Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Secret Transmutation of Elements

How many times have you wondered how things change from one state to the other? And how many of those times were you a kind and wondered where all that yummy Spam came from?

This is the answer you 've been looking for.
I recently rediscovered this obscure revision of the Periodic Table.
  • Pork: elemental sign: PO. Atomic number: 50/50,
    Relative Atomic Mass: 120.69

  • Spam: elemental sign: Sp. Atomic number: u81-2,
    Relative Atomic Mass: 206.666 (note Satanic fractional number)

  • Lead: elemental sign: Pb. Atomic number: 82,
    Relative Atomic Mass: 207.21
For years it had been conjectured that Spam® was in fact the missing-link isotope of pork. Scientists at D&L Industries Research Lab carefully monitored the projected use-path trajectory, considered its original source, and then followed it to its ultimate atomic conclusion—where it literally turned to Lead.

It becomes even more relevant in This Here Holiday Season®™. Especially after the recent LA Times article describing the relationship between wily, feral pigs and their puzzled, outwitted, high-caliber hunters.

Monday, November 26, 2007

The Last Surviving Pep Boy


Consider the likelihood of the following narrative: A disturbed brother, one of three, who had built a thriving business in the 1920s. The weather business cycles, and become well-to-do. In later years their franchise is set upon by sharp-toothed rivals. They begin to weary of the struggle. But they cannot agree on a direction.

There is a dinner at the local IHORG (International House of Rubber Gaskets) to iron things out. However, two of the brothers have made an alliance against the third. They've always been suspicious of his center part. Besides, he's busy doing the other brother's neglected wives.

Moe gets the bad news as the house specialty, Gaskets Alfredo, is served. The brothers tell Moe that his future is really with the Hupmobile Auto-Victrola Gramaphone business. His help will not be required in the primary auto business. Really.

At a pre-arranged signal from Manny; hairy-armed, burly, no-necked attendants burst into the dining room with nets and lightning speed. Moe flings steak-knives, crockery and tomato aspic at his erstwhile assailants, and speedily flees the restaurant. He overpowers the waiting ambulance driver, and disappears forever.

Safe at his bungalow hideaway in the industrial section of Anytown USA, he fabricates his own Ghost Dance shirt. Meanwhile both Manny and Jack disappear under mysterious circumstances. Manny's autogiro explodes shortly after take-off outside of Flexhose, WI. Jack's chartered tarpon boat is mistakenly torpedoed by an Indonesian submarine during a naval exercise off the Gulf of Mexico. The Texas Air Force responded with only half of what it was capable of.

It has been twenty years since this shirt was last seen. Can this be…The End Of Dayz?

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

When Beautiful Women Make Bad Choices


Sunset Junction Street Fair, a Gathering of the Hipsters. A full on heat-fest and scrum within a 10' tall chain-link fence and wildly overpriced water and food for the newly-hungry once the sun went down.

There were an astonishing number of really cute/hot women and yes, my little woodchucks, MILFs galore. In the midst of the swarm were also girls who looked like they stepped straight outta 1979. The hair, the curves, the clothes, the look in the eye, and none of them were older than 23. There's a cosmic mystery to ponder.

Now we are waiting for Morris Day and the Time. Me and 10,000 of my new best friends. Directly in front of us is a swan-necked, alabaster brunette beauty. She has a completely non-generic profile, ringlets, a sensuous mouth. My brain is squirming like the proverbial toad. And she is with a troll who knows that He Is Going To Get Very Lucky, Soon.

I begin to notice that her skin is disfigured with utterly generic tattoos. A skull and crossbones. "California Cool" piece of art that looked like it was swiped from a 1981 O-P knockoff. She turns to face the troll. Her gorgeous hair is up over the nape of her neck.

I spot the Dog Turd Tattoo. I point it out to Karen. I ask her what it looks like. She thinks it looks like a dog turd.

I hoist the camera, set to f2.8, 1/60th sec, with a flash. I fire it. And there it is.

Monday, October 08, 2007

The Apotheosis of Che

Today is the 40th anniversary of the death of Che Guevara.

Fidel Castro has always preferred dead heroes to living rivals, and Che was no exception. To frame it in American terms, imagine the following:

• Bill Clinton and Al Gore are comrades in arms, or W and Dick Cheney. You decide. In any event...
• Bill and Al have a colossal falling out over the direction of world revolution.
• Al leaves the country with other members of his staff and cabinet. He goes to a desperately poor English-speaking country to foment revolution as an outsider—against ALL the rules that had defined a guerilla struggle. Let's say that country is Belize.
• the local inhabitants view the Army as a menace, and the presence of the outsider to be an additional threat. When the Army comes and asks "where are the foreigners?" and the villagers point. Now two threats are removed.
• Al is at the end of his rope after 11 months, and has lost 100lbs. He can barely stand for his captors, and within 12 hours he's shot through the head.

You get the drift. Now Che is dead. Fidel can orate for hours on this, and another hero is added to the pantheon. Thirty years later Che is a profitable franchise. For somebody. You can bet if it had been Mickey Mouse, the licensing rights would have been sewed up tight.

Friday, September 21, 2007

Ford Exploder vs Fire Hydrant




While at work in Hollywood on Tuesday afternoon, a Ford Exploder hit a fire hydrant on Highland Ave, and gave the entire neighborhood a free diversion. Incidentally, neither Christ nor the Virgin Mary were spotted in the water column.


Thursday, June 28, 2007

Classicella- Barbarella at 40+


Barbarella is simultaneously a quaint artifact and and the edgy progenitor of the modern graphic novel. The iconography successfully incorporates elements of Jules Verne and the Nouvelle Vague in a retro science-fiction dreamscape.

