As the gun control debate rages on in the wake of multiple high profile mass-casualty public shootings, we're going to repost a transcript of an interview we did recently which illustrates the complexity of the issue.
Our guest today is Bumbles, The Clown. He's a children's entertainer in a western U.S. state who has asked us not to divulge his actual name for security reasons. Bumbles is at the heart of a controversy in his community over his recent decision to begin carrying weaponry he says he needs to defend himself from possible assaults. Some of his clients have objected to the hardware and the customary battle lines have been drawn.
Bumbles, thank you for coming today,
Thank you, I appreciate the opportunity to speak with you.
How long have you been a clown?
Professionally, 17 years, But I started performing for fun when I was about 13.
You do parties and such?
Birthday parties, lots of kids' parties. But I also do retail promotions for businesses, community street festivals, parades, things like that. I did a funeral once for a guy who wanted to tweak his family after he was gone. But, mostly parties.
You've come to this interview in costume and full make-up.
Yes, this is what I wear to my performances.
Since this is an audio-only interview, may I ask to you describe what you look like?
Oh, sure. I'm 6'6" tall, including the 4" tall size 38 platform shoes and the multi-coloerd acrylic wig. My outfit is a standard Bozo "Infinea 3500" model clown suit with classic "J"-style buttons and custom color-coordinated hand-sewn edging on all seams. My makeup, a modern interpretation of the classic whiteface style, is registered with the International Clown College Makeup Database under ID#686516848.
You've described your clown appearance for us, but it's your... accessorizing that's caused a bit of controversy in your community, the identity of which you've asked me not to disclose on the air.
Right. well, there are some legal issues involved and my lawyer asked me to just hold back on the location for now.
How would you describe the controversy?
About 18 months ago, I was mugged on my way to the car after a gig. After that incident, I decided to protect myself against future such incidents and began carrying a concealed .38 caliber revolver inside my costume.
You had a concealed carry permit?
I was legally carrying the gun. That's all I can say at this time.
And no one at the parties knew you had the gun?
It was concealed so...
Presumably the controversy didn't start with a concealed handgun. What happened to make it a public issue?
Well, I started to realize that with the costume being what it is, I wouldn't necessarily have ready access to a weapon in the event I needed it to protect myself. So, I began to add some hardware that increased my firepower while also making it easier to access.
Ok, so describe what you're wearing now, in addition to your traditional billowy white and multi-colored polka dotted clown costume.
First, I have two Gluck 9mm semi-automatic pistols with 17 round clips under each arm. The holsters and the guns are dyed and powder-coated white to blend in with the clown costume. Then I have a pistol-grip, 9" barrel close quarters urban combat 8 round Colletti Bros. model UC12 pump action 12 gauge shotgun in an over-the-shoulder-access carbon-fiber custom-molded quick-release competition back bracket. I have a 14" Malaysian Special Forces field machete strapped to my left leg and a 9" Carrington SpecOps model T140 carbon steel stealth bayonet strapped to my right leg. Inside my left sleeve I have a spring-loaded Bicklemaster deployment slide carrying a 9 shot .380 semiautomatic titanium-billet JW&P compact pistol and inside my left sleeve I have another Bicklemaster that deploys a similar 7 round high-compression polymer JW&P pistol racking 8 .357 magnum hollow-point "Elephant Stoppers". I wear a ProtecTech kevlar gut & groin protector that doubles as a case for a short muzzle Spec9 fully automatic .32 cal machine pistol with fold-out stock and 2 reversible high-cap 43 round magazines with a combined capacity of 87 rounds which can be fired in less than 15 seconds in fully auto mode.
What's in the pouches around your waist?
I have 2 250ml canisters of NATO Cat4 CS Gas Crowd Dispersant Aerosol, 22 sets of plastic hand and leg restraint zipties, a Soviet Marine Corps foldup Poison Gas head shield, 2 flash-bang grenades, 2 smoke bombs, two Perimeter Corp 152db compressed gas-powered 30 second shriekers, 4 oz of C4 plastic explosive, 3 feet of blasting cord, 2 butane igniters and 75 feet of mil-grade camo paracord, plus several items I'm not at liberty to disclose.
And what's that attached to the machete handle?
My lucky rabbit's foot.
Well... You're prepared for anything.
I hope so. I do enjoy tinkering with my rig trying different components, adding in, taking out, but, yes, this is the basic set-up.
The reaction of your clients has been...
Look, the kids love the gear. And once the 'Never Touch Bumbles" rule is understood, I can't really say there's ever been a serious problem. Some of the parents have been less supportive.
A child at a party discharged one of your guns into a birthday cake.
Ok, I knew you were going to bring that up. Yeah, I used to wear, mostly for sentimental reasons, an antique .22 caliber 5 shot mini-revolver in a competition holster at the small of my back. The security strap must have come loose and a 6 year old boy got the piece out without my detecting it and fired one round into the cake. That's all that happened. No one was injured, no damage done, no charges filed. And I've since ensured that no weapons can be accessed without my knowledge. End of story.
But you can understand why some parents...
Some parents love the gear. I do rocker Ted Nougat's kids birthday parties every year and he hires me to work security at their big Christmas/Engandered Species BBQ bash every December. I do the annual National Gun Association family picnic and I do lots of tea party parties. So, yeah, a few parents might have a qualm, but...
The local city council is voting on a ban against weaponized entertainers performing for kids.
That ban is sponsored by a councilman whose wife had hired me for their kid's 8th birthday party and passed out when she opened the door and saw me. But that was before I camoed everything to fit with the costume. The ban is unconstitutional and my backers will take it to the Supreme Court, if necessary, to overturn it, assuming it even passes.
Your backers?
I'm not at liberty to identity or discuss them at this time.
Your machine gun has red and green polka dots.
Actually, it's an automatic machine pistol, and yes, it has polka dots.
Do you think this level of armament for clowns will become more popular?
Absolutely. Believe me, a lot more clowns are carrying guns in public every day than you'd ever imagine. I guarantee you that.
Ok, well, Bumbles The Clown, I want to thank you for speaking with us.
Thank you. I enjoyed it.
Oh, one last question. What's that ominous looking silver cylinder hanging around your neck on a string?
That's a slide whistle.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
This Day In Science
The following historical events in science occurred on July 25th
1715 - The small toe was discovered by French lumberjack and amateur barber Pierre Du Bois Frontenac.
Also called 'the pinky toe", this mysterious digit was theorized but unconfirmed until an unfortunate tree cutting accident caused Frontenac to famously call out "Hé, regardez ici, mes amis! Il ya un petit orteil dans l'autre partie de la botte!" ("Hey, look at this, my friends! There's a little toe in the other part of the boot!") The existence of the little toe was initially dismissed by the conservative French L'Acadmie Des L'Artes Medicin until 1721 when Paris musician Marie leBec formally submitted her children's song This Little Piggy to "L'Acadmie" and Frontenac's discovery was accepted.
1794 - British avarian Roswall Liverspode shocked the scientific world with his announcement that pigeons can get the hiccups (also known as hiccoffs and whoopclucks).
1821 - Soviet physicist Andrei Kornyakova released his famous research paper proving that taller people do in fact receive more solar radiation than short people though the difference is now considered largely ceremonial.
1998 - Graduate agriculture students at The Univesity of Florida demonstrate that the avocado transmits sound 9.4% better than its second place rival, the cumquat. Scientists believe that some day this discovery could yield edible cell phones or better sound insulation for farm fields.
1715 - The small toe was discovered by French lumberjack and amateur barber Pierre Du Bois Frontenac.
Also called 'the pinky toe", this mysterious digit was theorized but unconfirmed until an unfortunate tree cutting accident caused Frontenac to famously call out "Hé, regardez ici, mes amis! Il ya un petit orteil dans l'autre partie de la botte!" ("Hey, look at this, my friends! There's a little toe in the other part of the boot!") The existence of the little toe was initially dismissed by the conservative French L'Acadmie Des L'Artes Medicin until 1721 when Paris musician Marie leBec formally submitted her children's song This Little Piggy to "L'Acadmie" and Frontenac's discovery was accepted.
1794 - British avarian Roswall Liverspode shocked the scientific world with his announcement that pigeons can get the hiccups (also known as hiccoffs and whoopclucks).
1821 - Soviet physicist Andrei Kornyakova released his famous research paper proving that taller people do in fact receive more solar radiation than short people though the difference is now considered largely ceremonial.
1998 - Graduate agriculture students at The Univesity of Florida demonstrate that the avocado transmits sound 9.4% better than its second place rival, the cumquat. Scientists believe that some day this discovery could yield edible cell phones or better sound insulation for farm fields.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Top Seed
The 2012 Olympic Games in London will feature several exhibition sports that could transition to medal-level sports in future games. One such sport generating massive excitement this year is competitive watermelon seed spitting.
I had the opportunity to speak with top seeded Peter "Ptooui" Williams, captain of the American melon seed spitting team who's heading off to London shortly.
BTK: Thanks for sitting down with us, Peter.
PW: Thank you, Sir, I'm glad to be here.
BTK: This is very exciting for you and your teammates but also for the country as a whole. Can you tell us about the sport?
PW: Yes, Sir, We have three competition categories: accuracy, distance and combat style.
BTK: Only the accuracy and distance events are included in Olympic competition in London?
PW: Yes, Sir, that's correct. The combat style competition is conducted on an experimental basis in select American locations. Basically, it consists of two teams of 8 players each who stand on either side of a line and spit seeds at each other.
