Interview with our New Mayor

In an exclusive interview with this reporter and several dozen other members of the media, the new mayor of our city recently held a press conference to discuss the affairs of the day.

I asked the first penetrating question. 

“Mr. Mayor, what is the capital of Djibouti please?  I’m doing a crossword.”

“Djibouti City you idiot.  Next question?”

An actual reporter stuck up his hand. "Mr Mayor, you've said publicly that you are not in favour of all the red tape at City Hall.  What do you intend to do about it?"

"Well, I think there are too many committees at city hall, which is slowing down development.  My first job as Mayor will be to form a committee to deal with these committees.  I’ll call it the Committee Committee."

"Will this be a standing committee?"

"Yes, it will be the Standing Committee Committee."

"Will the members of this committee stand during proceedings?"

"No, it will be a sitting Standing Committee Committee."

"So you have high hopes for this committee then?"

"I believe it will be an outstanding sitting Standing Committee Committee."

"You sound committed."

"Well, you can't have an uncommitted outstanding sitting Standing Committee Committee now can you?"

“What other plans do you have Mr. Mayor?”

"Well I’m on a mission to commission a commission for the Mission to find a way to transition away from the Planning Commission.  I’ll call it my Mission Planning Commission Abolition Commission Commission mission.”

“What else is on your agenda, Mr. Mayor?”

“I think we should nuke Rutland from orbit, just to be safe.  I’m sorry – did you hear that?  Pardon me!  I’m still working on my inner Mayor voice.  What I meant to say is, I plan on working closely with the citizens of Rutland to move forward with their, uh, initiatives. We’ll put the information out using Fritter.”

“Twitter?”

“Whatever.  Tomato, tomahto, twitter, twa…next question please?”

“What about your promise of cutting taxes?”

“Cut taxes?  I never said anything about cutting taxes!  I said I’d like to cut TAXI’S.  I believe we have too many of them on the road and we should reduce that right away.  I’m using science to determine the optimal number of taxis out there, a process I’ll be calling the Max-Taxi Cab Flab Lab.  Don’t blab about it.”

“Have you ever thought about being a rapper, sir?”

“I’d love to be a gum wrapper. Doublemint is my favourite.”

“Thank you for your time sir.  And let me compliment you on your tutu.”

“You haven’t figured out a way to end your column have you?”

“No sir, I have not.”

“Take out that tutu remark and I’ll let you hold the gold shovel at the next sod-turning.”

“Can I wear a hard hat?”

“Sure.”

“Deal.” 

Winter Memory

With cold weather now upon us, I am often reminded of foolish things I used to do when I was younger.  Things like getting my tongue stuck to an ice cold woman.  I don't know why I did it - she was just there and I felt the urge. 

I learned my lesson, though, and now prior to licking I warm them up with a blow torch. 

Vacuum Control

The targets didn’t stand a chance.

I had carefully planned my route, staying stealthy, low down, hidden.  I reconnoitered the target area, dialed in the killing zone, became one with my prey. 

I was stalking.

My mission? To eliminate the hordes of fruit flies that had invaded our kitchen. 

I was heavily armed.  My weapon of choice?  A pistol-gripped, one inch caliber, built-in vacuum cleaner with a three inch barrel and thirty foot hose with decorative, floral cloth covering. 

It is a high-tech, powerful, insect killing machine. 

I am…The Fly Sniper.

On some missions I utilize a silencer – a plastic tube attachment normally used for high-angle work like valences. 

For some, these add-ons help to lessen the mental blow that dealing death brings into a sniper’s psyche. 

Not me.  I don’t need a shrink to help me understand what I’m doing.  No need to ‘get in touch with my feelings’ here.  I admit I’m a killer, and I’m OK with that. 

Today, the enemy seemed to be congregating on the wall above the garbage can – no doubt licking their disgusting little fly lips, moaning and loosening their belts after a satisfying meal of banana peel and discarded bits of salad. 

They erupt into flight at my approach, but my weapon is upon them!  Ha Ha!  Come within an inch of the business end of this Roving Vortex of Destruction and in you go!  No chance of escape!

I narrowly avoided a tragedy as the nozzle came a little close to my wife’s chest area.  By accident. 

Over the fruit bowl I slowly circle my Wand of Death.  In go the juice-sucking vermin as they rise to do battle.  An over-ripe small plum also rises into my weapon with a strangely satisfying “Glurp!” sound.

Fighter Command radar sees flies everywhere as I circle the kitchen.  Big game flies, fruit flies, those little jiggers you can barely see, all hurtle into the Hose of Doom.

Seeing the demonic look in my eyes, the children wisely scurry out of range.  My wife is not so lucky and bears a perfectly round, purple mark on her hip as a result. 

Mission complete, I disassemble my weaponry and return to my observation post in front of the television.

You know, there are some who decry the use of domestic cleaning equipment for killing.  They say vacuums were meant for cleaning and not hunting.  They call me a mass murderer.

To them I say – vacuums don’t kill insects.  All the filth in the canister they bash into at six hundred miles an hour kills insects. 

I realize vacuums can be turned on their owners, and I also know most suction hicky’s are self-inflicted.  Those are risks I’m willing to take in the name of personal protection and dust-free carpets, drapes, and many horizontal surfaces which can be dusted with that brush attachment thing. 

All the talk of vacuum control in this country is a waste of time.  There are too many unregistered built-ins, not to mention portables and Dustbusters, for any kind of control plan to make a difference.  If cleaners want a vacuum, they’ll be able to get one somewhere. 

And if the Government wants to register my vacuum, they’ll have to pry the plastic hand-grip with convenient on/off thumb switch from my cold, dead, purple-spotted hands. 

Occumuse

If the Occupy Wall Street people occupied the radius of a circle the movement would be called Occupi

If they occupied a dessert confection it would be Occupie

If they changed diapers it would be Occupee and Occupoo

If they were a gentle Scottish insult it would be “Och!  You pie!”

If they descend on the Vatican it will be the Occupope

If they could fit in a tube it would become the Occupipe

If Gynecologists get involved it will be the Occupap

When they get vagrancy tickets they will have to Occupay

Occupé is also the name of their new perfume – its aroma is in tents

Too Much

I was in Starbucks and had to use the bathroom but when I tried to open the door I saw this sign and I thought "Man, these protesters are really getting carried away."

