the tone of desperation that makes local talk radio the
medium of choice for sadistic commuters.
“C’mon, give me a call! Do you believe in werewolves, vampires,
Loch Ness monster, Sasquatch? Call me because I have seven more
minutes to fill before traffic and weather!”
I don’t know about Sasquatch or Big Foot, or even how to tell the
difference between them, but there is one creature I heard about once
at scout camp, on a particularly dark night when the camp fire was
going out.
The honest politician…
Gives you the willies just hearing those words.
The older scout told us of a time when honest politicians roamed in
large herds across the east coast, from Maine to Georgia, with two
particularly large herds by the Potomac River where Maryland borders
Virginia. In order to ward them off, our nation’s leaders built a
large dome in our capital. Honest politicians don’t like domes or
anything, be it ceiling or argument, without clearly defined pillars
of support.
A few years after the Civil War, U.S. Grant, John D. Rockefeller, and
P.T. Barnam attempted to eradicate the species entirely, but a few
got past General Sherman as he pushed the herd into the sea. The
survivors hid among the buffalo, but the railroads hired Pinkertons
to hunt them to extinction.
I don’t believe they were all killed, but they haven’t been seen
within a gerrymander of D.C. in a hundred and forty years.
If you want to find them, here are a few hints.
1) Look in dark corners. They are sometimes found near town halls
during local debates. You can usually tell the honest from the
standard politician by his or her bloody nose, black eye, and
shredded pocket copy of the Constitution.
2) Listen carefully. Honest politicians don’t have a distinctive
call like Big Foot, but often they can be heard humming the tune to
I’m Just a Bill on Capitol Hill, and other School House Rock
favorites.
3) Sniff the air. Honest politicians might smell like bologna (as
lobbyists don’t feast them on steak and lobster,) but the bologna
is always fresh as opposed to rotten, or digestively processed –
the typical stench of standard politicians.
Doubters of Big Foot point out that nobody ever finds the remains of
a dead Big Foot in the woods. Supporters counter that Big Feet eat
their own. In a similar fashion, honest politicians are eaten
(sometimes after death,) by standard politicians that seek
credibility.
“I’m a Joe Schmoe brand candidate! Vote for me if you want
another senator like Joe Schmoe!”
Such claims are as close as standard politicians come to campaign
honesty. If you are what you eat, and the candidate ate Joe Schmoe…
That, if nothing else, is what keeps me believing in the mythical
honest politician. I’ll understand if you don’t agree.
As with all things political, it’s a lot to swallow.
October is considered horror-oriented
because it is the home of Halloween. Fair enough, but Halloween is
just the coup-de-grace of the month of terror. October is a prime
month for hurricanes. Sometimes the late ones are the worst - just
ask the people of South Carolina today.
It's also a bad month for
money. The stock market crash of 1929 was in October - as were
smaller crashes in 1987, 1989, 1997, 2002, 2007 and the big scare of
2008. (Thank you Wiki!)
Every even-numbered year, October is the
month when political goblins fill our entertainment programming with
political ads, and our voice mail with robo-calls.
I mean even the trees are freaked about this month.
Shudder. (That was meant to indicate that I was
shuddering, and not to demand or imply that you should shudder -
unless you're so inclined.)
As a service of Just Plain Stupid, I would love to offer
you reassurance and comfort as we dive into the second week of this
most perilous of months.
Really I’d love to...
But I'm too freakin' scared.
So instead, I offer these frightening images that my
so-called friends on FB have posted in an effort to rob me of sleep
and create inconvenient (and unpleasant to name,) digestive
disorders.
Misery (and terror) loves company.
Sure we have to worry about aliens
Monsters
And the specter of death
But even things that SEEM safe are dangerous.
Like food
Chewing gum
Even your couch!
Some dangers look cuddly
Some are nostalgic
Some even threaten Star Wars characters
Maybe the best thing to do is breath deeply - maybe take a walk in the woods.
Maybe not.
Warning: Those who went to Catholic school may find this video too intense.
Mary was a hard working farmer in the land of Monet. She raised carrots, and turnips, and lettuce, and squash. She had apple trees, and peach trees, and cherry trees too. In the same small town were Larry the carpenter, Shari the mechanic, Perry the artist, Kari the seamstress, Jerry the mechanic, and George the printer.
It was a friendly town, but they had one problem. Mary needed Larry to fix her barn, but Larry didn’t need carrots, or turnips, or lettuce, or squash. He didn’t need apples, or peaches, or cherries either. Larry needed his truck fixed and Mary didn’t know how to do that.