BTK: What's the purpose of the game? How is the winner determined?
PW: The research branch of the association is still working on that, Sir.
BTK: Tell us about the association.
PW: Sir, the American Association of Melon Seed Expectoration Artists was chartered in 1978 by Hiram G. Osterwald in Chagrin Falls, OH, to promote seed-spitting and seed-spitting related activities. We currently have over 35,000 members. Despite the official name our fastest membership growth is occurring in developing nations in Asia, Africa, the Middle East and South America.
BTK: A lot of people dont know that melon seed spitting first appeared as an exhibition sport in the 1948 Olympics. Can you tell about that experience?
PW: Yes, Sir, of course, I wasn't there but in 1948, but the Albanians brought a sport they call "Schdechzec" to the games. It was a traditional folk activity combining melon seed spitting, goat milking, synchronized beer guzzling and remembering the words to the Albanian national anthem.
BTK: How was it received?
PW: People liked the melon spitting and the goat milking a lot and many liked the drunk singing but it was decided to simplify the sport, apply the American rules and just do the seed spitting in 2012.
BTK: Is it true that you no longer use actual melon seeds in competition?
PW: That's correct, Sir. We use a precision cast aluminum/titanium alloy and hand-machined uniform competition seed, 4mm wide, 9mm long and 2mm thick, tapered in accordance with association specifications. We compete in three weight categories: 3 gram, 5 gram and the 10 gram super-seed class. The 3 gram class is generally for children and women. The 10 gram class hasn't been sanctioned by the association for competition but we expect it to happen before the 2016 Olympics in Des Moines, Iowa.
BTK: What's your training regimen like?
PW: Sir, I do a lot of spitting. Whereever I am, I'm usually spitting. In the car, in class, at work, at home sitting on the couch, in bed. My girlfriend, Sharelle, is very understanding. It's pretty much an 18 hour a day training schedule.
BTK: Do you follow a special training diet?
PW: Not really, sir. I do eat a lot of pumpkin, watermelon and canteloupe. And I chew a lot of tobacco.
BTK: You went to the University of Alabama on a melon seed spitting scholarship.
PW: Yes sir, I was co-captain of the varsity spitters in 2008 and 2009. Wooo!!!! Crimson Tide!!!
BTK: Tell us about the special gear you wear in competition.
PW: Yes, Sir. I and my teammates are outfitted with custom-fitted spitting gloves made of Madagascar Red Pigeon spider silk and 28 micron aluminum fiber. We also wear the competition-approved spandex torso compression vest developed by researchers at the University of Leeds in England. And, of course, our proprietary carbon fiber competition shoelettes with solid-state gyrosopic modules and flashing LED alignment status arrays which are superglued to our feet at the beginning of the competition schedule.
BTK: You've said that when you're in important competition, you're not alone. What do you mean by that?
PW: Sir, I feel I'm not doing the spitting alone. Especially in national competition or regionals. I'm spitting for god's glory and if I win, it'll be god's hand reaching in to my mouth, grabbing that seed and carrying it to the landing zone. If it's a local competition, intramural or exhibition, then it's all me and God doesnt get involved.
BTK: He saves his involvement for important competition?
PW: Yes, Sir.
BTK: You've been very successful in your spitting career but you suffered terrible losses at the Japanese Spitting Internationals in 2010, and the Rio De Janiero Spitting Invitational in late 2011. how do you account for your the losses?
PW: Sir, whereever God is, Satan isnt far away and so if I lose it's Satan's evil at work.
BTK: Thank you for your time. Best of luck to you in London.
PW: Thank you, Sir.
I had the opportunity to speak with top seeded Peter "Ptooui" Williams, captain of the American melon seed spitting team who's heading off to London shortly.
BTK: Thanks for sitting down with us, Peter.
PW: Thank you, Sir, I'm glad to be here.
BTK: This is very exciting for you and your teammates but also for the country as a whole. Can you tell us about the sport?
PW: Yes, Sir, We have three competition categories: accuracy, distance and combat style.
BTK: Only the accuracy and distance events are included in Olympic competition in London?
PW: Yes, Sir, that's correct. The combat style competition is conducted on an experimental basis in select American locations. Basically, it consists of two teams of 8 players each who stand on either side of a line and spit seeds at each other.
BTK: What's the purpose of the game? How is the winner determined?
PW: The research branch of the association is still working on that, Sir.
BTK: Tell us about the association.
PW: Sir, the American Association of Melon Seed Expectoration Artists was chartered in 1978 by Hiram G. Osterwald in Chagrin Falls, OH, to promote seed-spitting and seed-spitting related activities. We currently have over 35,000 members. Despite the official name our fastest membership growth is occurring in developing nations in Asia, Africa, the Middle East and South America.
BTK: A lot of people dont know that melon seed spitting first appeared as an exhibition sport in the 1948 Olympics. Can you tell about that experience?
PW: Yes, Sir, of course, I wasn't there but in 1948, but the Albanians brought a sport they call "Schdechzec" to the games. It was a traditional folk activity combining melon seed spitting, goat milking, synchronized beer guzzling and remembering the words to the Albanian national anthem.
BTK: How was it received?
PW: People liked the melon spitting and the goat milking a lot and many liked the drunk singing but it was decided to simplify the sport, apply the American rules and just do the seed spitting in 2012.
BTK: Is it true that you no longer use actual melon seeds in competition?
PW: That's correct, Sir. We use a precision cast aluminum/titanium alloy and hand-machined uniform competition seed, 4mm wide, 9mm long and 2mm thick, tapered in accordance with association specifications. We compete in three weight categories: 3 gram, 5 gram and the 10 gram super-seed class. The 3 gram class is generally for children and women. The 10 gram class hasn't been sanctioned by the association for competition but we expect it to happen before the 2016 Olympics in Des Moines, Iowa.
BTK: What's your training regimen like?
PW: Sir, I do a lot of spitting. Whereever I am, I'm usually spitting. In the car, in class, at work, at home sitting on the couch, in bed. My girlfriend, Sharelle, is very understanding. It's pretty much an 18 hour a day training schedule.
BTK: Do you follow a special training diet?
PW: Not really, sir. I do eat a lot of pumpkin, watermelon and canteloupe. And I chew a lot of tobacco.
BTK: You went to the University of Alabama on a melon seed spitting scholarship.
PW: Yes sir, I was co-captain of the varsity spitters in 2008 and 2009. Wooo!!!! Crimson Tide!!!
BTK: Tell us about the special gear you wear in competition.
PW: Yes, Sir. I and my teammates are outfitted with custom-fitted spitting gloves made of Madagascar Red Pigeon spider silk and 28 micron aluminum fiber. We also wear the competition-approved spandex torso compression vest developed by researchers at the University of Leeds in England. And, of course, our proprietary carbon fiber competition shoelettes with solid-state gyrosopic modules and flashing LED alignment status arrays which are superglued to our feet at the beginning of the competition schedule.
BTK: You've said that when you're in important competition, you're not alone. What do you mean by that?
PW: Sir, I feel I'm not doing the spitting alone. Especially in national competition or regionals. I'm spitting for god's glory and if I win, it'll be god's hand reaching in to my mouth, grabbing that seed and carrying it to the landing zone. If it's a local competition, intramural or exhibition, then it's all me and God doesnt get involved.
BTK: He saves his involvement for important competition?
PW: Yes, Sir.
BTK: You've been very successful in your spitting career but you suffered terrible losses at the Japanese Spitting Internationals in 2010, and the Rio De Janiero Spitting Invitational in late 2011. how do you account for your the losses?
PW: Sir, whereever God is, Satan isnt far away and so if I lose it's Satan's evil at work.
BTK: Thank you for your time. Best of luck to you in London.
PW: Thank you, Sir.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Canceled Postage, Broken Dreams
Excerpt from the 14th novel in Ruprecht W. Gondersutton's Dead Letter Office mystery series called Canceled Postage, Broken Dreams.
====================================================================
"Cel, come here a minute. Take a look at this.", calls out Reef Martin, 46, a tall handsome man with the broad shoulders and powerfully muscled arms typical of the Level 3 investigator in the sprawling Postal Service - Central Division/Long Term In-Process Letter & Small Package Research Center aka The Dead letter Office. "One minute, Reef, be right there", replies Celsia Fahrenheit, an attractive strawberry blonde-haired woman with green eyes, in her late 30s, a Level 2 investigator and Reef's partner.
Cel walks into the spacious well-lit Postal Materials Inspection Laboratory and settles onto a wooden lab stool next to her partner. On the lab counter, amidst the microscopes, sophisticated electronic apparatus, bunsen burners, centrifuges and sterilized surgical instruments, sits a stainless steel examination platform where a single slightly wrinkled off-white #11 envelope is held securely in place by three large klestermeyer clips.
Reef pulls a powerful articulated inspection lamp into place over the envelope and the two partners stare through 15x hand magnifiers.
The experienced investigators ponder silently, each certain they know what the other is thinking. "Look at the cancellation date.... six months ago..." says Reef. "Yeah, that's a long time... Did you run a postage adhesion assessment?" Cel asks. "Sure. Boys in the lab are running the tests now. They'll come up when they have an answer. The postage looks pretty secure. But it's best to know for sure",
Reef says. "No return address but the addressee block looks pretty clear. Mrs. Delores Schmee, 1435 N Caterwaul Ave. Bennington, Vermont. About 900 miles away. Hmmmm.... How the heck did you get all the way over here, my papery friend?', Reef asks, with deeply furrowed brow.