 

Bovine Wine - Winner - America's Funniest Humor Contest

A local rancher has discovered that feeding wine to cows produces meat that is tastier than your usual sirloin.  It must also produce tipsy livestock who lose all inhibitions and wind up yakking with their sisters all night about how traumatic the delivery of their calf was ten years ago.

I have a beef with this.  One of my meatier concerns is etiquette at wine tastings.  Cows are new to wine - they don't know about spittoons or what the crackers are for or how to hold the glass or anything.  They just drink till they're loaded and then slobber and whiz all over the place.  Kind of like New Yorkers, really. 

I'm kidding, of course.  I mean Australians.

In my opinion, bingeing bovines need much more tasting.  Testing, I mean.

For instance, if this feeding trend leads to wider aisles in china shops and wine stores then I’m all for it.  Well done!

Burning questions remain, however, particularly for restaurant patrons.  Are you prepared to accept the pairing opinion of a Simmental Sommelier at your local eatery?  Do you really think a cow will recommend the mouth-watering steak when it happens to be his cousin?  “This wine is a terrific accompaniment to…fish,” he’ll say.  Every time. 

That is what is at steak.  Stake – excuse me.

This being the Pacific Northwest, wine-fed beef will inevitably lead to dope-raised chickens. 

Mellow yet plucky hens, fed a daily supplement of grow-op ‘grain’, will soon be the rage among chefs.  There they'll be (the chickens), loafing about their free ranges, stoned out of their beaks, staring at the clouds, thinking deep chicken thoughts like "What are the enormous white things that emerge from my cooter every day?"

Restaurants will serve ‘Baked, baked chicken, with special brownie stuffing.’  They’ll just lay on your plate, grinning in their own chickeny way.  Wow, man.

I’m telling you, this wine-feeding scourge must be stomped out.  Put the entire idea out to pasture where it belongs, I say.  Wine is for humans, not animals.  I think authorities should give this rancher a good grilling. 

We need to put a cork in this scheme in order to preserve our region as a grade ‘A’ tourist destination and make our visitors enjoy our brand of welcome, not herd them like cattle through the chutes of monetary gain, into the silos of history, never to return to our granary of democracy.     

“Waiter!  I’ll have the half-baked metaphors done medium-well, and a glass of your finest Moolot, please.”

Chief Executive

Press Release

The President of Occupy Wall Street Company, David Crawford, has announced thousands of layoffs, effective immediately.

"In order to meet our profit targets we must institute severe cost cutting measures," announced the CEO, whose current salary is $750,000 plus stock options.  "Having all these people just sitting around holding signs is not the way to operate a successful company in todays day and age" announced the exalted leader.

Speaking from inside his limousine, the CEO then went on to thank many of Occupy's corporate sponsors, including Coca Cola and Bank of America, for their patience and understanding during this crisis.  "They've been with us all the way," said Crawford.  "If it weren't for their support I think we'd all be out of jobs."

Mr. Crawford went on to state that while he fully supports the ideals of his employee discontent, people must move on with their lives and pick themselves up off the pavement of disappointment, move into the light of prosperity, and ask themselves if they really, really understand the implications of not asking if the customer is having fries with that order, he said.

"Do they want to hold up poorly spelled signs of discontent their entire lives, or do they want to move on and enjoy the many benefits of wallowing in debt and working at low-paying jobs the rest of their miserable lives?  Is living in filth and squalor worth it?" he asked, rhetorically.  "I don't think so - particularly if we are going to hit next quarter's revenue forecasts."

For media interviews, please contact one of Mr Crawford's executive assistants.  Space is limited due to board meetings, planning sessions, and a pedicure.

First Drafts

Like me, I figure song writers had to have first drafts of their songs.  I have visions of rock musicians, pens in hand, crossing stuff out and muttering "That just doesn't sound right..."

Herewith are some examples:

• Deep Purple - Smoke on the Landscape
• Rod Stewart - Maggie Moe
• Led Zeppelin - Stairway to Bathroom
• Elvis Presley - Jailhouse Dance
• Beatles - Hey Dude, I Want to Hold Your Gland
• Elton John - Saturday Nights Alright for Knitting, Bennie and the Mets
• Smokey Robinson - The Tracks of My Tires
• Jackson Brown - Doctor My Pancreas
• Steppenwolf - Born to be Mild
• Police - Roseanne
• Pink Floyd - Currency
• Doobie Brothers - China Groove
• Supremes - Where Did My Shoes Go?
• Warren Zevon - Werewolves of Cleveland
• Carl Perkins - Blue Suede Wallabies
• Ray Charles - Hit The Road Bob
• Lynyrd Skynyrd - Sweet Home North Dakota
• Don Maclean - American Schnitzel

Selling

I took my daughter out selling Girl Guide cookies tonight.

Having been in the sales game for many years, I coached her on the right approach.

"You've got to tug at their heart strings and be very sincere and cute," I told her.  "You'll do fine, Sweetheart"

At our first stop my daughter rang the bell and then gave her prepared speech when the door opened.

"Wanna buy some cookies or should I burn down your house?" she asked.  "You've got a nice place here - be a shame if anything were to happen to it," she continued.

I beamed with pride as neighbour after neighbour forked over their cash, negotiable securities and other valuables.

"Pay up you rat!" she would say, plunging her little fist into one neighbours guts.  "You said you'd take 8 boxes now hand over the cash ya bum!"

They grow up so quickly don't they?

Biolomin...biolumines...oh just watch the video

If I was to describe this video you would swear I had just smoked several joints the size of emergency flares, so just watch it.


Cool Video here (roll mouse over)

http://io9.com/bioluminescence/

Well That's Why I'm Called 'Occasional...'

I am the Dearth Vader of postings, I know...

So the other day my son grandly and bravely announced he'd like to sleep outside on our air mattress.  Not a sleepover with chums or anything - just himself.

Despite my raised eyebrow and inner doubts as to whether he'd actually pull this off (bookies in Vegas were running odds well into the 8 digit-to-one range at this early juncture), I am nothing if not supportive of my kid's adventures so we set things up that afternoon.

I'll interrupt my narrative here by boldly announcing we don't have any of those 'inflate things with your own breath' stuff.  We have technology built in to our mattress that blows things up for us, by sucking in air at the rate of a small jet engine (with attendant noise, eerily similar to that of a large jet engine, with afterburner). 