Many of the elements in the novel have been worked over ad infinitum—the leggy heroine who is a determined hedonista; but other classic ingredients of French erotic fiction are well used—court intrigue, betrayal, awkward situations, and the boundless capacity of humans to plunge blindly in pursuit of pleasure.

I hadn't read "Barbarella" in over 35 years. It was interesting to see what I'd remembered, and find out what I didn't see back in my weedy youth.

Good times all around!

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

WS100 XXXIIIII


"Your friends are definitely better than mine"

This was the Voice Of Reason from Earl "The Rocket" Jones, as he admired my 24k bling'ed PIMP goblet.

We were at the 3rd Outer Circle of the Western States 100 Finish Line, Sunday Morning Coming Down.

The Firste Circle is the Ring Of White Chairs Inside The Barriers.

The Seconde is The Laire of the White Nurse [being all double-bubbled and shit].

And the Thirde is round the outside, round the outside.

Let's see. The main topic of conversation for all the WS Entrants was not about Hal or Nikki, it was whether Paris Hilton would be able to walk unassisted from jail after being on a reduced sperm-n-demerol regimen. Also, whether the Magenta Star Child would be able to commune with the Trail Faeries and git enuff water. But all this wilted from the mighty hear of the Krucible of the Kanyons.

To everyone's Great Surprise, it was hot. Perhaps not hot enough to fry eggs on your visor, but close. There were a fair number of people who got into knock-down fights with the trail. Advantage: trail.

I was staggered by the number of uniformed WS Personnel and barriers everywhere. Every time I turned around there was somebody. The Safety Patrol had morphed from its original 1995 Slip-n-Slide incarnation to numerous strike teams of Tres Caballeros who joined the various conga lines to be ready to assist. Services offered included in-motion acupuncture, leaching, cupping, moxibustion, Rolfing, past-Life marathon regression, and select exorcisms. I wondered if they were also responsible for in-line dust-settling sprinkling on the trail. Hm.

All this remained unknown to me at the finish. Finishers were treated to a very bad 'short schoolbus' bar band that thrashed thru a selections of oldies. I woulda preferred a 'skort schoolbus' band along the lines of the Go-go's [perhaps with a leavening of talent], but that's what an LA be-otch like me would say. The band started loud and ended on a muted note.

From there on in it was the announcer's ipod that picked up the slack. And fortunately, it was largely listenable, and not drawn from the Masterworks Korral of Led Zucchini, Journey, Rush, and Molly Hatchet. I'm sure that someone out there wanted Air Supply as well.

At 1100 hrs the course was closed. Of course there was a solitary duck making her desperate way to Portals Of Glory 100 yards out. Time waits for no man, nor woman on the Last Fateful Lap. In her moment of crushing disappointment, she could take solace in knowing that Everyone Is A Winner, and if not, its all Pacer Error.

I scrupulously avoided the Awards Show. I wasn't getting anything, which was OK, as the Karma Squirrel was packed to the titz with all my gear n shit. They had the Awards in the Big Tent, rather than the saunafied Placer HS Gym as in Years Gone By.

The next day I drove back to the Great Satan via I-5. Mistake. 99 is far more interesting—better food and cheaper gas.

Friday, June 22, 2007

Chompin' Chia

Guaranteed to ruin your weekend.

What started it all:

-----Original Message-----
From: [redacted ]
To: yetanother time suck_List
Sent: Wed, 20 Jun 2007 8:22 am
Subject: Chia seeds

I recently read in a race report that some runners where trying chia seeds
during their runs (yes, the "chia pet" seeds). They appearantly have
incredible water absorbtion qualities and when eaten are supposed to buffer
glycogen and electrolytes - and that supposedly helps keep you better
hydrated and prevents energy dips and spikes.

So - I decided to order some to check it out, and am curious if anyone on
the list has tried it before. Have any tips? recipes? how do you actually
use it during a run, do you eat the seeds raw or turn it into a gel?
leading to:
Begin forwarded message:

From: mrtrailsafety
Date: June 20, 2007 12:45:39 PM PDT
To: Karl
Cc: Subject: Fwd: Chia seeds

Hi Bad Karl:

I think you need to answer this lost soul:

In honor of your Great Wisdom, I wanted to leech your brain, uh, axe you a Q, bro.

I'm writing you on the UltraList, because its like farting in the dark. Nobody sees you, nobody hears you, but you get to share all the same.

Uhm...I want to grow a chia pet out my butt. But you say that Oatmeal is better. Like, WTF, dewd! Chia is green, Oatmeal is beige. No way I want a Beige Monster growing out my butt, dig?

Also: why are RedVines sold in the weatherstripping dept of Home Depot? And why can I buy spackle in the dairy section? And I just read that Kool Whip and condom Lube share 95% of the same proprietary DNA! Talk about smoove mouf-feel! Damn! Dunno 'bout you, home-slice, but I won't be bangin' any chimps anytime soon.

OK. I got my ultra-freek on. Peace out.


Barney Q Fudgepakker
"26.2 LOL 2 U"



spawning this:

Ode To Chia

First brought to my attention by Mary C***, and thusly brought forward by the tender mercies of Suzanne W***. Karl K*** is the nominal beneficiary of this nonsense.

1] Leftoverture

When overcome by logorrhea,
I need to vent [oh my-oh mia]
That running jolts, you’d have to see, ya,
I read about, The Mighty Chia.