Cel blushes slightly at her partner's rough language. They were both consummate professionals but she knows all too well the emotional connection undelivered mail can create in the lab. She hopes this case wasn't getting to Reef.
Cel says quietly, "We could drop it in the re-delivery box and give it a second chance." Reef looks up at his partner, eyes afire. "Is that your answer? The re-delivery box? Damn it, Cel! I told you I promised Lou! I don't work that way!" Slamming his fist hard against the bench top, Reef turns away to try to regain his composure. Cel knows the reference to Reef's former partner means this case is really getting to him.
"Reef", she says, putting her hand gently on his arm, "I ran in to Pepito in the break room yesterday and he told me the motor pool just received two Hudson V-16 Excaliburs. Why don't we sign one out and drive up to Vermont and see if we can deliver this envelope." Reef turns slowly to face her, his eyes red and wet. "You'd do that?" "Sure, I would. Look, we're partners. Even tho there are three million other pieces of lost mail here we need to process, if you have a hunch on this envelope we need to see this one through, I say we go for it. We gotta stick together."
"You would have liked Lou, Cel. He'd have liked you, too. And... And he'd be really tickled if he could see us in that new Hudson. Ok! Let's do it!", Reef declares.
Just then, a short stocky man in a lab coat approaches the investigators. "Hey, you two. How's life on Easy Street?", he asks with a grin. "
All right, Paulie, skip the Jack Benny impression. What did you have on our mystery envelope here?", Cel asks. Paulie says "Ya sure ya wanna know?" "Don't fool around, Paulie, what's the test say?" "Well", Paulie says, "first of all, the stamp is tightly affixed." Cel and Reef high-five each other and yell "YES!" simultaneously.
Paulie says, "Wait. There's more. Just for the heck of it, we ran the sample through Doc Bristol's electro-chem analyzer. It's bad. We found traces of salt residue. It could be salad dressing or it could be evidence of... homicide." Before he could say another word, Cel and Reef are grabbing their trench coats and heavy black investigator's valises.
"We owe you one, Paulie!" exclaims Reef, with a punch to the lab worker's shoulder. "C'mon, Cel, we're going to Vermont!" as he and Cel head quickly for the motor pool to pick up the keys to a brand new fire-engine red 500 horsepower specially equipped "postal investigations" Hudson.
Meanwhile, just outside of the heavily patrolled Postal Service - Central Division compound sits a low-slung highly modified, jet black, turbine-engined Portuguese Riando-Capezi 2 seater. The two sinister figures in the car have positioned their rear view mirrors to keep a close watch on the gatehouse exit lane that opens onto Postmaster Blvd.
As the rumbling Hudson with its distinctive Postal Investigations black and gold-leaf logo and blue and orange rotating emergency lights eases out onto the wide highway, the distinctive whine of the Riando-Capezi's race-tuned engine spinning up to speed fills the air. ====================================================================
Come back soon for another excerpt from Ruprecht W. Gondersutton's Dead Letter Office: Canceled Postage, Broken Dreams.
"Cel, come here a minute. Take a look at this.", calls out Reef Martin, 46, a tall handsome man with the broad shoulders and powerfully muscled arms typical of the Level 3 investigator in the sprawling Postal Service - Central Division/Long Term In-Process Letter & Small Package Research Center aka The Dead letter Office. "One minute, Reef, be right there", replies Celsia Fahrenheit, an attractive strawberry blonde-haired woman with green eyes, in her late 30s, a Level 2 investigator and Reef's partner.
Cel walks into the spacious well-lit Postal Materials Inspection Laboratory and settles onto a wooden lab stool next to her partner. On the lab counter, amidst the microscopes, sophisticated electronic apparatus, bunsen burners, centrifuges and sterilized surgical instruments, sits a stainless steel examination platform where a single slightly wrinkled off-white #11 envelope is held securely in place by three large klestermeyer clips.
Reef pulls a powerful articulated inspection lamp into place over the envelope and the two partners stare through 15x hand magnifiers.
The experienced investigators ponder silently, each certain they know what the other is thinking. "Look at the cancellation date.... six months ago..." says Reef. "Yeah, that's a long time... Did you run a postage adhesion assessment?" Cel asks. "Sure. Boys in the lab are running the tests now. They'll come up when they have an answer. The postage looks pretty secure. But it's best to know for sure",
Reef says. "No return address but the addressee block looks pretty clear. Mrs. Delores Schmee, 1435 N Caterwaul Ave. Bennington, Vermont. About 900 miles away. Hmmmm.... How the heck did you get all the way over here, my papery friend?', Reef asks, with deeply furrowed brow.
Cel blushes slightly at her partner's rough language. They were both consummate professionals but she knows all too well the emotional connection undelivered mail can create in the lab. She hopes this case wasn't getting to Reef.
Cel says quietly, "We could drop it in the re-delivery box and give it a second chance." Reef looks up at his partner, eyes afire. "Is that your answer? The re-delivery box? Damn it, Cel! I told you I promised Lou! I don't work that way!" Slamming his fist hard against the bench top, Reef turns away to try to regain his composure. Cel knows the reference to Reef's former partner means this case is really getting to him.
"Reef", she says, putting her hand gently on his arm, "I ran in to Pepito in the break room yesterday and he told me the motor pool just received two Hudson V-16 Excaliburs. Why don't we sign one out and drive up to Vermont and see if we can deliver this envelope." Reef turns slowly to face her, his eyes red and wet. "You'd do that?" "Sure, I would. Look, we're partners. Even tho there are three million other pieces of lost mail here we need to process, if you have a hunch on this envelope we need to see this one through, I say we go for it. We gotta stick together."
"You would have liked Lou, Cel. He'd have liked you, too. And... And he'd be really tickled if he could see us in that new Hudson. Ok! Let's do it!", Reef declares.
Just then, a short stocky man in a lab coat approaches the investigators. "Hey, you two. How's life on Easy Street?", he asks with a grin. "
All right, Paulie, skip the Jack Benny impression. What did you have on our mystery envelope here?", Cel asks. Paulie says "Ya sure ya wanna know?" "Don't fool around, Paulie, what's the test say?" "Well", Paulie says, "first of all, the stamp is tightly affixed." Cel and Reef high-five each other and yell "YES!" simultaneously.
Paulie says, "Wait. There's more. Just for the heck of it, we ran the sample through Doc Bristol's electro-chem analyzer. It's bad. We found traces of salt residue. It could be salad dressing or it could be evidence of... homicide." Before he could say another word, Cel and Reef are grabbing their trench coats and heavy black investigator's valises.
"We owe you one, Paulie!" exclaims Reef, with a punch to the lab worker's shoulder. "C'mon, Cel, we're going to Vermont!" as he and Cel head quickly for the motor pool to pick up the keys to a brand new fire-engine red 500 horsepower specially equipped "postal investigations" Hudson.
Meanwhile, just outside of the heavily patrolled Postal Service - Central Division compound sits a low-slung highly modified, jet black, turbine-engined Portuguese Riando-Capezi 2 seater. The two sinister figures in the car have positioned their rear view mirrors to keep a close watch on the gatehouse exit lane that opens onto Postmaster Blvd.
As the rumbling Hudson with its distinctive Postal Investigations black and gold-leaf logo and blue and orange rotating emergency lights eases out onto the wide highway, the distinctive whine of the Riando-Capezi's race-tuned engine spinning up to speed fills the air. ====================================================================
Come back soon for another excerpt from Ruprecht W. Gondersutton's Dead Letter Office: Canceled Postage, Broken Dreams.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Programming Interruption
Due to unscheduled technical difficulties, we interrupt our regular programming with a prerecorded musical interlude by the fabulous Rubio Delacamonico Orchestra featuring the 2 octave vocal stylings of Vivian Orthosplekowski with special guests klavachordianariest Arturo Le Maldemar, autovibraphonist Margaret-Elena Posterpucker and singing Labrador Retriever, Scotty. To hear this performance tune your radio to FM114.7, AM1990, CB Channel 15, or 13.336 tetrahertz on xenon.5 band transceivers.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Arnett Spuckler: The Lost Interview
I'm posting a raw unedited transcript of an interview I conducted with famed reclusive musician Arnett Spuckler in 1997 or 2004. Some of it's a little rough, probably due to Arnett's busy performance schedule and the difficulty of getting a good night's sleep on the road.
Also, the audio was initially recorded on a 75 pound 1948 Wollensak wire recorder and then transferred to Betamax video tape, then to compressed cassette tape data backup then to 119 5 1/4 floppy disks as wav file segments, then to 100 megabyte Zip drive disks and finally to an experimental 3D tri-phasic lattice matrix diamond-molybdenum-phosphoric acid gel cube for which no reader has yet been invented. (sound of tape recorder being moved on a table)
TK: Sorry. Ok, It's... ok. running now. Let's do those... ok, do those just one more time, I promise... Arnett, in 1969 you were the last known traveling troubadour in America officially licensed by the National Society of Itinerant Independent Musicians, if I have that correctly. End of an era, wasn't it?
AS: Like I just said three times already, it was 1979. and it was The American Guild of Traveling Buskers, but they didn't license anyone. I was just a member.
TK: I see. According to my research you traveled for many years in an unusual lime green 1968 Volkswagen camper with distinctive psychedelic graphics painted by renowned pop icon and artist Peter Max.
AS: It was a 1994 Winnebago, actually. Regular paint job. No graphics. Peter Max is a great artist, that's for sure.
TK: Yes, definitely. This Winnebago was acquired after selling your Volkswagen?