Mattress inflated and positioned, we were proud of our next step since we actually remembered to place a fitted sheet over the mattress.  This surprised us both since a) we are male and therefore do not usually consider sheet-related issues at any point in our entire lives, content to wallow in filth and un-sheeted beds if needs be, b) we didn't tear the fitted sheet while attempting to fit the sheet cross-ways instead of length-ways on the mattress and scratching our heads in confusion as to how such things actually become 'fitted' when they don't bloody well fit anything, and further how do women actually fold these things so neatly anyway?, and c) I forget what c) was supposed to be. Forgive me.

Anyway, we made the bed, including my son's sleeping bag (or, to use the correct nomenclature - "Fart Sack"), unzipped to create one large blankie.  Perfect.

The hot afternoon promised a nice evening and I assured my brave boy that coyotes or other predators would not come roaming around our home to prey on small children.  We leave those tasks to religious zealots, natural gas salesmen, and other vermin, who all get slapped with the same vigour, you'll be pleased to know.

It was during the dessert course (Jello pudding) of our nutritious evening meal (Krap Dinner) that the predicted announcement was made.  "Dad, I think I'll sleep in my own bed tonight.  I need a good sleep."

Owing to my pressing schedule (sports highlights, card playing, web surfing, snack preparation and consumption etc.) I was unable to disassemble the bedding that particular night (and the next three nights in fact), owing to having completely forgotten about doing so, in classic male Dad tradition.

Later that night, however, I arose to fulfill a certain biological function related to abundantly functional kidneys, when a thought occurred to me and I decided right then and there to test the outdoor sleeping arrangement myself. 

I padded down the stairs all the way to the basement, stumbled outside in the blackness that is 3am, and beheld an inviting sight, perfectly illuminated by the Spiderman nightlight which I had also forgotten to unplug. 
Throwing caution to the wind, along with my bathrobe and glasses, I flung back the sleeping bag and gently lowered my magnificent body onto the soft flannel sheet.

Whereupon my ass plummeted down and onto the concrete of the patio beneath me.  The hot air with which I had filled the damn thing had cooled considerably and the mattress was now about half full, giving it a consistency of a 1980's water bed (and if you never experienced the thrill of a water bed, you were not alive in the 70's and 80's my friend.  Even now I am lurching back into my memories of attempting to have sex while pitching and rolling on the high seas of my old king size monster, my date turning a revolting shade of green in the romantic light of my undulating lava lamp...)  Where was I? Ah yes - outside.

Once I achieved equilibrium of motion by evenly distributing my weight (by assuming a posture of spread-eagled glory not unlike that drawing of the guy in the circle, by Da Vinci), I was actually quite comfortable.  A soft breeze was blowing cool air over me, and the decorative grasses were swaying gently near the side of the deck.  Ahhhh

I was just nodding off to a contented sleep when the first cannon went off.

Our region sports many fruit orchards, and propane cannons are often employed to shoo away hungry birds, and to cause sleeping men to lurch awake, shout "Incoming!" and roll into the flower bed, cowering behind the sheltering firmness of a Day Lily and several shrubs. 

Once I realized what the noise was (the 1812 Overture) I settled down, brushed the dirt off of my knees, and rolled back into bed.  My heart was still syncopating with the cannons but I eventually relaxed, such that I could now hear the mosquitos circling my head. 

"Oh great" I said (those were my exact words I assure you).

Feeling one of the little monsters alight on my head, I misjudged my strength and slapped myself (and the mosquito, presumably) with enough force to raise a welt and scare off neighbourhood birds in my own right.  This smack killed the beast (its dessicated carcass clearly visible on my face the next day), and I was able to return to slumber, albeit with a burning welt on my forehead which later caused co-workers to ask if my wife and I were still on speaking terms...

Thinking my worries were over ("What else was there to go wrong?" I asked myself in a foolish display of deluded thinking) I nodded off, dreaming happy, bug and cannon-free dreams.

Until the neighbour's sprinklers turned on about 3 minutes later, 10 feet from my head.

"Plop on this!" I cried, stumbling up the stairs.

I looked in on my son, sleeping soundly in his bed.

Smart kid.  Good thing he takes after his mother.

"And Vile Odours Crept Across The Land..."

We just got back from a long weekend at a cabin at Beaver Lake, where we enjoyed sunshine, smoke, hideous body aromas, scratching, and lack of anything electronic.  Then we got out of the minivan and unpacked at the lake...

Last year's camping trip saw me make fishing lures out of old fishing line, a stick, and some wire bent into a hook.  This contraption was created for the kids not so much to catch fish but to keep them amused attempting to catch fish (by coating the bottom of the lake with bits of bread and millions of gummy worms) for many hours, which was successful beyond my wildest dreams. 

This year, bait in the form of extraordinarily expensive (real) worms were employed, leading to the following conversation:

"Dad!  I caught something!"
"Bull fish"
"No, Dad.  It's true!  Look!  It's a real fish!"
"Yes - they are called Bull fish sweetheart.  Congratulations!  What are you going to do with it?"
"Can I cut it open and look at the guts?" (my daughter is beginning to exhibit certain gruesome personality characteristics which we'll discuss in a future column, perhaps after a visit with a mental health professional)
"He's a little small don't you think?" (the butt-ugly 'fish' in question was 2 inches in length - massively huge to a ten-year old).
"I think I'll put him in a bowl..." (later, while doing the dishes, I imagined the thoughts of the people checking into the cabin after our departure, using the same bowl for their spinach salad. Despite these delicious thoughts, I cleaned the bowl anyway...)
"Look!  He's barfing out the worm!  Cool!"

My appetite having departed, we spent the rest of our morning contemplating the effects of sunburn on the scales of a fish in a salad bowl, as well as the effects of Off insect repellant being sprayed into the same bowl.  Neither had any noticeable effect (on us either, come to think of it), so we threw the fish back into the lake to tell his comrades of his latest adventure.  His name was Harold, by the way.


I'll have more stories for you once I scrape off the accumulated filth from several days in the wilderness.  In the meantime, I'll enjoy the sound made by enormous sheets of sunburned, red skin being pulled from the top of my scalp and forehead.

Until next time...

Benchley Top Ten

Once again I have been named a finalist for the Robert Benchley Award for Humor in the U.S.  I don't hink I'll win, but hope springs eternal...

Here is the link: http://www.benchley.blogspot.com/

This years final judge is humorist Mark Russell.

I think they announce the winner(s) on July 5th. 