Unsettled I am, alimentaria,
And tempting fate, colonic loteria,
By craving green, I had to see, ya,
I give you now, “Chompin’ Chia”
2] The Main Evente: Chompin' Chia
[with completely insincere apologies to ABBA]

I’ve been obsessed by Chia since I don’t know when
So I made up my mind, overruling the other end
Look at me now, will I ever learn?
I start to run, but I suddenly lose control
Mr Turtlehead shouts, “Fire In The Hole!
Just one toot, and the barking duck sings
One more blast and I forget everything, o-o-o-oh

Chompin’ Chia, here I go again
My my, how can I resist you?
logorrhea, does it show again?
My my, just how much I’ve blown through!
Yes, I’ve been popcorn-farted
Blue flames the day I started
Why, why did I ever let it go?
Magic Chia, now I really know,
My my, I could never let it go.

I’ve been angry and sad about the things that you do
I start to run, then my thoughts revert to Poo,
And when it goes, its out the back door
I think it know that I won’t be away too long
You know that I’m not that strong.
Just one look and I can feel the barking duck
One more blast and I know I’m fucked, o-o-o-oh

Chompin’ Chia, here I go again
My my, how can I resist you?
No tengo allegria, does it go again?
Ay! Ay!, just how much I’ve missed you
Yes, I’ve been popcorn-farted
Blue flames the day I started
Why, why do my guts behave so?
Chompin’ chia, even if I say
Bye bye, leave me now or never
Chompin’ chia, its a game we play
Bye bye doesn’t mean forever

Chompin’ Chia, here I go again
My my, how can I resist you?
logorrhea, does it show again?
My my, just how much I’ve blown through!
Yes, I’ve been popcorn-farted
Blue flames the day I started
Why, why did I ever let it go?
Magic Chia, now I really know,
My my, I could never let you go.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Kurt Waldheim's Last Unfulfilled Wish

Kurt Waldheim died this week at the ripe old age of 88. Just before he died
he told his gathered family at the bedside that he regretted not being
invited to the White House, where he could give Dick Cheney Hermann Goering's
Reich Marshal's uniform.

Saturday, May 26, 2007

My Front-Range Lobotomy

This morning (being Saturday, May 26, '07) I awoke to a large spatula, gently peeling me up from my bed, and turning me over. I was pounded flatter than hammered dog shit. I didn’t feel this way yesterday before I started my planned overnight fast-packing/camping trip.

The original goal was go into the Middle Range of the San Gabriels, spend the night at West Fork, and then come back over via the Rattlesnake Trail back into Chantry Flats.

The insertion went well. Sweating like a pig, no biggie, normal. Up and over Newcomb’s Pass, east to Newcomb’s Saddle, and then down the Rincon-Red Box Road to where the road crossed the West Fork of the San Gabriel River. I had the whole place all to myself.

At the road/stream crossing, I turned south up the streambed and began to follow it up to the DeVore Campground. Rockhopping up the stream-bed was very straightforward, as the water levels have dropped precipitously in the last two months—almost a foot if not more, leaving fresh boggy mud-beds that any biting fly would be happy to call home. A steady breeze continued the illusion of comfort.

After several bends in the riverbed, I came around the last gap that revealed DeVore. Completely empty, save for a cheap tent that somebody abandoned. I kept moving through the advancing poison oak and bottom foliage to the West Fork CG. Here the streambed was even more exposed. This was not looking too good.

I dropped pack, started a fire, began to boil up water to make dinner, or, as it turned out, a very late lunch. Miso soup, palaak paneer boil-in-bag, and garlic mashed potatoes. The breeze was steady again, which gave me hope for the night. It was 4:30pm.

I ate dinner in robotic silence. Being thrashed doesn’t lend itself to auto-loquacity. In spite of my stupor, I was still keeping an eye on the breeze. It was beginning to drop. When it dropped below a critical point, I had many new biting friends.

Gambling that the bugs wouldn’t come alive this late in the season is one thing. Not carrying a bug-proof tent is invitation to endless mortification of the flesh. I began to repack with increasing haste. A pair of backpackers showed just as I was finishing up. From the looks of it, they had tents. At least I hope they did. Their short-term relationship would be shaped by that element. Smiling and wishing them well, I took my collection of bites at a stiff trot out and up the Rincon/Red Box Rd, looking for the Shangri-La of the Breezy Spot. It was now 6pm.

West Fork is a delightful place from November through April. For humans. From May through September it is a sex-farm and bacchanalia for mosquitoes and biting flies. There are probably some world-class chubby lizards in these parts too. It was not the place for me.

Looking for the Fabled Breezy Spot was fruitless. I went to 4 places along the R-RB Rd looking, but not finding.

About a mile from the top, I heard a crash from the slope below me. And there, for the first time in the San Gabriels, I saw a large California Brown Bear. Bull or sow, no matter. It was a sizeable beast, and appeared to be about 7’ from nose to tail, at about 100yds. It looked at me for a long while. I was cross-winds to it, which was reassuring, given that I had a defrosting chicken thigh in my pack. I suppose that is better than a pork-chop tied to my hat. But not much.

I made Newcomb’s Pass at 7pm. Filling my hand-held bottle, topping off with Gatorade, I decided to bust-ass down the mountain at all due speed. It was clear that I had until 10:00pm before the Chantry Flats gates were locked at the bottom.

With full pack at the end of the day, I was hitting an unexpected power-curve. Who’d a thunk? I was feeling better than I did at 3pm, which highlights the importance of motivation and attitude.

Daylight was completely gone by 8:30pm. There was residual light, but at this point I was completely in the night-vision mode. An early moonrise cast a weak light on the trail, which was highly welcome. Under the tree-cover it became as black as the inside of my head.

I hit the final blacktop at 8:40. Stumping upwards, I made the parking lot just before 9pm. Not bothering to shower or change, I climbed in the car, and smelled like ass all the way home.