AS: I've never owned A Volkswagen
TK: Did you ever rent one?
AS: No.
TK: Borrow one?
AS: No.
TK: Ride in one?
AS: Did you say you worked for a magazine? A newspaper? How did you get thi...
TK: That's fascinating.... A pivotal event in your career was meeting music legend Elvis Presley. What was that like?
AS: I never met Elvis.
TK: What was THAT like?
AS: Not meeting Elvis?
TK: Yes.
AS: It was ok, I suppose. Where are you getting these ques...
TK: Interesting.... Yes, I can just imagine. Wow. Elvis. The King.
AS: Are we about done here?
TK: I have a few more questions.
AS: Ok.
TK: As you traveled the highways, the byways, the villages and hamlets of this country, you spent many nights in small town jails for violating vagrancy, loitering and performing without a permit ordinances. Did meeting interesting people in jail inspire many of your songs?
AS: I was never arrested or put in jail. Where do you get this stuff? I've gotten a few tickets over the years, mostly parking tickets.
TK: Did the parking tickets inspire any of your songs?
AS: Well, I suppose. One. "Hey, What's That On My Windshield?" is a protest song I wrote about parking tickets and the growing threat of thermonuclear war.
TK: Ah, yes, that was a B side recording to your chart-topping cover of "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head" in 1976, wasn't it?
AS: No, I never recorded the windshield song and I've never covered "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head". Good tune, tho.
TK: Yes, indeed, an excellent tune. I'm curious about your instruments. Your prized ukelele - the white one you called Miranda, I believe - sold recently at a charity auction for an astounding $2,570,000.
AS: I've never owned a ukelele.
TK: And what would your reaction be if you did have a ukelele and it sold for such a huge amount?
AS: What? I don't know... I suppose I'd be happy about it. For charity and all...
TK: Would you say, perhaps, this attitude is what accounts for your reputation as a humble yet generous philanthropist?
AS: I don't know about any reputation like that.
TK: Yes, of course... humble to a fault. Let me see... (sound of paper rustling) Ok, here... During the mid 1990s you were a vocal advocate of expanding international land mine use and had many volatile public confrontations with England's Princess Diana, who adamantly opposed the weapons on humanitarian grounds.
AS: I never met Princess Diana and I never supported land mine use. Look, I have a meeting with my attorney in 45 minutes, so I'm going to have to cut thi...
TK: Just a few more then. You must be aware of the rumors claiming that you're about to retire from the music business and pursue a new career at 76 in mixed martial arts or ultimate fighting competition.
AS: I have to go.
TK: One more question.
AS: I'm leaving.
TK: Can I call you if I have more questions?
(sound of door slamming)
TK: Wow. Arnett Spuckler! That was awesome! And everyone said interviewing celebrities was harder than it looks... HA!
Also, the audio was initially recorded on a 75 pound 1948 Wollensak wire recorder and then transferred to Betamax video tape, then to compressed cassette tape data backup then to 119 5 1/4 floppy disks as wav file segments, then to 100 megabyte Zip drive disks and finally to an experimental 3D tri-phasic lattice matrix diamond-molybdenum-phosphoric acid gel cube for which no reader has yet been invented. (sound of tape recorder being moved on a table)
TK: Sorry. Ok, It's... ok. running now. Let's do those... ok, do those just one more time, I promise... Arnett, in 1969 you were the last known traveling troubadour in America officially licensed by the National Society of Itinerant Independent Musicians, if I have that correctly. End of an era, wasn't it?
AS: Like I just said three times already, it was 1979. and it was The American Guild of Traveling Buskers, but they didn't license anyone. I was just a member.
TK: I see. According to my research you traveled for many years in an unusual lime green 1968 Volkswagen camper with distinctive psychedelic graphics painted by renowned pop icon and artist Peter Max.
AS: It was a 1994 Winnebago, actually. Regular paint job. No graphics. Peter Max is a great artist, that's for sure.
TK: Yes, definitely. This Winnebago was acquired after selling your Volkswagen?
AS: I've never owned A Volkswagen
TK: Did you ever rent one?
AS: No.
TK: Borrow one?
AS: No.
TK: Ride in one?
AS: Did you say you worked for a magazine? A newspaper? How did you get thi...
TK: That's fascinating.... A pivotal event in your career was meeting music legend Elvis Presley. What was that like?
AS: I never met Elvis.
TK: What was THAT like?
AS: Not meeting Elvis?
TK: Yes.
AS: It was ok, I suppose. Where are you getting these ques...
TK: Interesting.... Yes, I can just imagine. Wow. Elvis. The King.
AS: Are we about done here?
TK: I have a few more questions.
AS: Ok.
TK: As you traveled the highways, the byways, the villages and hamlets of this country, you spent many nights in small town jails for violating vagrancy, loitering and performing without a permit ordinances. Did meeting interesting people in jail inspire many of your songs?
AS: I was never arrested or put in jail. Where do you get this stuff? I've gotten a few tickets over the years, mostly parking tickets.
TK: Did the parking tickets inspire any of your songs?
AS: Well, I suppose. One. "Hey, What's That On My Windshield?" is a protest song I wrote about parking tickets and the growing threat of thermonuclear war.
TK: Ah, yes, that was a B side recording to your chart-topping cover of "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head" in 1976, wasn't it?
AS: No, I never recorded the windshield song and I've never covered "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head". Good tune, tho.
TK: Yes, indeed, an excellent tune. I'm curious about your instruments. Your prized ukelele - the white one you called Miranda, I believe - sold recently at a charity auction for an astounding $2,570,000.
AS: I've never owned a ukelele.
TK: And what would your reaction be if you did have a ukelele and it sold for such a huge amount?
AS: What? I don't know... I suppose I'd be happy about it. For charity and all...
TK: Would you say, perhaps, this attitude is what accounts for your reputation as a humble yet generous philanthropist?
AS: I don't know about any reputation like that.
TK: Yes, of course... humble to a fault. Let me see... (sound of paper rustling) Ok, here... During the mid 1990s you were a vocal advocate of expanding international land mine use and had many volatile public confrontations with England's Princess Diana, who adamantly opposed the weapons on humanitarian grounds.
AS: I never met Princess Diana and I never supported land mine use. Look, I have a meeting with my attorney in 45 minutes, so I'm going to have to cut thi...
TK: Just a few more then. You must be aware of the rumors claiming that you're about to retire from the music business and pursue a new career at 76 in mixed martial arts or ultimate fighting competition.
AS: I have to go.
TK: One more question.
AS: I'm leaving.
TK: Can I call you if I have more questions?
(sound of door slamming)
TK: Wow. Arnett Spuckler! That was awesome! And everyone said interviewing celebrities was harder than it looks... HA!
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Where The Streets Have No Name
In the late 1980s, a Miami street was named in honor of a prominent, well-politically connected, very-much-alive businessmen who later turned out to be in the business of narcotics importation and wholesale distribution. The sign was quickly removed and replaced with one reading "Drug Dealer Blvd" apparently under the theory that the chances of another well-connected prominent Miami business person - this was after all the official home of Miami Vice - being honored with a street naming had a better than 67% chance of also being a drug kingpin, duke or earl.
The urgency to honor people undeserving of such honors results in such travesties as New York City's Bernard Madoff Center for Business Ethics, the George W. Bush Peace Pavilion in Washington, D.C. or London's famed Jack The Ripper School for Wayward Girls.
In order to avert such scandals in the future, I propose that no street could be named, no plaque or statue erected, no battleship christened or Martian crater cataloged in honor of a real person until such individual has been dead for a minimum of 25 years.
And for people who have risen to prominence in commerce, politics or professional/college sports, the time limit should be 50 years.
In the event that a person is honored prematurely and later behavior is revealed that would have precluded such an honor in the first place, I recommend the following remedy. All physical manifestations of such honors should be - at the earliest opportunity - pulled from their moorings by chains attached to decommissioned military tanks and the fallen statuary, mural, plaque, etc. be beaten furiously with shoes wielded by angry volunteers. It's the only way.
Penn State? Are you listening?
The urgency to honor people undeserving of such honors results in such travesties as New York City's Bernard Madoff Center for Business Ethics, the George W. Bush Peace Pavilion in Washington, D.C. or London's famed Jack The Ripper School for Wayward Girls.
In order to avert such scandals in the future, I propose that no street could be named, no plaque or statue erected, no battleship christened or Martian crater cataloged in honor of a real person until such individual has been dead for a minimum of 25 years.
And for people who have risen to prominence in commerce, politics or professional/college sports, the time limit should be 50 years.
In the event that a person is honored prematurely and later behavior is revealed that would have precluded such an honor in the first place, I recommend the following remedy. All physical manifestations of such honors should be - at the earliest opportunity - pulled from their moorings by chains attached to decommissioned military tanks and the fallen statuary, mural, plaque, etc. be beaten furiously with shoes wielded by angry volunteers. It's the only way.
Penn State? Are you listening?
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Coupon Weekly: Dining Review
A new theme restaurant called "tHal" has recently opened in the former Lenscrafter property next to the Interstate cloverleaf west of town. Based on scientific research into the lifestyles of the brutish and prehistoric, tHal attempts to recreate how the Neanderthal peoples lived in central Europe 15,000 to 45,000 years ago.