"I'd like to thank the Academy..."

Columns I Am Currently Working On Which Track My Continuing Mental Decline

• A few weeks ago I got my lawn aerated, a process by which a machine pulls plugs of dirt and grass out and leaves them scattered hither and yon (and there's nothing worse than scattered hithers and yons).  These plugs closely resemble the droppings of well-fed geese and cause consternation and a certain peculiar walking style when crossing the yard.  They also turn into .50 caliber goose doot ammunition when mowing the lawn for the first time this season, as I recently discovered.  I am currently trying to elucidate what happens when the neighbourhood and passersby are winged by this lawnmower enfilading fire.

• I am fleshing out a column about the list of tasks we are trying to get our children to perform on a regular basis.  I know - it's a ridiculous premise destined for immediate and painful failure, but it is an amusing mental exercise to think that our offspring might someday do the dishes, turn off a light or two, or scoop the cat litter.  Actually, this initiative may prove too idiotic even for a humour column.

• An investigative report is underway into the phenomenon of men (well, me) washing dishes by the scientific process of spraying hot water over the pots and watching erosion take its course.  This is a wonderful technique not only for its fascinating visual appeal to a zoning-out man, but is also effective at allowing the washer to watch the hockey game on TV while diligently performing his assigned kitchen duties.  We will investigate this trend and see how it compares to actually performing the task and not just running the water while the worker sneaks snacks from the fridge since his family has their back turned and are not paying attention.

• A debate continues to rage in our home over the propriety of leaving discarded food in waste baskets that are not usually used as kitchen waste receptacles.  To wit, the leaving of banana peels (sans actual banana) in the waste basket in the washroom.  My wife and I recently had a frank exchange of viewpoints on this very matter, which sounded something like this: "Don't leave banana peels in the garbace can in there!" "Why not?" "Because they make the whole room smell.like bananas" "Well Honey - consider the alternative..."

These and other exciting bits of comedy will soon be winging their way to your living rooms!  Stay tuned!.

Childrens Education

I always learn something from my kids when we go out for a hike.  Yesterday was no different.

I learned the succinct method in which the earth was formed and how life came about.  I forget how the topic came up, but my son explained things nicely:

"It used to be just ocean, then there was a bunch of earthquakes, and then came the mountains."  That's it.  Simple yet elegant. 

Hikes in our family are edumicational. 

Mothers Day Miracle

Rita Chretien has been found alive and well!

Missing since mid-March, Mrs Chretien was found by hunters in the remote forests of Nevada, having survived by eating trail mix and water for seven weeks.

Mrs Chretien was in relatively good condition when found, but collapsed when told she had been elected as an NDP Member of Parliament.

The search for her missing husband continues. 

Playoff Beards...

Check out this guy's beard!  I think he plays for the Bruins...

 
More beards at this link:

http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history-archaeology/Who-Had-the-Best-Civil-War-Facial-Hair.html?utm_source=twitter&utm_medium=twitter&utm_campaign=twitter

When Weather Forecasters Bathe...

Do they take widely scattered showers?

Just curious.

Latin Humour

There is a player on the Nashville Predators named Erat.  I always imagine him centring a line between Quod and Demonstrandum. It's the QED line...

You're right - I have too much time on my hands. I AM an intellectual though, eh.

New Literary Descriptor I Thought up for No Reason Whatsoever

"Like a cat pouncing on an early-morning erection..."

May the 4th be with you

That is all.

What was Bin Laden Wearing During His Departure Ceremony?

We here at ET are hot on the trail of Bin Laden's fashion designer after the worlds Most Wanted man dearly departed yesterday.

The fashion world is atwitter in a desperate attempt to find out whose hat he was wearing on his last day, who was the best dressed in his ultra chic hideaway and so on.  Rumors swirling around the compound say he was wearing white Versace robes but that report is unconfirmed.

Fashion authorities are also wondering whose grenades made the biggest bang at the event, whose bullets went off without a hitch, and other details.

Speaking of swirling around the compound like the downwash of a helicopter, fashion designers are buzzing about what our daring soldiers were wearing, what accessories were hot, and what type of helicopter was used to whisk them to the ceremony. 

Stay tuned to ET for all the latest breaking news from this hot fashion development!

For Rent: Lovely, Private, Secure Compound in Abbottabad

This lovely city is the home of warm weather, beautiful mountain scenery, and private, secure compounds.

Our resort features the ultimate in luxury and discretion - guaranteed.  This premier getaway - no internet, no telephone, and very little heat signature visible from satellites or drones - is perfect for relaxing and leaving all your troubles behind!  You'll want to declare a fatwa against work! 

This is the perfect place for retreats of all kinds.  Whether you're a busy business leader or the harried head of a ragtag bunch of homicidal maniacs bent on world domination, our staff will attend to your every need.  Whether its cleaning your automatic weapon or arranging those special goat visits, we take care of our guests in every way.

We know you depend on security.  We've made a name as one of the most remote and secure compounds in the world.  You won't hear helicopters approaching or dogs barking or the click of metal implements around here - our reputation demands it, and so do you.  Whether its our high tech tin cans with rocks alarm system or crack security guards, you can be certain no one will ever find you here. 

Remember our motto: Rest Assured. 


Damage deposit required.  Some stains on carpet and upholstery from previous tenant who vacated on very short notice. Includes helicopter landing pad(s).  Enormous piles of brass shell casings included at no charge.  We regret that our dependable, discreet courier service is no longer available.

Donald Trump Demands to see Bin Laden Death Certificate

Donald Trump, a noted idiot blowhard and possible U.S. Presidential candidate, has announced he would like to see the long form death certificate of Osama Bin Laden, the now-dead terrorist leader.

"How do we know it's true?" asked the man who is best noted for his douchebaggery in the New York real estate market.  "I demand to see evidence, other than photo's and video of Bin Laden with holes in his head."

It is not known if the U.S. Government will release the long form version of the certificate.  No one knows if such a thing even exists.  'Truthers,' who claim that nothing ever happens without a government conspiracy, are concerned about the certificate as well.  A spokesperson said "We're so concerned about the certificate, you could say we're certifiable."

More news after the Bin Laden departure party.

British? You Decide...

I don't want to start a controversy or anything, but I would like to ask a question.

Is Kate Middleton actually British?  I mean - she has straight, lovely teeth.  It makes you wonder...