This morning I awoke to a large spatula, gently peeling me up from my bed, and turning me over. I was powerless to resist.

Oh yes, the numbers: it worked out to be a 23 mile outing, in about 10-1/2 hours. Love those long, Mediterranean lunches.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

The Three-Leaf Follies of '07

Late Saturday night I knew. I’d caught a whiff of my special self. I had scored big on the "Smells Like Ass" Sweepstakes. All I had to do was get back to the trailhead and claim my prize.

I'd taken a three-day fastpacking trip into the West Fork of the San Gabriels. The itinerary was to camp out for 2 nights in the Middle Range, all before the bugs woke up and hopefully before the Forest burned down in this epic dry year.

GOOD FRIDAY

I left Chantry Flats Friday mid-morning under a blue-white overcast marine layer. I was above the overcast in less than 4 miles, but it’s persistence into the early afternoon was noteworthy.

After a desultory check-in with Chris at Camp Sturtevant, I’d exhausted my supply of lies and falsehoods. I then made for Newcomb’s Pass and Saddle, into the crystal bright. From there, it was a hard left turn down into the West Fork Campground, which was completely empty.

Rinse off, build a fire, eat dinner, watch Caveman TV, fall asleep. Life is good.

SUPER SATURDAY

After a 2-mile wrong-way start, I ascended Short Cut Canyon on the Silver Moccasin Trail. I’d actually never been on this trail in all the years of banging through the mountains. The streambed was bone dry for the first half mile, then becoming a series of stagnant pools. Two miles in and the Spanish Broom gave way to happy new growth of poison oak.

Poison oak is the Irreducible Calculator in the San Gabriel Mountains. Whither it lies, I goest not. I travel through it with the greatest reluctance. I will skirt it, ease around it, rock-hop and look for gaps through it. I will not touch firewood lying in it, I will not shortcut through it, and I make note if I touched it in anyway. Did I untie my shoes? and so on. And if I did, I'll wash with Fels-Naptha bar soap, or barring that, old wood ash, or even use pulverized dirt. I hate it. But I’ve made my accommodation with it. And it doesn’t give a shit about me.

Seriously though. The local Indians wove baskets from it, they lived in the middle of it, their children played in it, and their dogs for certain ran through it. Forever. And those secrets are lost to my Anglo eye.

Two miles up Short Cut Canyon, the trail left the drainage and began contouring up to the Shortcut Trail Head on Highway 2. It was sunny and toasty. This stretch would be very warm and bright come summer. I met up with a CORBA trail work crew who were busy brushing back. I thought about the poison oak patch that needed their tough-love.

The Silver Moccasin Trail meets the utility road below the Highway 2 trail-head. I turned right and headed down into the West Fork of the San Gabriel River. The marine layer was building to the east, hinting at a massive counter-clockwise wheeling. Within 3 miles it became a lot cooler an overcast, with a steady breeze.

At this point I encountered the OHV enthusiasts, who fortunately were jonesing on getting somewhere fast. Three motorcyclists heading east, one 4W heading west. Their trajectory would be Short Cut down, then up to the Rincon-Red Box Road west to the E Fork of the San Gabriels, Camp Williams and all that.

The bottom of the W Fork is approximately 5-1/2 miles down from Highway 2. I was simultaneously hot and chilled. I also took advantage of the water to forestall a potential outbreak of Ring of Fire. Having a clean ass makes me a happy man.

Now is the long 4-mile slog to the top of Newcomb’s Saddle. I keep forgetting how stark and beautiful it is here, despite the best efforts of modern industrial intervention to uglify it with galvanized cribbing, powerlines, and all the rest. There is more shade cover than I remember from summer death-march training runs.

Nearing the top the marine layer is boiling over the Saddle at a brisk 25mph. Now I’m getting chilled, and frankly, I’m spanked. Its been a long 15 miles, and given my current conditioning, I’m whupped.

At the juncture of the trail going S into Big Santa Anita Cyn and the Rincon-RedBox Road I have to make a decision. The siren call of Spruce Grove is tempting. I debate whether or not to make an improv camp in the blowing mist. It doesn’t look good.

Taking a leaf from the British Army Playbook—I brew up a billy of tea, eat, and think things over.

If I go south, down to Spruce Grove, it will be soggy and dark. I won’t be able to build a fire I can look at, only a fire in a metal stove box. Not good.

If I suck it up and head west, down to Devore, I’ll probably get a campsite in a remote campground. Inshallah, a camp fire as well.

Saddling up, I head down and west on the R-R. Within a half mile, I’m below the overcast into bright and dry! Damn.

Now I make the turnoff to Devore. The trail drops steeply in the 1.2 miles down to the 5-site camp. A quick peek shows it to be empty. I pick the sunniest spot, and begin to forage for wood. This is also a campsite for the continent, as there is no privy. This means you and your little shovel are going to probably make friends with Mr Oak at some point in the future. Unless you dig a hole in the firepit. But I get ahead of myself.

Fighting a dehydration head-ache, I go thru the motions of making dinner and all. I can barely keep my eyes open, but its better than yesterday. Without distractions, I look at the land in front of me. My eyes are readjusting to looking at things more than 3’ in front of me.

Spent an intervalled night sleeping. Get bitten by a woodtick. Now there are nightmare Lyme Disease scenarios. Fall asleep. Yes, Virginia, I smell like Ass.

EASTER SUNDAY: I AM THE RESURRECTION

Up and gone within an hour. On the trail, chowed up and ready to kick ass. At the ridgeline the marine layer is thick and wet. The canyon is completely obscured, and frankly, is wonderful given the drought that is starting to build.