First, the decor: I'll admit it. I was impressed. As soon as you walk in the door from the parking lot, you feel like you're in a dark, dank cave back before modern man walked the earth. Stalagtites and stalagbites jut out from the ceiling and floor, respectively (it's easy to remember the difference: the 't' in stalagtites reminds us of 'top" or ceiling and the "b" in stalagbites reminds us of "bottom" or mineral deposits that appear to grow up from the floor), flickering LED lighting simulating campfires, crude cave wall drawings and the horrifying recorded screams of fellow Neanders being carried off by predatory saber-tooth tigers all add to the exciting ambiance.
Even the smells of the scantily fur-clad young wait staff is based upon archeological research indicating the Neanderthal only bathed in alternate leap years.
Our waitress, who grunted that her name is "Oog", was as efficient and pleasant as you'd expect any young woman with a prominent eyebrow ridge and thick visible back hair would be.
But what about the food?, I'm sure our readers want to know. I can honestly say that each time I've eaten at tHal, I've become more accustomed to the cuisine. During the last visit, my companion - who I'll refer to as "my niece" - and I began with ox-blood cocktails, then appetizers of live mealworm grubs, raw inner bark of the willow tree, singed venison haunches with whole skin-on salamanders and handfuls of fresh green oak leaves. We washed everything down with the generous servings of stagnant pond water they brew in 55 gallon drums out back.
Our hosts for the evening and tHal owners Bart and Bettina Wiklerson, assured us that the powerful gag reflex experienced by most guests does indeed lessen in intensity after 6-12 visits. It's also why every tHal meal ends with a stomach-settling complimentary scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream served "in the Neanderthal manner" as opposed to claiming true authenticity due to compelling evidence the Neanderthal strongly preferred chocolate pudding to vanilla ice cream.
I rate tHal 4 out of 5 stars. Come for the ambiance and stay for the wriggling grubs! Casual dress recommended. No reservations necessary. All major credit card accepted. Meals run a reasonable $12 to $28 not including the fresh blood cocktails, tax and gratuities.
In accordance with Neanderthal custom, tHal is closed on Mondays.
First, the decor: I'll admit it. I was impressed. As soon as you walk in the door from the parking lot, you feel like you're in a dark, dank cave back before modern man walked the earth. Stalagtites and stalagbites jut out from the ceiling and floor, respectively (it's easy to remember the difference: the 't' in stalagtites reminds us of 'top" or ceiling and the "b" in stalagbites reminds us of "bottom" or mineral deposits that appear to grow up from the floor), flickering LED lighting simulating campfires, crude cave wall drawings and the horrifying recorded screams of fellow Neanders being carried off by predatory saber-tooth tigers all add to the exciting ambiance.
Even the smells of the scantily fur-clad young wait staff is based upon archeological research indicating the Neanderthal only bathed in alternate leap years.
Our waitress, who grunted that her name is "Oog", was as efficient and pleasant as you'd expect any young woman with a prominent eyebrow ridge and thick visible back hair would be.
But what about the food?, I'm sure our readers want to know. I can honestly say that each time I've eaten at tHal, I've become more accustomed to the cuisine. During the last visit, my companion - who I'll refer to as "my niece" - and I began with ox-blood cocktails, then appetizers of live mealworm grubs, raw inner bark of the willow tree, singed venison haunches with whole skin-on salamanders and handfuls of fresh green oak leaves. We washed everything down with the generous servings of stagnant pond water they brew in 55 gallon drums out back.
Our hosts for the evening and tHal owners Bart and Bettina Wiklerson, assured us that the powerful gag reflex experienced by most guests does indeed lessen in intensity after 6-12 visits. It's also why every tHal meal ends with a stomach-settling complimentary scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream served "in the Neanderthal manner" as opposed to claiming true authenticity due to compelling evidence the Neanderthal strongly preferred chocolate pudding to vanilla ice cream.
I rate tHal 4 out of 5 stars. Come for the ambiance and stay for the wriggling grubs! Casual dress recommended. No reservations necessary. All major credit card accepted. Meals run a reasonable $12 to $28 not including the fresh blood cocktails, tax and gratuities.
In accordance with Neanderthal custom, tHal is closed on Mondays.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Arnett Spuckler, Chapter I: The Early Years
This is the first in a series of biographical essays about the unknown music legend whose impressively large footprint on today's music is attributed primarily to his remarkably enormous feet
Arnett Spuckler, is considered by many musicologists to be the least known, most seminal figure in 20th century popular music. His influence during a 75 year long career, as a solo artist and as frontman for the five-man trio known as The Spucktones, ranged across musical genres from Country music all the way to Country & Western with rock, folk, blues, jazz, dubstep, house and Indonesian gamelan drone music in between.
Arnett was born to a poor family of tenant milo farmers in the Central Park, Manhattan agricultural district in 1929 not far from the paddle boat concession. Arnett was an extremely active child and the family often remarked at how he "just always seemed to be everywhere at once".
Shortly after Arnett turned 15 years old the family discovered that he was actually the elder of identical twins but due to a clerical error by the attending midwife, they mistakenly called both boys Arnett, not realizing they were two separate children. Once revealed, the mistake was corrected, tho, for a 6 month period just before the Korean War began, for no apparent reason both young men were known as Reynaldo.
Arnett began playing music at a very early age, first drumming on his mother's breasts during feeding sessions. Mrs. Spuckler, being a shy woman, was reluctant to perform in public with Arnett, but with carefully draped clothing and creative lighting, few audience members were aware that young Arnett was actually playing his own mother.
At nineteen, Arnett realized he'd gone as far as he could go musically with his mother's body and took up the guitar. Some Spuckologists credit Arnett as the first musician to tune a guitar's strings to specific frequencies but others dispute this claim.
Arnett enlisted in the Army in 1945 and trained as a 'tunnel rat' who would burrow into loose dirt and sand to locate and neutralize enemy soldiers attempting to tunnel in to attack Allied troop concentrations. During one exercise, Arnett apparently overshot his underground target and painstakingly dug his way from Fort Leonard Wood in Joplin Missouri to a small ranch outside Boulder, Colorado over a 9 month period, surviving on naked mole rats, earthworms and a package of JuJuBes he'd fortuitously picked up at the PX before beginning the exercise.
After leaving the service, Arnett attended the American Institute of Car Wash Attendants on the G.I. Bill and after graduating from the 18 month program at the top of his class, he washed cars in the small desert town of Splashing Waters, Arizona which holds the world's record as the driest inhabited community.
With no recorded rainfall and no local supplies of water, Arnett was forced to drive 135 miles to fill his bucket in a nearby community that had a well head. When post-war inflation caused gasoline to skyrocket from a pemmy a gallon to 23 cent a gallon, the economics of the business no longer made sense and Arnett moved to Nashville, ND, then known as "The Nashville of North Dakota" to try to make it in the music business.
Visit again soon to learn more about the remarkable life and music career of this amazing man. Chapter II: The Bordello Years
Arnett Spuckler, is considered by many musicologists to be the least known, most seminal figure in 20th century popular music. His influence during a 75 year long career, as a solo artist and as frontman for the five-man trio known as The Spucktones, ranged across musical genres from Country music all the way to Country & Western with rock, folk, blues, jazz, dubstep, house and Indonesian gamelan drone music in between.
Arnett was born to a poor family of tenant milo farmers in the Central Park, Manhattan agricultural district in 1929 not far from the paddle boat concession. Arnett was an extremely active child and the family often remarked at how he "just always seemed to be everywhere at once".
Shortly after Arnett turned 15 years old the family discovered that he was actually the elder of identical twins but due to a clerical error by the attending midwife, they mistakenly called both boys Arnett, not realizing they were two separate children. Once revealed, the mistake was corrected, tho, for a 6 month period just before the Korean War began, for no apparent reason both young men were known as Reynaldo.
Arnett began playing music at a very early age, first drumming on his mother's breasts during feeding sessions. Mrs. Spuckler, being a shy woman, was reluctant to perform in public with Arnett, but with carefully draped clothing and creative lighting, few audience members were aware that young Arnett was actually playing his own mother.
At nineteen, Arnett realized he'd gone as far as he could go musically with his mother's body and took up the guitar. Some Spuckologists credit Arnett as the first musician to tune a guitar's strings to specific frequencies but others dispute this claim.
Arnett enlisted in the Army in 1945 and trained as a 'tunnel rat' who would burrow into loose dirt and sand to locate and neutralize enemy soldiers attempting to tunnel in to attack Allied troop concentrations. During one exercise, Arnett apparently overshot his underground target and painstakingly dug his way from Fort Leonard Wood in Joplin Missouri to a small ranch outside Boulder, Colorado over a 9 month period, surviving on naked mole rats, earthworms and a package of JuJuBes he'd fortuitously picked up at the PX before beginning the exercise.
After leaving the service, Arnett attended the American Institute of Car Wash Attendants on the G.I. Bill and after graduating from the 18 month program at the top of his class, he washed cars in the small desert town of Splashing Waters, Arizona which holds the world's record as the driest inhabited community.
With no recorded rainfall and no local supplies of water, Arnett was forced to drive 135 miles to fill his bucket in a nearby community that had a well head. When post-war inflation caused gasoline to skyrocket from a pemmy a gallon to 23 cent a gallon, the economics of the business no longer made sense and Arnett moved to Nashville, ND, then known as "The Nashville of North Dakota" to try to make it in the music business.
Visit again soon to learn more about the remarkable life and music career of this amazing man. Chapter II: The Bordello Years
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Summer Blockbuster Movie Previews
As the summer blockbuster movie season unfolds, three of the most anticipated major studio releases have something in common. The stars of these films are all based on characters from television commercials.