I, for one, would like to see a birth certificate.

How to Kill Plants - Lesson 1 in a Series

First, uncoil your water hose (first time this spring - great excitement) and water everything in sight.

Next, leave the uncoiled, water-filled hose out overnight and next day allow the warm suns rays to heat the water therein to almost boiling temperature.

Then - spray your shrubs with the boiling hot water, not realizing that the water has reached the scalding point.

Now!  Watch the new leaves and shoots shrivel up and shreak at the top of their little planty voices "Nooooo!" as they recoil in horror at the assault on their teeny little selves. 

When wife notices withered plants, comment sagely "Huh - frost must have got them this year..." and wander off so she cannot see the guilty look on your face.

End of lesson 1.  Begin lesson 2 shortly I'm sure.

Thoid

My entry in Americas Funniest Humor Writing contest took 3rd place.  We are pleased.  Here is a link to my entry (roll over link to make it work):

http://humorpress.com/Results/Essays-2011_02-03/aa-Winners/Essay-2011_02-03-Winners.htm#31_

A Daughterly Discussion

I had a very interesting discussion with my daughter on our way to Girl Guides tonight. She's 10.

Our discussion pertained to the relative advantages we would enjoy if humans had wings. Feathered wings.

I would like to share with you now, in popular bullet form, the salient points of this discussion:

• First, we would not need cars or roads any longer.  We would just fly.  We like that.  Instead of bike racks we'd need some perches though.
• The wings would be hidden inside our arms somehow - secret compartments maybe - so that we could just wiggle our arms and unfold them.
• The feathers would only go to our shoulders so that we would not have to modify our t-shirts and we could still wear tank tops.  
• One really great thing about flying would be the ability to fly over people we didn't like and poop on them.
• We would not have feathers on our behinds or anything, so we would not be able to float like a duck.
• We would still have hands and everything so we would still be able to use nail polish.  We could also eat normally and all that.
• We would NOT have a beak.  No way.

By this time we were at Guides, so that was about it.  We hope you have enjoyed our thoughts. Good night.

This Guy is Awesome! At Everything!

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #14

About the Chicago Blackhawks...

I’d like to Frolik in your Klinkhammer

Johnson is known for his size

It hurts when I Pisani

You’re as big as a Hossa

Soccer Coaching Issue

This year I am the Assistant Coach (note capitals) of my son's soccer team (The Disney Club Penguin Tigers!).

The coach is our family dentist.

This is leading to some confusion amongst both the players and myself as to terminology and positioning. When the coach gets excited he reverts to that which is familiar.

Our game today sounded something like this...

"OK - molars! Back up and cover the guy behind you!"

"Incisors - move up! Cover over here on the distal side!"

"You're an incisor! Stay in the middle of the field! Don't get all occluded back there - spread out!"

"Pass! You've got to pass to the open canine on the mesial anterior side you guys!"

We're learning...

Insurgency Redux

From an interview with a High Ranking Official of the United States Government.

Me: "Sir, we would like you to clarify your position with regard to events in the Middle East if you would be so kind."

Official: "Certainly - it is really quite straight forward."

Me: "Excellent. Now first of all, can you clarify who you are backing in the current Libya situation?"

Official: "Of course - we are backing the insurgents who are fighting for the freedom and democracy that they so richly deserve."

Me: "I see. So backing the insurgents is a good thing?"

Official: "Absolutely. These people are freedom fighters whom we respect a great deal. We will be supplying them with arms and technology to further their cause since it aligns so well with our own ideals of freedom and democracy."

Me: "So what about the insurgents in Iraq?"

Official: "Oh, they're bad. We don't like them."

Me: "But aren't they freedom fighters as well?"

Official: "Well, that's what they call themselves. But we know they are really insurgents fighting what they think is an, er, evil invader but really isn't."

Me: "I see. So insurgents are bad. What about the insurgents in Afghanistan?"

Official: "Are we talking about the first ones or the second ones?"

Me: "I guess the second ones."

Official: "Oh, they're bad. We don't like them at all. The first ones were good - they were fighting an evil invader. But these guys are evil invaders, so we kill them."

Me: "So let me get this straight. The first Afghan insurgents were good because they were fighting an evil invader, but now the second ones are bad because they are fighting an evil invader. The Iraq insurgents are bad because they are fighting what they think is an evil invader but isn't, and the Libyan insurgents are good because, what, no evil has invaded yet?"

Official: "Clear as day, isn't it?"

Me: "Well thank you very much for clarifying things."

Official: "My pleasure. Any time. I was born in Hawaii you know..."

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #13

Relating to Spring Cleaning:

• Work from the top down, inside to outside
• Rinse those hard to reach places with vinegar and water
• Use a Swiffer on your hardwood
• Wipe your squeegee after each stroke

A Rant, If I May

I have just finished filling in another field trip consent form for my children.

Can anyone explain to me why I have to put down their health care card number on each and every form?  Why is this so important?  It makes my vivid imagination run wild...

"Mr. Crawford?  Yes, its Tracy, the supervisor here at the swimming pool/horse riding academy/theater/science fair/beer hall.  Your child has had an accident, and when we were about to resuscitate her we noticed you had not filled in her health care card number.  What is the correct number please so that we might begin our procedures to save her life?"

Can we not deal with health care funding at a time other than when my child is lying unconscious or bleeding or lying on a gurney in the emergency department?  Can we just take care of the kid first - I'll bring in the card when I get there? 

Thank you. I feel much better now.  I need ten bucks for the field trip though.  Please hurry.

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #12

When Preparing Your Boat for the Coming Season:

-        Make sure your head is clean and operating normally
-        Check for leaks on your dinghy
-        Scrub your topsides with a mild detergent
-        Lubricate your shaft and make sure it isn’t bent

Startling Insights Ascertained While In The Shower #47

You don't hear the phrase "Heavens to Betsy" much any more.

Thank you.

How to Shop

Techno Shopping by Faceweb

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #11

Pertaining to Gardening...

·       You’ve got to get down on your knees and get dirty

·       Put it in the hole and watch it grow!

·       Trim your shrubs for faster growth

·       Some animal has nibbled on my bulbs

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #10

At The Masters Golf Tournament...

"Oh dear, he lipped out"

"Challenging hole placement this morning"

"He's young but he collapsed after 9 holes!"

Canadian Navy News

The Canadian Navy has outfitted its fleet of submarines with a new weapon system, since the torpedoes they bought do not fit into their torpedo tubes..