Five miles in, and swing by Sturtevant Camp to see what Chris and Joan are up to. Their dog Natalie is thrilled I Smell Like Ass. All she wants is me to be dead so she can take me out in the yard and play with me.

Up and over Mt Zion, since it looks to be the quietest route in. Not a soul until a mile out of Chantry Flats. Given the persistent drizzle, the parking lot is mostly empty. My Sun Shower is cold, but with a dry change of clothes in the car, I no longer smell. And the prize committee left just before I got there. Bastards.

THOSE BORING NUMBERS
Friday: 11 miles
Saturday: 17 miles
Sunday: 12 miles

Yep, pretty slim. In the words of the immortal Ice-T from “New Jack Hustler”…never mind. And he says it better than I do anyway.


THE WHITE BOY GEAR LIST
BASICS
  • Ultimate Direction Voyager Fast Pack, 1998 model yearW/ 2 48oz bottles. I left the suck-tube at home, capped them with the conventional UD bottle tops. Yes, at 1700 cu in, it was just big enough to hold what I needed, and still be somewhat mobile. Otherwise I would’ve just gone car camping. At a casino.
  • Ridge Rest ground pad
  • 4x6 reflective ground tarp
  • North Face 3-season bag
  • Tom Harrison's Map—Angeles Crest: Front Range
  • Silva compass
  • Hand-held 20oz UD water bottle w/ Gatorade solution
CLOTHING
  • 1 pr Running shorts
  • 1 pr cotton-poly sox
  • 1 s/s lightweight synthetic t-shirt
  • 1 l/s lightweight poly shirt
  • 1 polypro pullover
  • 1 fuzzy polypro knit cap
  • 1 Propper boonie hat [days]
  • 1 pr Patagonia Baggie poly trou
FIRE AND SUCH
  • Optimus 8R steel clamshell stove, with pressure pump, Straight outta 1968, and nearly indestructible.
  • MSR cookpot kit w/ pot-gripper
  • 1 pint of stove fuel [excessive in retrospect, but, what the hell]
  • BIC lighter
  • Undersize wimpy spoon. Next time it’ll be a heftier tablespoon. Or a round-billed shovel.
WHATCHA GOT TO EAT?
The opportunistic outfitter can and will provision out of a 7-11 if necessary.
  • Trader Joe’s cheesy garlic mash potatoes
  • Freeze-dried beef. This would've been better with tomato paste.
  • Hard Sausage
  • Xtra Sharp cheddar cheese
  • 1/2 loaf spelt bread
  • date expired Taster’s Choice ®™ Instant coffee. Not noticeably worse than fresh, only now its vintage.
  • A fistful of teabags
  • McCann’s Irish Oatmeal, 3x per breakfast
  • dehydrated eggs, probably date-expired, to mix into the oatmeal
  • Old-school Gatorade
  • A couple of ClifBars
TECHNO-GOODIES
  • The canonical Swiss Army Knife
  • Magnesium bar w/striker edge
  • Sweetwater water filter
  • A wee bug-eyed LED headlamp.
WHAT I WISHED I’D HAD
  • Machete
  • Ibuprofin
  • Miso soup
WHAT I HAD, AND DAMNED GLAD I DID
  • Fels-Naptha bar soap
  • Trader Joe's Natural Deodorant
WHAT I WANTED, AND THEN WENT CRAZY AND GOT:
  • The Black Diamond Megamid. After Saturday afternoon, it all made sense.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Preview Of the Iraq Nightmare


I took this photo at the 2002 Doo-Dah Parade in Pasadena, CA. The more I've looked at it the more it reveals. The rollerskating amputee, the seemingly complacent "US Marshal", Vampira in her teddy, and the ever-present media. The underlying ironies and drama of the ensemble have only grown in retrospect.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

It Ain't Necessarily So…

Fox Broadcasting announced today that they were going to restage "Porgy and Bess". Porgy will be played by Bill O'Reilly, Ann Coulter would be Bess, and Sportin' Life would be played by Rush Limbaugh. Fox spokesman said that this was part of continuing network efforts to make "black culture safe for white people."

Thursday, March 15, 2007

It Payz 2 Increase Ur Wrd Powah! / the compleat transcript

Overheard on the MTA Blue Line yesterday: "bash poon" or words to that effect.

A brief field report, by Bungles, the valet

Northbound, from the 105. Two lo-rent playas, a ghetto "Jay and Silent Bob" if you will. Both were in their early 20's at best.

"Jay" was dressed in a flat-billed black & white MLB baseball cap, white oversized t-shirt, black pants of the de rigeur urban baggy. "Silent Bob" was likewise in black baggy trousers, but sporting a multi-colored hoody in a rich, variegated pattern of fiscal abundance—stylistically modifed icons of US currency in the $100 mode, casino chips and so on.

The object of "Jay's" fascination was his new iPod Nano. So many thumpin' grooves, such a tiny little beatch.

The loquacious "Jay", was describing to his reticent associate "Silent Bob" in detail an intimate encounter; by which a young adolescent girl was lured by true pretenses to his domicile [crib] wherein she performed copious oral sex ["brought that bitches mouf down on it and I busted a nut. She was served!"].

This was evidently satisfactory to "Silent Bob", who by his assented silence, enabled the Narrative Impulse to continue. Thereupon "Jay" proceeded to regale "Silent Bob" with the further details of a full-penetration sexual encounter, consummated on an improvised bed of 2 rows of 3 chairs facing each other, covered by a sheet. There was a mention of a television in the "crib", a garage in fact, next to a church of an unspecified denomination.