With the recent news from Hollywood that every comic book, toy franchise and video game ever published has been used as the basis for at least one film in the last 20 years, the industry is eager for new inspiration. Is this purely profit-driven cultural desperation or is it just another case of greedy commercial exploitation? Let's take a look at three big-budget summer releases that exemplify this trend.
"Can't Touch This" is Expiry Pictures' first entry into the full-length commercial-character-driven category starring a masterful Paul Giamatti as Mr. Whipple, the beleaguered grocery store manager obsessed with a seemingly endless parade of housewives intent on manhandling his neat display of toilet tissue. A common characteristic of the genre is the presentation of an elaborate backstory for the main character. The opening scene of "Can't Touch This" depicts a young Whipple masturbating furiously, surrounded by impossibly tall mounds of clotted tissue. What could have been ick-worthy cinema was handled sensitively with an impressive turn by newcomer Lance Bookender as the troubled teen.
An over-the-top fantasy sequence consisting of a Busby Berkley-esque chorus line wearing tissue paper dresses along with horrifying graphic violence involving a gang of matronly grocery store thieves could have been half as long and made the same thematic contribution, just as well. The surprise ending featuring the reprise of Glenne Headley's Kimberley Clark heiress character from 1989's Dirty Rotten Scoundrels set up the inevitable talk of sequels and Expiry execs confirm at least five scripts are in development should this debut perform as expected. And, yes, former rapper M.C. Hammer makes a delightful cameo as parachute pants-wearing grocery chain bazillionaire Tyrone C. Hammer, while also supplying the updated theme song for the closing credits.
"Show Me The Dough, Boy!" is Trivial Productions' 3D/CGI entry in the mismatched-buddy road picture category starring the Kool Aide pitcher and the Pillsbary Doughboy. The popular commercial characters embark on a cross country trip to escape international terrorist/bank robber/computer hackers whose plans for a major attack on America is overheard when the terrorists unknowingly serve Kool Aide in the iconic pitcher at a terror cell meeting. At first the pitcher and the animated lump of dough are at each other's throats with an eventual rapprochement possible but not likely. Subplots involving a visit to a strip club and a meet-cute moment with a buxom stripper with a heart of gold seem tacked on and gratuitous.
If you think the FBI might drop in to rescue our intrepid pitcher and doughboy during a dizzying high speed jet-ski chase through the Grand Canyon's roiling Colorado River, you'll have to see the film to find out. But an unnamed major theme park is rumored to be planning a $25 million roller coaster called Kool Aide Pitcher & Pillsbary Doughboy's Grand Canyon Jet-Ski Adventure ride.
Script work and pre-production planning on "Show Me The Dough, Boy! II and "Show Me The Dough, Boy! III" has already begun.
Complementing outstanding visual production values is the very competent voice acting talent of Chinese nationals Wen Li Chou, Kwon Xi Pa and Xiao Chi. Unconfirmed reports indicate the three were each paid a relatively modest $5,000, comprising an unusually small percentage of the reported $195,000,000 overall budget.
In an industry first, sources close to the production say the entire production and marketing budget was provided by Mexican drug cartel financiers eager to launder massive elicit drug profits. Savvy Hollywood money-men may have unlocked an exciting new source of financing for ever more expensive productions.
Finally, the mega-blockbuster most anxiously awaited is the live-action/CGI/political/sci-fi/comedy/spy thriller from Occluded Vision Productions called "Diggster" featuring the eponymous animated dermatophyte from the Lamostil toenail fungus remedy commercials. The plot, involving a mysterious athlete's foot infection plaguing visitors to the US Congressional health club locker room, sinister space aliens, Russian spies, a talking circus seal named Mike, an adorable set of conjoined triplets, a stolen floppy disk and no less that 8 separate cases of mistaken identity, unfolds in predictable fashion.
What sets this film apart are the breathtaking special effects, many of which give us an intimate look at the fascinating inner lives of toenail fungus, the stirring and unrelentingly loud soundtrack, from industrial emo noise rap-rockers "F Ewe", and the innovative use of pop-up advertising windows and a continuous 'product placement information" crawl across the bottom 1/3 of the screen. After the first hour, you hardly even notice it.
I highly recommend all three of these films and look forward to such expected year-end holiday season mega-hits as "Mr. Clean: Dirt Avenger", "Speedy Alka Seltzor Undersea Adventure, Part 1, and Flo, The Insurance Girl in "Naughty Girls In Cell Block D".
With the recent news from Hollywood that every comic book, toy franchise and video game ever published has been used as the basis for at least one film in the last 20 years, the industry is eager for new inspiration. Is this purely profit-driven cultural desperation or is it just another case of greedy commercial exploitation? Let's take a look at three big-budget summer releases that exemplify this trend.
"Can't Touch This" is Expiry Pictures' first entry into the full-length commercial-character-driven category starring a masterful Paul Giamatti as Mr. Whipple, the beleaguered grocery store manager obsessed with a seemingly endless parade of housewives intent on manhandling his neat display of toilet tissue. A common characteristic of the genre is the presentation of an elaborate backstory for the main character. The opening scene of "Can't Touch This" depicts a young Whipple masturbating furiously, surrounded by impossibly tall mounds of clotted tissue. What could have been ick-worthy cinema was handled sensitively with an impressive turn by newcomer Lance Bookender as the troubled teen.
An over-the-top fantasy sequence consisting of a Busby Berkley-esque chorus line wearing tissue paper dresses along with horrifying graphic violence involving a gang of matronly grocery store thieves could have been half as long and made the same thematic contribution, just as well. The surprise ending featuring the reprise of Glenne Headley's Kimberley Clark heiress character from 1989's Dirty Rotten Scoundrels set up the inevitable talk of sequels and Expiry execs confirm at least five scripts are in development should this debut perform as expected. And, yes, former rapper M.C. Hammer makes a delightful cameo as parachute pants-wearing grocery chain bazillionaire Tyrone C. Hammer, while also supplying the updated theme song for the closing credits.
"Show Me The Dough, Boy!" is Trivial Productions' 3D/CGI entry in the mismatched-buddy road picture category starring the Kool Aide pitcher and the Pillsbary Doughboy. The popular commercial characters embark on a cross country trip to escape international terrorist/bank robber/computer hackers whose plans for a major attack on America is overheard when the terrorists unknowingly serve Kool Aide in the iconic pitcher at a terror cell meeting. At first the pitcher and the animated lump of dough are at each other's throats with an eventual rapprochement possible but not likely. Subplots involving a visit to a strip club and a meet-cute moment with a buxom stripper with a heart of gold seem tacked on and gratuitous.
If you think the FBI might drop in to rescue our intrepid pitcher and doughboy during a dizzying high speed jet-ski chase through the Grand Canyon's roiling Colorado River, you'll have to see the film to find out. But an unnamed major theme park is rumored to be planning a $25 million roller coaster called Kool Aide Pitcher & Pillsbary Doughboy's Grand Canyon Jet-Ski Adventure ride.
Script work and pre-production planning on "Show Me The Dough, Boy! II and "Show Me The Dough, Boy! III" has already begun.
Complementing outstanding visual production values is the very competent voice acting talent of Chinese nationals Wen Li Chou, Kwon Xi Pa and Xiao Chi. Unconfirmed reports indicate the three were each paid a relatively modest $5,000, comprising an unusually small percentage of the reported $195,000,000 overall budget.
In an industry first, sources close to the production say the entire production and marketing budget was provided by Mexican drug cartel financiers eager to launder massive elicit drug profits. Savvy Hollywood money-men may have unlocked an exciting new source of financing for ever more expensive productions.
Finally, the mega-blockbuster most anxiously awaited is the live-action/CGI/political/sci-fi/comedy/spy thriller from Occluded Vision Productions called "Diggster" featuring the eponymous animated dermatophyte from the Lamostil toenail fungus remedy commercials. The plot, involving a mysterious athlete's foot infection plaguing visitors to the US Congressional health club locker room, sinister space aliens, Russian spies, a talking circus seal named Mike, an adorable set of conjoined triplets, a stolen floppy disk and no less that 8 separate cases of mistaken identity, unfolds in predictable fashion.
What sets this film apart are the breathtaking special effects, many of which give us an intimate look at the fascinating inner lives of toenail fungus, the stirring and unrelentingly loud soundtrack, from industrial emo noise rap-rockers "F Ewe", and the innovative use of pop-up advertising windows and a continuous 'product placement information" crawl across the bottom 1/3 of the screen. After the first hour, you hardly even notice it.
I highly recommend all three of these films and look forward to such expected year-end holiday season mega-hits as "Mr. Clean: Dirt Avenger", "Speedy Alka Seltzor Undersea Adventure, Part 1, and Flo, The Insurance Girl in "Naughty Girls In Cell Block D".
Saturday, July 14, 2012
AFPGHICP!! AFPGHICP!!
Many of the readers of this blog know that I'm very active in the grass-roots organization known as Americans For The Preservation Of Generous Health Insurance Company Profits better known by the acronym AFPGHICP ("say it loud, say it proud! AFPGHICP!!! AFPGHICP!!!")
Recently, I was privileged to participate in the production of some carefully targeted ad-ommercials (a clever combination of basic commercial message enhanced with an extra, subtle advertising aspect)
I wrote and produced the video you've probably seen recently, the one called "Don't take my Daddy's Bentley away!" It features a sobbing little girl - daughter of a senior health insurance company executive - stares into the camera begging the viewer not to reduce insurance company profits because his Bentley is her daddy's favorite car, even more so than his Mercedes, his BMW or his Hummer. Was that kid awesome, or what!! When we shot that scene everyone on set was crying along with her. But I'll tell you, that adorable seven year old with the missing front tooth went home with a huge smile on her face and a check for $17,500!!!