The new system combines a Threat Warning component, as well as Interdiction Technology, hence its acronym TWIT.

The TWIT Mark II system consists primarily of a beaver tail mounted to the top of the periscope, which in turn is attached to an actuator inside the control room. 

When a threat is detected, the beaver tail is rapidly deployed, resulting in a loud SLAP on the surface of the water, thus scaring away any predators, while also warning the rest of the fleet to the danger.

“This is a Canadian-designed and Canadian-built system” said the Navy spokesman.  “Once again, Canadian ingenuity and Canadian technology has won out.”

The system has a range of about 100 meters.  Within that range, any predators are startled, such that they scurry away from the submarine and any other nearby vessels. 

Outside of 100 meters, the audible sound of the tail slapping is alerts nearby allies to any threat posed by enemies.  It is not known how effective the system is against modern mines or torpedoes, but the system is certainly better than the original Beaver Tail Mark I  system, which utilized the delicious deep fried pastry type of beaver tale, rather than the actual bum leather of the Canadian Beaver.

“The old systems got all soggy,” reported the spokesman.  “They didn’t work well, and didn’t taste too good either” he reports.

We are waiting for reaction from our U.S. Navy counterparts.  However, they are on record as being in favour of any type of military expenditure, particularly that of Canada, since it is so rare.

The Start of a Column...

This is a little embarrassing to admit so bear with me.

My wife walked in on me the other day when I was giving myself pleasure. 

I happened to be lying on the bed, moaning and gasping, rubbing away, when in she walked.  She didn’t really take much notice, other than to say “Doesn’t that feel good?  It’s like you can’t stop once you start.  I might join you.” Oh yeah, baby.  Step over here and peel off those glasses…

Rubbing your eyes is like that.  (What did you think I was talking about, hmmm?)

What is it about burying your knuckles in your eyeballs that does that? Do you think it will make me go blind or anything?


One unfortunate side effect of a lifetime of eye rubbing seems to be my drooping eyelids.  The skin over my eyes seems to have stretched over time, and it makes each eye now look like a vagina.  I'll not horrify you with a photo just now.

*Columnist now puts chin on hand, drifts off, staring into space, trying to think of 500 more words to say about eye rubbing and wrinkly skin, without further mention of female genitalia.  I may be awhile... 

Funny Pictures

From Bentobjects.blogspot.com...

Summer Daze

Authors note:  I recently re-worked an oldish column and sent it in to America's Funniest Humor writing contest.  Results are announced on April 21st I think.  I've won the contest 3 times now - I'm hoping for a 4th but we'll see.  Anyway - here's my entry.  Thanks for reading.

When we go to the beach, I really get into it.  I close my eyes and, listening to the waves crashing to shore, I’m transported to tropical locales like Hawaii, or Tahiti, or Fred’s Fake N’ Bake Tanning Emporium.  Surrounded by palm trees and the enchanting smell of fragrant flowers or Glade South Pacific #6, I relax hugely. 

Such was the case recently at a local lake.  We had brought all our swim toys and I was trying out a new big, green inflatable chair, complete with headrest. 

It was heavenly.  It was nap time.  I thought I had put sunscreen on my face…

Off I went, splashing into the water, lying back in the chair.  Ahhhhhh.  I was instantly far, far away, lounging in a tropical pool, enjoying peeled grapes and drinks in coconut shells.  Knowing the attentive staff would alert me to any danger from sharks or predatory flip-flop salesmen, I fell asleep.    

The sun blazed.  My sleep deepened as the waves rocked me gently.   A rivulet of drool formed a crusty line across my cheek, reminiscent of a Prussian dueling scar.

I stayed close to shore at first, then a change in the wind steered me away, my magnificent body and the large chair acting as an effective sail.

Head lolled back, mouth agape, eyelids twitching REMily, I drifted out to lake…

Past the swim platform, beyond the line of white marker buoys, out I went into the commercial shipping lanes.  Well, the parasail boat and yahoos on jet skis lanes, anyway.

Boaters who sighted me consulted their nautical manuals, confused as to what a bright red-over-green marker buoy indicated.  I was a hazard to navigation they were unfamiliar with. 

Eventually, someone overcame the smell of burning flesh and approached.

“Hey Mister!” a young boater hailed, hand waving in front of him.  “You okay?  Wake up!”

I came to and, using my finely honed sense of self-awareness, determined something was amiss.  For one thing, my head was the size of a basketball.  I could barely open my eyes – my face had become ridiculously swollen from sunburn and imminent heatstroke. 

I looked up through puffy slits and saw several pleasure boats close by, their operators staring at me with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion.

“Hewwo!” I croaked.  My mouth wasn’t working properly.  It too was swollen. 

“My mouf feelth funny, and I fink I thunbunned my dung thumhow!” 

The boaters were straining to understand what I was saying.  “Thunbunned!  My dung!” I said, pointing.  “Thith doth not feel too goob…” 

I spoke more slowly to enunciate properly.

“Do-you-hab-any-watta?”  

Later, covered in fire extinguisher powder from a helpful boater, I paddled slowly back to civilization, using the inefficient, two-handed stroke common to floaty-chair occupants.  My horrifying facial igneousness parted the crowds of swimmers before me, in much the same manner as a large shark might, or Godzilla.

Coming in to shore I heard a lady hush her children.  “Don’t stare at the red Elephant Man,” she said.  “Some people are born that way...”

As I stumbled closer to our section of beach, my wife looked alarmed.

“Please don’t hurt the children,” she said, clutching a stick.  “Oh!  It’s you, dear!   What in God’s name happened to your head?”

You know, I think I understand how lake monster legends get started now.  I seem to be a living legend myself.  Amongst hospital staff, anyway.

Please pass the aloe.

This Reminds Me Of A Sneeze The Other Day...

That's Camilla On The Left...

I got a new door stop...

Works pretty good...

Royal Canadian Air Force Given Important Role

In the enforcement of the No-Fly Zone over Libya, the Canadian air force has been given the important task of dropping bits of airplane on the enemy.

This task is ideally suited to the Canadians, given the advanced age of their CF-18 aircraft.

Already, Italian authorities are hailing the Canadian pilots for the accuracy of their bombing, even though the bombing was pieces of avionics gear which fell out of one aircraft just prior to landing.