It got confusing giving apples to Perry, who painted a picture for Kari, who made shirts for Jerry, who fixed a truck for Larry, so that Larry would fix Mary’s barn.
That’s when Bonnie banker moved to town.
“You see,” said Bonnie, “all these problems will go away if you just use money.”
“Money?”
“That’s right,” said Bonnie Banker. “With money, you can pay for goods and services instead of trying to trade.”
“Where do we get this money.”
“I will provide it,” said Bonnie Banker.
So all agreed. It was easier to trade money than goods and services, and George the printer was especially happy, because Bonnie Banker paid him to print the money, even though she paid him with some of the money he just printed.
Now Mary, and Larry, and Jerry, and Kari, and Perry, and George had to work just a little bit harder because Bonnie the Banker didn’t produce a useful good or service. She just provided money.
That was all right; money solved problems.
But they still had problems. They disagreed about how much money each good or service should be worth.
That’s when Donny the Judge moved to town.
“You see,” said Donny, “all these problems will go away if you just have a civil court.”
“A civil court?”
“That’s right,” said Donny Judge, “with a civil court, a unbiased person will decide a fair settlement for each dispute.”
“Where do we get this civil court?”
“I will provide it,” said Donny Judge.
So all agreed. They let Donny Judge decide things, instead of wasting time arguing about how much money each good or service was worth. George the printer was happy because Donny Judge hired him to print lots of impressing sounding legal pronouncements.
Now Mary, and Larry, and Jerry, and Kari, and Perry, and George had to work a little bit harder because Bonnie the Banker and Donny the Judge didn’t produce useful goods or services. They just produced money and judgement.
That was all right; money and judgement solved problems.
But there were still problems. People had no idea what Donny Judge would decide before they went to civil court.
That’s when Ronny Politician moved to town.
“What you need,” said Ronny, “is a set of laws.”
“Set of laws?”
“That’s right,” said Ronny Politician, “with a set of laws you will know in advance how Donny Judge will decide his cases, because his guidelines will be written down on paper.”
“Where will we get this set of laws?”
“I will provide it,” said Ronny Politician.
Now, not everyone was sure they needed this set of laws, or another unproductive person in their community, but Ronny Politician produced his set of laws anyway, and George the printer was paid more money that he had printed in his shop, so he could print a set of laws.
Now Mary, and Larry, and Jerry, and Kari, and Perry, and George had to work harder because Bonnie the Banker, Donny Judge, and Ronny Politician didn’t produce useful goods and services. They just produced money, judgement and laws.
That was all right; money, judgement, and laws solved problems.
Didn’t they?
Then Connie the Lawyer moved into town. She didn’t ask permission, she just moved in, and if anyone wanted Donny Judge to give him or her justice, they had to pay money to Connie Lawyer.
So Mary, and Larry, and Jerry, and Kari, and Perry, and George were working very hard because of Bonnie, Donny, Ronny and Connie…
Tawny moved into town. No one really knew what she did, but she demanded that George print more money, so that she could move that money around. A lot of the money ended up with Ronny Politician.
“What is it Tawny does?” Mary Farmer asked George the Printer.
“I’m not sure what she does,” said George, “but she calls herself a lobbyist.” George couldn’t answer any more questions, because he was very busy printing laws, and legal pronouncements, and bank statements, and petitions, and money – lots and lots of money. Money was pouring out of the back of George’s print shop, and getting swept up by Bonnie, Donny, Ronny, Connie, and Tawny.
It was just as well that George couldn’t answer, because Mary had to get to work. She saw Perry on the way outside George’s print shop. He looked sad.
“What’s wrong, Perry?”
“George won’t print my pictures and poems and stories and photos.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have enough money to pay him to do it,” said Perry, “and besides, George is too busy printing money.”
That’s when Mary noticed that even though there was lots of money getting printed, she didn’t have very much of it. Neither did Perry, Kari, Larry, or Jerry.
Mary almost didn’t notice when Lonny the investment broker moved into town. The reason Mary almost didn’t notice was because he only spent time with people with money. The people with money were Bonnie, Ronny, Connie, Donny, and Tawny.
Ronny, Connie, Bonnie, Donny, Tawny, and Lonny hired Larry to build them big homes that they stuffed with money, but they didn’t give him very much for his work.
Ronny, Connie, Bonnie, Donny, Tawny, and Lonny hired Jerry to fix their big cars that cost lots of money, but they didn’t give Jerry very much for his work.