You'd be amazed at how many envelopes we get with $3 or $5 or even loose change from little old ladies anxious about the girl in the video and her daddy's luxury car, who tell us they cut back on food or medication to make the contribution. Wow! Isnt that awesome! It's so very gratifying and heartwarming to know the message is working.
For people who want to help get the message out and meet other like-minded severe conservatives, we're having a candlelight prayer vigil tomorrow night to show solidarity with the embattled senior health insurance executives. It starts at midnight, outside The Satanic Church of Holy Hell. Free admission if you donate a can of food to help feed hungry insurance company execs.
We'll be serving refreshments (deviled eggs, devil's food cake, tap water in disposable plastic bottles, etc) and there will be entertainment including a battle of the bands featuring local guitarists competing against Satan himself playing his famous flaming Fender Stratocaster. And, back by popular demand, there will be virgin sacrifices, but as always, it's B.Y.O.V.
Hope to see everyone there!
Recently, I was privileged to participate in the production of some carefully targeted ad-ommercials (a clever combination of basic commercial message enhanced with an extra, subtle advertising aspect)
I wrote and produced the video you've probably seen recently, the one called "Don't take my Daddy's Bentley away!" It features a sobbing little girl - daughter of a senior health insurance company executive - stares into the camera begging the viewer not to reduce insurance company profits because his Bentley is her daddy's favorite car, even more so than his Mercedes, his BMW or his Hummer. Was that kid awesome, or what!! When we shot that scene everyone on set was crying along with her. But I'll tell you, that adorable seven year old with the missing front tooth went home with a huge smile on her face and a check for $17,500!!!
You'd be amazed at how many envelopes we get with $3 or $5 or even loose change from little old ladies anxious about the girl in the video and her daddy's luxury car, who tell us they cut back on food or medication to make the contribution. Wow! Isnt that awesome! It's so very gratifying and heartwarming to know the message is working.
For people who want to help get the message out and meet other like-minded severe conservatives, we're having a candlelight prayer vigil tomorrow night to show solidarity with the embattled senior health insurance executives. It starts at midnight, outside The Satanic Church of Holy Hell. Free admission if you donate a can of food to help feed hungry insurance company execs.
We'll be serving refreshments (deviled eggs, devil's food cake, tap water in disposable plastic bottles, etc) and there will be entertainment including a battle of the bands featuring local guitarists competing against Satan himself playing his famous flaming Fender Stratocaster. And, back by popular demand, there will be virgin sacrifices, but as always, it's B.Y.O.V.
Hope to see everyone there!
Friday, July 13, 2012
It's Just Business
Occasionally, I'm asked to relate accounts from my experience as a serial entrepreneur. (and infrequently, from my experience as a cereal entrepreneur, as well: I was the original developer of short-lived Cappies Corn Nuggets, a sugar-encrusted breakfast cereal shaped somewhat like each of the capital buildings of all 50 U.S. states.)
Keep in mind, as you read, that with the passage of time, it's entirely possible that certain details of long-past events may have been unintentionally misremembered.
Back in the early 90's I was on a scouting trip to France to source custom-made zippers for my exclusive line of "Carpeau" - a portmanteau of "cargo" and "chapeau" - fashionable hats with pocket-style on-head storage capacity of up to 150 pounds. (It ultimately wasn't as successful a product as I'd hoped, but I assure you the false claims of widespread neck injuries and broken bones from falls were grossly overstated and motivated by opportunistic lawsuits seeking easy financial gain. But that's another story.)
I ran into a Black Ethiopian Hasidic French native named Moishe Pierre Selassie Abromowitz who had recently opened a small restaurant called Fressers, off the Champs-Élysées. He suggested the kreplach soup to start the meal. I tell you I had never eaten such a delight before. Similar to an Italian ravioli or Chinese wonton, Moishe's kreplach were so light and fluffy they needed only a suggestion of your intent and they seemed to float into your mouth almost without assistance. And the flavor was out of this world, as well. A rich mixture of traditional European Jewish ingredients with just the right addition of exotic African spices. Not surprisingly, this man was one of only six accredited master kreplachers in the world at the time.
So, right then and there, I began envisioning kreplach as the next mega-fad food in America and figured a chain of kreplach emporia would be successful beyond anyone's imagination. I quickly worked out an agreement with Moishe to acquire the recipe and other elements essential to the concept along with personal instruction about the secret to serving such awesome kreplach.
During the weeks we worked together while he taught me aspects of his craft, we developed a wonderful rapport. Each day, in a ritual we never tired of, I would playfully ask, "Say, Moishe, where are you from?" and he would reply in his thick Ethiopian/Yiddish/French accent, with a twinkle in his eye, "I'm from Nice." Then, I would always say, "Oh, that's nice!". To which he would roar "Not 'nice', you dummy, NICE!! In FRANCE!" and we'd laugh and laugh and laugh till tears ran down our faces. (Truthfully, it quickly became a tiresome routine but neither of us wanted to be the first to admit it, so we just persisted in the daily merriment thru gritted teeth.)
Using the proceeds from the sale, Moishe eventually opened a chain of Kosher Chinese/Ethiopian/Pizza restaurants called "Oy, Am I Hungry!" across Europe that are still popular to this day. I'm happy for him.
After my work with Moishe ended, I hurried back to America and began putting my plan into action. I even designed a whimsical mascot for the chain called Kreppy, The Kreplach. While the architects and designers worked on the restaurant layouts, I commissioned an enormous fiberglass model of Kreppy to be used for promotional purposes and advertising graphics.
So, one day, about two months before the opening of the first 200 of the 5000 planned locations we set up an outdoor photoshoot for a massive ad blitz during opening week. By this point, you can just imagine how much money had been invested already. But I knew the payoff would make it all worthwhile.
The crew had set up the 30 foot tall kreplach on an outdoor lot we'd rented and just about 5 minutes before the first exposure was made, a little boy, no more than 6 years old, standing in the crowd of onlookers with his mother, suddenly screams out "MAMA, LOOK!! IT'S LADY PARTS!!!". Well, everyone stopped in their tracks and no one moved for several minutes. I'm just thinking over and over, "why didn't anyone notice this before? why? why? why?"
The unavoidable decision was made to strike the set and over the next two weeks, the entire venture just disintegrated. All the outside investors pulled out and everything tangible had to be sold at a loss. I still have a menu hanging on my wall from "Moishe's House of Kreplach" but that's about all that remains of this grand enterprise.
I did hear some years ago that the guy who bought the offending fiberglass kreplach moved it to a remote location a few hours north of Vegas and set it up as an entrance to a roadside attraction called "Va-Va-Va Ginas". And of course, by road side attraction, I mean brothel.
Keep in mind, as you read, that with the passage of time, it's entirely possible that certain details of long-past events may have been unintentionally misremembered.
Back in the early 90's I was on a scouting trip to France to source custom-made zippers for my exclusive line of "Carpeau" - a portmanteau of "cargo" and "chapeau" - fashionable hats with pocket-style on-head storage capacity of up to 150 pounds. (It ultimately wasn't as successful a product as I'd hoped, but I assure you the false claims of widespread neck injuries and broken bones from falls were grossly overstated and motivated by opportunistic lawsuits seeking easy financial gain. But that's another story.)
I ran into a Black Ethiopian Hasidic French native named Moishe Pierre Selassie Abromowitz who had recently opened a small restaurant called Fressers, off the Champs-Élysées. He suggested the kreplach soup to start the meal. I tell you I had never eaten such a delight before. Similar to an Italian ravioli or Chinese wonton, Moishe's kreplach were so light and fluffy they needed only a suggestion of your intent and they seemed to float into your mouth almost without assistance. And the flavor was out of this world, as well. A rich mixture of traditional European Jewish ingredients with just the right addition of exotic African spices. Not surprisingly, this man was one of only six accredited master kreplachers in the world at the time.
So, right then and there, I began envisioning kreplach as the next mega-fad food in America and figured a chain of kreplach emporia would be successful beyond anyone's imagination. I quickly worked out an agreement with Moishe to acquire the recipe and other elements essential to the concept along with personal instruction about the secret to serving such awesome kreplach.
During the weeks we worked together while he taught me aspects of his craft, we developed a wonderful rapport. Each day, in a ritual we never tired of, I would playfully ask, "Say, Moishe, where are you from?" and he would reply in his thick Ethiopian/Yiddish/French accent, with a twinkle in his eye, "I'm from Nice." Then, I would always say, "Oh, that's nice!". To which he would roar "Not 'nice', you dummy, NICE!! In FRANCE!" and we'd laugh and laugh and laugh till tears ran down our faces. (Truthfully, it quickly became a tiresome routine but neither of us wanted to be the first to admit it, so we just persisted in the daily merriment thru gritted teeth.)
Using the proceeds from the sale, Moishe eventually opened a chain of Kosher Chinese/Ethiopian/Pizza restaurants called "Oy, Am I Hungry!" across Europe that are still popular to this day. I'm happy for him.
After my work with Moishe ended, I hurried back to America and began putting my plan into action. I even designed a whimsical mascot for the chain called Kreppy, The Kreplach. While the architects and designers worked on the restaurant layouts, I commissioned an enormous fiberglass model of Kreppy to be used for promotional purposes and advertising graphics.