During their trans-Atlantic flight to the war scene, Canadian pilots were praised by officials in Iceland, Ireland, England, France and other countries, after the air force fighters overflew their airspace.

An Icelandic government spokesman reports "We got a wheel!"

France declared "Ici une radio et une petit missile."

It is unclear what role, other than disintegration, the Canadian air force can play in the current conflict.

"We can always use odd pieces of metal falling on the enemy," reports the NATO air commander.  "Canadians are noted as excellent piece droppers, having proved themselves over and over again in Kosovo, where they are still recovering pieces of wing, cockpit and engine."

Watch this space for further details, as they drop.

No Fly Zone Report

I recently purchased some odd trousers.

I refer to them as a no-fly zone.

Thank you.  That is all.

No Fly Zone

There seems to be some confusion here in Canada about the situation in Libya.

We are not sure if Canada's air force will participate in the no fly zone, or if the Canadian Air Force itself is a no fly zone.  I will report back to you when the situation is clarified.

Radiation Concern

I know everyone is freaking out over the radiation leaking from the reactors in Japan.  Here are some simple guidelines to help steer you through this crisis:

If you experience symptoms such as vomiting, diarrhea, or dizziness, immediately stop reading this blog.  Your symptoms should cease immediately. 

Don't worry about  the radiation. 

End of guidelines.  Thank you.

Out the Back Door

Federal communications officials are investigating complaints of obscenity on public radio channels. 

The following transcript is of an exchange on the radio between an airport shuttle driver and his dispatch office.  The driver is experiencing difficulty with the locking mechanism on the back (luggage) door of his bus.

“Dispatch, my back door is broken.”

“Beg pardon?”

“My back door. It’s stuck in the open position.”

Pause.  Pause.

When radio microphone is first keyed, the sound of fluid spraying from a mouth can be heard.  A few seconds later…“Your back door is stuck open?” (sound of barely restrained snickering can be heard in background)

“Yes.  I’ve fiddled with it but it won’t close properly.  I don’t think it’s frozen, it feels like something mechanical has broken inside there.”

Long pause.

“Really? Inside your back door?” Pause.  “Something mechanical you say.  I see.” Long pause.  “And you cannot close it?”

“Well, it will close, but it comes open when I move.  I squirted some WD-40 in there but it hasn’t helped.”

Really long pause.

(Uncontrolled hooting and laughter can be heard in the background during next transmission) “You squirted some lubricant…” Pause. “… in your back door?”

“Yes.  Then, as I was squirting it in, the little straw thingy came off and slipped inside.”

No radio transmissions for thirty seconds.

“I’m sorry for the delay in responding…”  Long pause. “What happened again?”

“When I was squirting lube inside my back door, trying to loosen the mechanism, the little tube thing on the end came off and fell inside.  I can’t get it out.”

Dead silence for approximately one minute.

“Oh dear.” Pause. “That’s unfortunate.” Long pause.  “Have you tried anything else to fix the problem?”

“Well, I went to the car wash and washed it with hot water.  I thought it might loosen things up a little but it didn’t work.”

Very long pause.

“I see.”  Pause. “You washed it with hot water.  Good.  Soap too?”

“Yes.”

 “Has anything fallen out of your back door while you’ve had this problem?”

“No, all the passengers were off-loaded when it got stuck, thank goodness.  Nothing has fallen out.”

Long silence.

“Well, try to secure the door in some way and come back to the depot.”

A few minutes later…

“OK – I’ve got my back door secured, using a clamp from the jumper cables.”

Pause.

“Ah.  And how did that work?”

“Well, I opened up the clamp and squeezed it around one edge of the opening, then tied the other end inside.”

Very long pause.

“I see.”  Silence.  “Are you able to drive now?”

“Yeah – I should be fine.  I can’t pick up any more passengers though.  I mean – what if it flops open unexpectedly again?”

Very long silence.

Finally…”Great job”  Pause.

“Return to base and we’ll have someone take a look at it.”

Pause.

“Maybe a proct… oh nevermind.”

Transcript ends.

Authors Note: this is an absolutely true story.  I was the driver.  The conversation is fictional, but the action was all too real, and I got the giggles when trying to fix things.  And you wonder where my columns come from...  

Brief Personal Health Report

I have an annoying sore thumb, a result of it being twisted in the handle of a piece of luggage.

It is annoying since, being a sore thumb, it sticks out like a, well, sore thumb.

Thank you.

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #9

Pertaining to Recreational Vehicles

- Hooking up always means a good time

- You pull it.

- This model has a slide in/slide out feature

- For safety, this one has a rear-facing camera

- This one kneels for easy entry

Phrases Overheard during recent Middle Eastern Despot Conference Call

"I haven't had stiffening resistance in over 20 years!"

"This Facebook thing is a pain in the frozen assets"

"So then I said 'Roll over, Nellie, I can't see the screen'"

"I got absolutely bombed last night!"

"Is strafing the same as un-friending?"

Despot Depot

Hi folks!  It’s Reggy Side, down here at The Despot Depot – your one stop shop for all your tyrant needs.

We have a huge selection, like this used, 82-year old Mubarek.  It’s in good condition for an older model – look – not a single bullet hole!   And it comes with built-in family financing.  

We’ve got dozens of despots to choose from.  One-of-a-kinds, knockoffs, imitators, dictators – you name it, we’ve got it. 

Take this 1973 Pinochet Junta.  They just don’t make ‘em like this any more folks!  Getting one of these would be a real coup, let me tell you.  It’s got that distinctive South American flare, its own constitution, and comes with choice American financing! 

We are a licensed Sultan dealer as well.  Watch out for new inventory soon, and believe me, there’s nothing like a good, used Sultan Emir.  These babies can put down some serious revolutions per minute, let me tell you. 

Here at the Despot Depot we have Third world models at First world prices.  There is no Second world – we’ve taken out the middle man and lined him up against the wall to save you money!

There’s new inventory arriving daily, and next week we’re having our push, pull, or drag promotion.  Bring down your current Despot and we’ll arrange for you to get going in something new right away!  For every Despot dragged in, we’ll give you an Election, absolutely free.  You heard me right, folks – a free Election with every Despot trade-in!

Here at Despot Depot we know that before you can move up to something like an Election, you’ll need something basic to tide you over.  We’ve got Generals, Ruling Councils, and Committees.  Don’t go rumbling through the streets in tanks – come in and see us for all your needs. 