Ronny, Connie, Bonnie, Donny, Tawny, and Lonny hired Perry to fill their homes with art. They sold the art back and forth to each other for lots of money, but they never paid Perry very much for his work.
Ronny, Connie, Bonnie, Donny, Tawny, and Lonny hired Kari to make them wonderful clothes. They called the clothes, high fashion, and valued them for lots of money, but they never paid Keri much for her work.
Ronny, Connie, Bonnie, Donny, Tawny, and Lonny bought lots of food from Mary. They bought far more than they could ever eat, and called it gourmet, which meant it was worth lots of money. But they never paid Mary very much for it.
“How did this happen to us?” asked Jerry.
“They don’t produce anything,” said Keri.
“They don’t help us,” said Perry.
“But they couldn’t live without us,” said Larry.
“I don’t understand it either,” said Mary, “but I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either!” said Jerry, and Keri, and Perry, and Larry, all at once.
“It’s all because we needed something to exchange for goods and services,” said Mary. “If we went to George and had him print a different money – money that we control, then they would all go away.”
“YES!” said Jerry, Keri, Perry, and Larry.
And so, together, they went to George’s print shop, but it wasn’t like they remembered it. There were hundreds of people swarming all around it. They were clerks, accountants, tax preparers, and collectors. There were comptrollers, and auditors, underwriters, and risk analysts. There were investigators and regulators, financial advisors, and retirement specialists. They were all so busy doing things that looked important, but as far as Mary, Jerry, Keri, Perry, and Larry could see, they were things that didn’t help anyone.
They moved money; they inspected money; they counted money; the argued about money. They shouted, laughed, cried, and drooled over money. The town was buried under a great mountain of money spewing from George’s print shop, and no matter how much money poured out, all these busy people kept shouting, “print more money!”
Mary, Jerry, Keri, Perry and Larry went into the print shop. There was George, drenched in sweat, feverishly printing money as fast as he could.
“George!” shouted Mary. “You need to stop! You’ll have a heart attack if you keep working so hard.”
“I know,” said George, “but they want more money. I have to print more money.”
“More money!” shouted the people outside. It sounded like there were twice as many people as there were when Mary, Jerry, Keri, Perry and Larry first came in.
“But George,” said Mary. “These people aren’t helping anyone. They don’t make food, or fix cars. They don’t make clothes, or build houses. They don’t create art, or even print. If you stop printing money, they will all go away, and leave us in peace.”
“But then what will we do?” asked George as he shoveled great piles of money out his back door. “We’ll be back to trading like we were before.”
“More money!” shouted the people outside. The shout was so loud that the rafters shook in George’s print shop.
“No we won’t,” said Mary. “We can print our own money, a very small amount of money, just for us – just for people that do useful things.”
“More money!” shouted the people outside and the floors trembled in George’s print shop.
George stopped printing. He looked at Mary, Keri, Perry, Larry, and Jerry. “You’re my friends,” said George. “What you say is a good idea.”
“Yes!” said Mary, Keri, Jerry, Larry, and Perry.
“But I can’t do it,” said George.
“Why not?”
And George pointed to a very small pile of money. It was so small that it was hard to see in his print shop full of money. It was a really tiny pile of money, but it was different than all the other money in the print shop, because on this tiny pile of money, was a little label that read, ‘George’s money.’
“You see,” said George. “If I do what you say…
My money will be worthless.” Here's a documentary. Okay, it's not funny, but it's on subject.
Having another Tee Shirt post is like when you have canned chili 6
days in a row because you can’t figure out what else to fix for
dinner.
What it means is that I’ve gotten another wonderful issue of Things you never knew existedin my mail box. I sure appreciate the
fine folks that I never knew existed for sending me this catalog –
especially as I’ve never ordered from them.
What I have done is rip off their Tee Shirt slogans and put them on
this blog. Here's the best from them (that I haven't already ripped off in a previous post.)
People keep pointing this shirt out to me for some reason.
Now with 20% more nitrogen!
Still waiting on the punch line
And here's some from other sources
I knew God created hockey
Sorry clown fans... Are there any?
So sweet - maybe due to diabetes
That's the spirit
This last group is from a tee shirt trend of making the body part of the message. A lot of those won't pass the decency test (I failed that twice.) Here are the cleaner ones.
Nerd-dom free from the weight of tie and pocket protector!
Way to go!
Hurts to look at.
Last couple are for the insufferable.
As long as that means I can go away.
VW did a bunch of these videos. This is my favorite.