Observations had been surreptitiously made, and the conversants were sharing a fortified alcoholic beverage, disguised as an innocuous lemonade. "Silent Bob" became aware of The Observer's shirt, a vigourously patterned short-sleeve shirt with distinct Euro-centric 'jungle themes' rendered in a vulgate comic-book style.

It must be noted that this shirt is neo-vintage, 100% polyester, and is of Bengali manufacture. When this shirt was new, it had the suppleness and drape of 3/4" plywood.

"Silent Bob" turned to "Jay", and then turned back to The Observer, and declaimed "dang, bro, you one of us!", completed with an abbreviated dap.

I turned back to my demotic Anabasis, and thought of England.

"Bungles, the valet"

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Polyester Sharia In The Making

Do you enjoy trainwrecks like this as much as I do? Read on.

===========================
MY FAITH IN GAWD IS RENEWED BY NEWS LIKE THIS.
from the LA Times.

God's word, plus static, on Calvary Satellite Network
Amid accusations over sex, money and control, Pastor Chuck Smith is about to surrender much of the evangelical radio empire to a man he calls morally unfit for ministry


=============================
THE SET-UP
WHEN Chuck Smith, founder of the worldwide Calvary Chapel movement, decided to invest big in radio, the Orange County evangelist joined forces with a pastor he trusted.

Mike Kestler was one of his proteges, a folksy preacher with a ponytail who had ridden the Calvary phenomenon to a pulpit in Twin Falls, Idaho.

Smith had presided at Kestler's wedding. He'd helped Kestler keep his job after a churchgoer complained that Kestler had begged her to run away with him.

Now, the pastors would be business partners. Kestler knew how to run a radio station. Smith had money and a famous name. They shared a vision of FM radio as a megaphone for God's word.

Bolstered by $13 million from Smith's Costa Mesa church, Calvary Satellite Network grew into a spectacular recruiting tool for the evangelical movement. In listening areas across the nation, Calvary Chapels proliferated.

But relations between the two pastors deteriorated. In 2003, Smith cut off funding for the radio network, precipitating a crisis that continues to roil Calvary's leadership. It sparked a war for control of the network on terrain Smith had preached against for years: the earthly courts.

The two sides have hurled accusations of lust and greed, betrayal and embezzlement. As part of the battle, Smith funded a lawsuit against Kestler by a former Dallas Cowboys cheerleader who said he had fired her from her radio job for rebuffing his sexual advances
=============================
THE ARTICLE IS A TREAT, SO I'LL PULL THESE NUGGETS OUT....

Word reached the Smiths that another woman was complaining about Kestler. Sarah Meyer, an Idaho parishioner, said he had offered her a radio job, only to try "using Jesus to seduce me."

WORKS EVERY TIME! ONLY THE SMART GIRLS FALL FOR THE 'WORSHIPPING BAAL' LINE
"He'd prayed, and felt God was saying I was the one he was supposed to be with," Meyer, now 28, said in an interview. She said she turned down his advances and the job. Now, when she hears Kestler's voice on the car radio, "it makes my flesh crawl," she said.

NOT THE ORIGINAL INTENT. SEE ANTONIN SCALIA FOR DETAILS

In late 2005 and early 2006 came the volley of lawsuits. Chuck Smith filed suit against Kestler in state court in Twin Falls for $1.3 million, demanding repayment of a loan to build Kestler's church.


RENDER UNTO CHUCK THAT WHICH IS CHUCK'S

Smith had long been troubled that he defended Kestler in 1994 against accusations from a female churchgoer, only to see other women voice similar complaints. Now, he bankrolled a federal lawsuit by Pollitt, 46, the former Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.

TOUCHDOWNS FOR JESUS

Pollitt said Kestler lured her from Dallas to Twin Falls with the promise of a job at Calvary Satellite Network, only to fire her after she rejected his come-ons. In court papers, Kestler has denied retaliating against Pollitt and has said she made sexual overtures to him.


JEZEBEL RISING!

Returning the Smiths' fire, Kestler filed suit in Orange County Superior Court, seeking control of Calvary Satellite Network and accusing the younger Smith of seizing donations intended for the network.
MANY SHEKELS TO CROSS, AS JIMMY CLIFF ONCE....OH, NEVER MIND

In a countersuit, the younger Smith charged Kestler with misappropriating millions of dollars in listener contributions. The suit also accused Kestler of "sinful sexual and flirtatious misconduct with numerous women over the years"

ASKING THEM IF THEY WANTED TO SEE "THE LITTLE JESUS' MIRACULOUS RESURRECTION"

and of spending network funds on vacations

BIBLE-LAND COMES TO MIND, AND MAYBE THAT CREATIONIST THEME-PARK

and purchases at Victoria's Secret.

PRAISE GAWD!

To fundamentalist Christians, taking a quarrel to the secular courts is considered a drastic option. Believers point to 1 Corinthians, Chapter 6: "If any of you have a dispute with another Christian, how dare you go before heathen judges instead of letting God's people settle the matter?"

POLYESTER SHARIA COURTS

Jeff Smith's lawyer, Janet Carter, a born-again Christian, said the rule doesn't apply when dealing with people such as Kestler. "You don't get to be protected by 1st Corinthians 6 if you're acting like a heathen," she said.


I GUESS VICTORIA'S SECRET IS CONSIDERED 'SACRED RAINMENT'

In vain, Chuck Smith has asked Kestler to stop using the Calvary name. It still adorns his Twin Falls church. "They're free to use the secular courts to try to stop him," said Lloyd Walker, Kestler's attorney and brother-in-law. "Until then, we're not going to.

WE'RE GOIN' BACK TO CALI, CALI....