Check out our ads on Facebook and Twitter! 

Get this - to celebrate the grand opening of our new Ben Ali Dealership in Tunisia, we’re told we’ll soon receive a Gaddafi! That’s right! Coming soon, a colourful, long-lasting Gaddafi - single owner, tinted glasses, and a little hard to control, this bad boy will get your heart racing!  You’ll want to check out the upholstery on this one too, made from the Colonel’s secret recipe of 11 different uniforms and goofy hats.

Maybe you’re a new country, just starting out, and you need an economy model.  Well why not this 1979 Somoza?  It features nationalized companies, kickback steering, and no opposition!  Production of this model ended in 1980, so hurry while they last. 

Alternatively, we have a limited supply of Sandanistas and Contras.  I know – hard to tell them apart from a distance, but still a reasonable despot alternative for the growing economy.

Did I mention we have a HUGE selection?  We’ve got Mao’s, and Stalin’s, Pol Pots and Tin Pots.  We’ve got everything from well-heeled Mussolini’s on up to the big dada of them all – the Idi Amin.

The hottest models are from the Middle East and are arriving daily! 

So join the crowds and come on down to the Despot Depot.  All your tyrant needs in one convenient location, next to that big warehouse known as the, uh, Central Inventory Association. 

*Void where prohibited by revolutionary law.  Do not attempt this at home, or without buns tied to your head. Strafing not included. Offer subject to change and availability.  Not responsible for injuries sustained while shopping.  Prices do not include secret police surveillance device implants.  Your results may vary.  No tyrants were harmed during the writing of this column.

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #8

At The Carwash

• "In winter I never use soap - I just rinse it off"
• "Just twist the knob to get started"
• "Aim the nozzle straight into any cracks for best results"
• Caution: liquid under pressure can cause serious injury
• "Work your way from the top down"
• Use paper towels to wipe off afterwards
• Try to avoid getting sprayed in the eyes
• "You've got to bend over to really clean those lugnuts"

Canada Gets Tough on Gaddafi

The Government of Canada has taken swift action against Libyan leader Moamar Gaddafi by freezing his Canadian assets. 

The assets, which include several winning Tim Hortons rrrrolled up cup rims (4 free coffees, 2 doughnuts), were confiscated in accordance with UN Security Council resolutions pertaining to beverages, snacks, and minor assets such as bank accounts and real estate.

The action has hurt the Libyan leader, such that he plans to resign immediately, according to aides close to the middle eastern wing nut. 

"He was really looking forward to sneaking over to the Tims in Afghanistan and having a double double and a fritter.  He's pretty good at chewing up the rim of the cup to see if he won anything," reports a source close to the nut job.

Recent Conversation

"Nice scarf!  Is that Mohair?"

"Actually it's neck hair - I guess it's time for a trim."

"Ewww."

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #7

Heard at City Council Meetings:

“I got sworn in last night”

“I could use a seconder”

“The neighbours are getting tired of our public hearings”

“That was a pretty satisfying scrum this morning”

“Let’s put that motion on the table”

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #6

I write these bits for a local radio station (K96.3), in case you were wondering where the idea originated...

On with the show!  Today -

Things Overheard at the Canadian Culinary Championships, held right here in Kelowna!

"Rub it with garlic"


"I've never done this in front of judges before"

"If there is already something in the oven, where do I put my pork?"

"Tastes a little salty"

Waiting...

I would write something for the blog here, but I'm just so anxious waiting for my royal wedding invitation.  I'm pretty sure I'll be getting one.  I'll let you know when it arrives.  Must be delayed - mail you know.

Attempted Parenting

“Mr. Crawford, you are charged with numerous offenses under the Reckless Parenting Act.  We will begin with the first charge, Mockery in the First Degree.  How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, Your Worhipfulness!  Oh dear, I did it again, huh?”

“Indeed.  Mr. Crawford, you are charged with mocking school officials who are charged with taking care of your children during lunch break.”

“You mean the Food Nazis?”

“Er, why do you call them ‘Food Nazi’s,’ Mr. Crawford?” 

“They don’t allow trading, Your Honour!  When I was a kid, trading was very popular!  There was always some dimwitted kid who would trade his chocolate bar for an apple.  I hate apples to this day…”

“It says here you made several “Heil Hitler!” salutes behind their backs while they were criticizing the food in your children’s lunches.”

“Your Honour, I don’t see anything wrong with an occasional Pop Tart in the kid’s lunches when I’m too tired or too lazy to make a sandwich.”

“It says here the lunch supervisory staff were questioning your inclusion of a tin of cat food in the lunch…”

“Oh that!  That was just a bit of humour, your BigWigness.  It was intended as social commentary on today’s seeming obsession with, and aversion to, any type of processed food.”

“I understand processed food is bad for you, isn’t it?”

“Slicing is ‘processing’.  Cooking is ‘processing’.  Let’s begin by defining processing, shall we?  Then I’ll determine if it is in any way bad for my healthy and wonderful kids.”

“Fair comment.  We’ll dismiss that charge.  Now what about the Child Endangerment charge?  How else have you endangered your children, Mr. Crawford?”

“I believe I forced them to drink tap water, your Holiness.”

Gasps erupt in the courtroom.

“You did what?”

“Tap water.  I made my children drink tap water.”

“Mr. Crawford, your malfeasance is more serious than the prosecutor has led me to believe.  Clearly you are a menace to your children and this community.  You give me no alternative but to impose a serious sentence.  What do you have to say for yourself before I pass judgment?”

The defendant stands on his chair.

“I’d do it again your Honour!  Willingly!  I would also make my children walk to school, and play outside, and run around unsupervised in the park!  I would let them play with knives and matches and go exploring!  I would let them do dangerous things without wearing a helmet from time to time!  I refuse to buy into all this media-generated hysteria!” 

“I want my children to be capable of managing and understanding risk.  We do not live in a NERF world, Your Honour!  I want my kids to scrape their knees and elbows and maybe even get a fat lip, if it means they are having fun and being kids!  I will not be subdued!  FREEDOM!!!”

“Order!  Order!  Order in this court!  Mr. Crawford, you are hereby sentenced to 20 years hard labour, otherwise known as ‘Parenthood’ – and I praise you for your fortitude, sir!  Cases dismissed!  Good day, Sir!  Mr. Prosecutor, I would like a word with you…”

A guy can dream, can’t he?