So, one day, about two months before the opening of the first 200 of the 5000 planned locations we set up an outdoor photoshoot for a massive ad blitz during opening week. By this point, you can just imagine how much money had been invested already. But I knew the payoff would make it all worthwhile.
The crew had set up the 30 foot tall kreplach on an outdoor lot we'd rented and just about 5 minutes before the first exposure was made, a little boy, no more than 6 years old, standing in the crowd of onlookers with his mother, suddenly screams out "MAMA, LOOK!! IT'S LADY PARTS!!!". Well, everyone stopped in their tracks and no one moved for several minutes. I'm just thinking over and over, "why didn't anyone notice this before? why? why? why?"
The unavoidable decision was made to strike the set and over the next two weeks, the entire venture just disintegrated. All the outside investors pulled out and everything tangible had to be sold at a loss. I still have a menu hanging on my wall from "Moishe's House of Kreplach" but that's about all that remains of this grand enterprise.
I did hear some years ago that the guy who bought the offending fiberglass kreplach moved it to a remote location a few hours north of Vegas and set it up as an entrance to a roadside attraction called "Va-Va-Va Ginas". And of course, by road side attraction, I mean brothel.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
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Remember, You'll Never Tire of SaTiré.
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Available though finer pawn shops, auto salvage yards and select local shade-tree mechanics.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Safety Check
This blog entry is in compliance with mandatory blog safety testing provisions of the International Blogging Regulatory Commission.
The following 1/2 Act Play is a wistfully nostalgic look back at the dignified GOP presidential primary era of just a few months ago.
===========================================================
Cast:
Herb, a handsome 65 year old blowhard former pizza magnate with an impressive (and unwarranted) sense of his own suitability for high elected public office
Anthony, a nebbishy 45 year old former congressman with poor impulse control
(curtain rises)
Herb: Hey, Tony, did I tell you my wife is coming to visit today? A CONJUGAL visit!
Anthony: Herb, first, I keep telling you I prefer 'Anthony' and second, yes, you told me she's coming, but you tell me that every day and she never...
Herb: Yeah, I'm pretty excited. She's a good woman. She comes up to here on me!! heh heh heh (holds his hand level with his crotch) Hey, Tony, did I tell you I touched Rosaria's boob yesterday?
Anthony: Herb, they really don't want you to grope the nurs...
Herb: Yeah, I finally figured out you gotta wait till the end of her shift when the batteries run down on her taser. It still stings a little, but man, it's worth it... she's got quite a rack, wow.
Anthony: Herb, it's getting late, I have an early group in the morning and...
Herb: Sit down a minute, Tony. Hey, ya know, I made the pizza at dinner tonight! What did you think? Great pizza, right?
Anthony: Herb, it was a little greas...
Herb: Yeah, it's awesome, I know. Did I tell you? The ingredients for that pizza cost 11 cents? ELEVEN CENTS, Man!! You sell that for $9.99 a pie: INSANE profit!!
Anthony: It had a sort of funny sme...
Herb: Ya know the white gooey stuff on top?
Anthony: yeah, the cheese...
Herb: Heh, heh, heh... that ain't no cheese, brother! No, there's no cheese in that pizza. I call it Fo-Cheese. Get it? Faux cheese? I developed it myself, yes sir.
Anthony: Herb, I have to go...
Herb: Sit down, Tony. Wanna know what's in Fo-Cheese? Ok, it's talcum powder, paste wax and finely shredded tennis shoes! And the sausage is 100% pig nostril I get for $20 a ton!
Anthony: Oh god... Good thing, I don't eat pork.
Herb: What? You Hebrew?
Anthony: Yes, Herb, I'm Jewish.
Herb: Oh, yeah? Fine people, the Jews. Had lots of 'em working for me back in the day, yeah. Real smart. Hey, they couldnt control all the newspapers, Hollywood, the banks, prostitution and the illegal drug trade if they werent!
Anthony: Herb, those are all anti-semitic canards...
Herb: Hey, did I tell you I got the new Playboy in today?
Anthony: Herb, you know that's against the ru...
Herb: Yeah, Lindsay Lohan. Nice rack. Butter face. I wouldnt say no to her, tho, if I had her drunk in a locked limo and offered her a job at State in exchange for some... lip service.
Anthony: Herb, how can you offer her a job at the State Department? You're not president.
Herb: Heh, heh, heh!! SHE DON"T KNOW THAT!!! Well, Tony, I've got to get ready for my wife's visit. I'm gonna stop by the admin office on my way back to my room. Did you see that new receptionist? Denise? Damn, is she hot!! Her legs go ALL the way to the ground!! She's 24 years old, Tony. TWENTY FOUR! Wanna go with me? You lean over the counter to grab a candy from that bowl, you can look down her blouse. Pretty sweet.
Anthony: Yeah, ok, Herb, that sounds good.
Herb: Tony (slapping Anthony's knee) you're all right. And if I can't be out there... running for president, well, I can't think of another place I'd rather be than here. With a swell pal like you.
Anthony: Thanks, Herb, that's nice of you to say... Hey, did you see that tall housekeeper today? The one with the tight slacks? I forget her name... But I never forget a
(Anthony, Herb in unison) CAMEL TOE!!! HA HA HA HA...
The two laughing men walk off stage as the lights dim, the curtain falls and America sleeps just a little more soundly.
------------------------------------------------------
This was just a test entry. If it had been a real blog entry you would have received additional instructions.
The following 1/2 Act Play is a wistfully nostalgic look back at the dignified GOP presidential primary era of just a few months ago.
===========================================================
You Want A Job; I Want A... Job
setting: the bucolic western Virginia site of the non-partisan Residential Treatment Center For Sexual Misbehavior and Related Political Maladies. Dusk. Two adirondack chairs set on a porch overlooking the magnificent Blue Ridge Mountains.Cast:
Herb, a handsome 65 year old blowhard former pizza magnate with an impressive (and unwarranted) sense of his own suitability for high elected public office
Anthony, a nebbishy 45 year old former congressman with poor impulse control
(curtain rises)
Herb: Hey, Tony, did I tell you my wife is coming to visit today? A CONJUGAL visit!
Anthony: Herb, first, I keep telling you I prefer 'Anthony' and second, yes, you told me she's coming, but you tell me that every day and she never...
Herb: Yeah, I'm pretty excited. She's a good woman. She comes up to here on me!! heh heh heh (holds his hand level with his crotch) Hey, Tony, did I tell you I touched Rosaria's boob yesterday?
Anthony: Herb, they really don't want you to grope the nurs...
Herb: Yeah, I finally figured out you gotta wait till the end of her shift when the batteries run down on her taser. It still stings a little, but man, it's worth it... she's got quite a rack, wow.
Anthony: Herb, it's getting late, I have an early group in the morning and...
Herb: Sit down a minute, Tony. Hey, ya know, I made the pizza at dinner tonight! What did you think? Great pizza, right?
Anthony: Herb, it was a little greas...
Herb: Yeah, it's awesome, I know. Did I tell you? The ingredients for that pizza cost 11 cents? ELEVEN CENTS, Man!! You sell that for $9.99 a pie: INSANE profit!!
Anthony: It had a sort of funny sme...
Herb: Ya know the white gooey stuff on top?
Anthony: yeah, the cheese...
Herb: Heh, heh, heh... that ain't no cheese, brother! No, there's no cheese in that pizza. I call it Fo-Cheese. Get it? Faux cheese? I developed it myself, yes sir.
Anthony: Herb, I have to go...
Herb: Sit down, Tony. Wanna know what's in Fo-Cheese? Ok, it's talcum powder, paste wax and finely shredded tennis shoes! And the sausage is 100% pig nostril I get for $20 a ton!
Anthony: Oh god... Good thing, I don't eat pork.
Herb: What? You Hebrew?
Anthony: Yes, Herb, I'm Jewish.
Herb: Oh, yeah? Fine people, the Jews. Had lots of 'em working for me back in the day, yeah. Real smart. Hey, they couldnt control all the newspapers, Hollywood, the banks, prostitution and the illegal drug trade if they werent!
Anthony: Herb, those are all anti-semitic canards...
Herb: Hey, did I tell you I got the new Playboy in today?
Anthony: Herb, you know that's against the ru...
Herb: Yeah, Lindsay Lohan. Nice rack. Butter face. I wouldnt say no to her, tho, if I had her drunk in a locked limo and offered her a job at State in exchange for some... lip service.
Anthony: Herb, how can you offer her a job at the State Department? You're not president.
Herb: Heh, heh, heh!! SHE DON"T KNOW THAT!!! Well, Tony, I've got to get ready for my wife's visit. I'm gonna stop by the admin office on my way back to my room. Did you see that new receptionist? Denise? Damn, is she hot!! Her legs go ALL the way to the ground!! She's 24 years old, Tony. TWENTY FOUR! Wanna go with me? You lean over the counter to grab a candy from that bowl, you can look down her blouse. Pretty sweet.
Anthony: Yeah, ok, Herb, that sounds good.
Herb: Tony (slapping Anthony's knee) you're all right. And if I can't be out there... running for president, well, I can't think of another place I'd rather be than here. With a swell pal like you.
Anthony: Thanks, Herb, that's nice of you to say... Hey, did you see that tall housekeeper today? The one with the tight slacks? I forget her name... But I never forget a
(Anthony, Herb in unison) CAMEL TOE!!! HA HA HA HA...
The two laughing men walk off stage as the lights dim, the curtain falls and America sleeps just a little more soundly.
------------------------------------------------------
This was just a test entry. If it had been a real blog entry you would have received additional instructions.
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