With Marginal Respects to Your Sensibilities,
Bucky Kibble III, Esq


Pogey Baitte & Marroone: Admiralty Law in Extremis
Race Director: Hellmouth 100
Counsel for the Christian Topless Bar Trade Association (CTBTA)




Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Jesus' Original Lunchbox


Since We're All Supposed to Give Up Something for Lent®™, let's start with Critical Thinking.

Gawd revealed it to me: Jesus' Original Lunchbox. Read the full details here.
No Word as to whether the Thermos contents were still hot after all these years.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

An Immovable Feast, My Friends

Far-flung Suburbs Want Good Life Too

AVEC LES COMMENTS D'IL SAVANT LE BUCKY KIBBLE

http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-upscale20feb20,1,6820367.story?coll=la-headlines-california

Most weeknights after 5 p.m., a line of patrons snakes around the Olive Garden restaurant in Palmdale, where hungry diners face an hourlong wait. The story is the same at the El Torito next door and the Red Lobster up the street, where the wait on Friday and Saturday can last two hours.

PRE-LOAD WITH A JUMBO BURRITO, BYO MATCHES

Just about every sit-down eatery in the west Antelope Valley has a line at the dinner hour because there are not enough sit-down restaurants to meet demand in the fast-growing region.

WIDENING COMES TO MIND TOO.

"I don't even consider it anymore," said a frustrated Barbara Lods, 43, a marketing representative from Lancaster.

In the newly minted subdivisions and gated communities on the fringes of Southern California, residents express concern about traffic, schools and crime.

I'VE GOT MINE

But what really gets them going is the lack of sit-down dining and upscale shopping.

DEBT STACKING ON A GRANDER SCALE

Cities and towns in the Antelope Valley and Inland Empire have long been among the fastest-growing in the nation. Once written off by retailers as lower-middle-class "starter" communities, these areas are rapidly going upscale.

WHAT! NO MORE CREMORA???

Now, former metro Los Angeles and Orange County residents weaned on gourmet grocers and glittering fashion emporiums want their California Pizza Kitchens. And their Nordstroms. And their Banana Republics.

HOW 'BOUT A MEL GIBSON MAYAN SACRIFICE HUT

The clamor has spurred local leaders into action as they try to convince skeptical high-end retailers that a formerly blue-collar town such as, say, Palmdale can support such enterprises.

AMMO SPILL, AISLE 4

"Perception is reality," said Mark McGaughey, a vice president with commercial real estate firm CB Richard Ellis in North Hollywood. "In their minds, the Antelope Valley is still a remote blue-collar, high-crime, backwoods kind of area."

A PLACE WHERE A GUY AND HIS GUNS CAN COOK OFF A BATCH OF METH THE OLD FASHIONED WAY!

McGaughey was hired by the city of Palmdale to try to lure retailers — and acknowledges it has been an uphill battle. "Some of these restaurants, tenants and service providers, they want their brand associated with Santa Monica and Brea and Brentwood," he said.

I SEE THEY LEFT OUT CANOGA PARK. FUCKERS.

Of course, inland cities are nowhere close to Brentwood and Santa Monica when it comes to property values or income levels. Still, the inland areas have seen major increases in spending power.

BIGGER TIRES, BIGGER TRUCKS

In 1990, the median annual income of households in both Riverside and San Bernardino counties was roughly $33,000, but by 2005 those figures had climbed to $52,000 and $49,000, respectively.

That's still below the statewide average of $54,000 — but the jump is being fueled in large part by a boom in $800,000 to $1-million homes in such places as Corona, Rancho Cucamonga, Chino Hills, Riverside and Palmdale. And those residents want the retail to follow.

NO COMMENT

"It becomes a statement of who you are, that you've arrived," said Riverside Mayor Ronald O. Loveridge. "It helps define and give cachet to a city."

SPEAKS FOR ITSELF

For residents looking for fulfillment in their search for high-end retailers, the holy grail these days can be found on Interstate 10 in Rancho Cucamonga, 50 miles east of L.A.

THE VAST SARGASSO SEA OF RED TAIL LIGHTS, CLOCKWISE OR NOT, HOLDING THEIR SPOT FOR THE MONDAY COMMUTE

Once a punch line for comedian Jack Benny, Rancho Cucamonga now bills itself as the "Inland Empire's premier city," in part because of its success wooing high-end retailers.

ONTARIO MILLZ

Rancho Cucamonga officials tirelessly sold the city at trade shows and in industry publications. Its standing among the nation's fastest-growing cities helped appeal to chains, such as Banana Republic and California Pizza Kitchen.

WOULDNT WANT TO BE DARINGLY INDIVIDUAL NOW WOULD WE?

Officials attended trade shows, such as the International Council of Shopping Centers, to romance retailers and developers. In advertisements and at booths, the city repeated its claim that the Inland Empire was no longer just cow pastures and dairy farms.

NOW YOU CAN GET SHRINK-WRAPPED COWPIES NEXT TO THE CREMORA HUT AT THE O-MILLS

It was at one show a few years ago that the city made its pitch to mega-developer Forest City Enterprises Inc. of Cleveland, which two years ago opened the 1.3-million-square-foot Victoria Gardens "lifestyle center."

FOR A MINUTE I WAS HOPEFUL—THE VICTORIA'S SECRET GARDENS LIFESTYLE CENTER.

It was considered a retailing watershed for the Inland Empire. Victoria Gardens boasted the region's first Pottery Barn and Williams-Sonoma, and the apparel and home decor retailer Anthropologie opened in 2005.
In another coup for Rancho Cucamonga, the tony W hotel chain announced last month it would build a hotel there.

GET YOUR MISTRESS SOME BUTT-FLOSS AND MARTINI GLASSES, THEN BANG A GONG AT W

Jim Ellis, a USC marketing professor, said the success of Victoria Gardens signals hope for other far-flung Southern California suburbs because it shows how business locations are selected: Once one retailer of a certain caliber flourishes, others flock to the area.

BUT WAIT

That's what happened in Riverside.

CAUSING A BORDER CLOSING WITH NEIGHBORING UPLAND, AND BUILDING A FENCE ADJOINING FONTANA

Loveridge said an official from an upscale grocer that Riverside wanted once told him the chain "wanted to locate somewhere where people read labels."

COULDN'T MAKE THAT UP

But the success of Victoria Gardens, plus Riverside's aggressive efforts to lure upscale retail, is beginning to pay off with the recent arrivals of chains such as Cheesecake Factory and P.F. Chang's. The city keeps a top-25 list of retailers it still pines for, including Whole Foods, home store Z Gallerie and apparel chain White House/Black Market.

NO MENTION OF CLUB 215 OR SPEARMINT RHINO

Although not as far along as Riverside and Rancho Cucamonga, the Antelope Valley is getting there.

FRANCHISING OPPS ABOUND. ESPECIALAMENTE EN ESPANOL

Palmdale Mayor Jim Ledford said the city's annual surveys repeatedly indicate that residents want more upscale shopping and dining.

ALL THAT METH COIN IS BURNING A HOLE IN THEIR POCKETZ

"Things like Elephant Bar, Claim Jumpers — that level," Ledford said. "We think we have everything it takes to get them to come to our community. But there's still this stigma that we're so far removed from the L.A. Basin, in a remote location, and we don't have the income or the education or the desire to spend."

TAKE A SKINHEAD BOWLING

In an effort to attract bigger names, Palmdale officials recently hired a national site selection firm, Buxton Co., to help hone the city's sales pitch to national brands.

WE READ LABELS ON PICKUP TRUCKS

The firm produced detailed "psychographics," looking at the spending power of the city's residents and estimating how much a particular store might earn in a particular market.

FMJ OR DUM-DUM?

"The most critical piece is for cities to differentiate themselves from everyone else by communicating in dollars and cents what their customer base is, or the business will say, 'You don't have a customer base to support my store.' " said Amy Wetzel, vice president of Buxton's western region.

OH ALRIGHT, CHRISTIAN METH LABS

Until the last few years, shopping and dining in Palmdale and Lancaster were dismal, local leaders said, consisting mostly of discount stores and a few mid-range restaurants in a sea of fast-food eateries.

AND DIALYSIS CLINICS

But recently, an upscale retail boom has taken root in the Antelope Valley's most affluent area, western Palmdale.

THEY RECENTLY GOT A BUSHWOOD COUNTRY CLUB

The area, with some $800,000-plus homes, now also has some businesses that residents had been asking for, including Bed, Bath & Beyond, Trader Joe's

HOT BETTIES IN THE FREEZER DEPT....

and Barnes & Noble.

BOOKS WITH SMALL PRINT

Can a Nordstrom be far behind? Even some Antelope Valley residents questions how upscale their area can become.

MAYBE A 'GOTH WORLD'

Beth Wolford, 44, of Quartz Hill, says that despite the new luxury housing developments, most newcomers to the high desert are middle-class two-income families who are putting all their resources into their homes and do not have the extra money to spend at high-priced stores and restaurants.

AKA "SITCOMS"...SINGLE INCOME, TWO CHILDREN, ONEROUS MORTGAGE

"I think they're being a little hopeful," Wolford said of city officials. "I don't think there's enough people who have the cash to spend that kind of money. They can't afford to live in L.A., so they move to the valley. They're already stretched financially buying bigger homes here."

SISTER-WIVES ARE EXPENSIVE

With Marginal Respects to Your Sensibilities,
Bucky Kibble III, Esq

Pogey Baitte & Marroone: Admiralty Law in Extremis
Race Director: Hellmouth 100
Counsel for the Christian Topless Bar Trade Association (CTBTA)

10100 Potash Blvd, suite 6900
Hellmouth CA

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Squirrelled Away

TORN FROM TODAY'S HEADLINES

http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/asection/la-na-briefs10.1feb10,1,6310080.story


NATION IN BRIEF / HAWAII
Squirrel on a plane diverts flight
From Times Wire Reports
February 10, 2007

American Airlines diverted a Tokyo-to-Dallas flight, landing the airplane in Honolulu because the pilots found a squirrel in the cockpit.

"HEH-HEH-HEH! GIVE ME THE JOYSTICK, YOU FUCKERS!"

Flight 176, a Boeing Co. 777 with 202 passengers aboard, arrived in Honolulu at 5:27 a.m. local time after the flight crew heard a noise in an overhead bin,

LOUD MUSIC, OE40's ROLLING AROUND, AND POWERBARS IN THE SHAPE OF FUNNY LITTLE ANIMALS

found the squirrel

WHO TOLD THE CREW:
"I GOT MINE, NOW FUCK OFF!... AND GET YOUR OWN! -HEH-HEH-HEH!"

and decided to land at the nearest airport, a spokesman

"CARL"

for American said. It was standard procedure, he said,

WHILE KNEADING A BLOCK OF SEMTEX INTO A RODENTESQUE SCULPTURE

and based on concern that a squirrel could create a safety issue aboard the plane if it chewed through wires.

OR SWAPPING OUT IN-FLIGHT MOVIES FOR "SOMETHING MORE INTERESTING"


Passengers were sent to their destinations on other flights.


THE SQUIRREL WAS TAKEN TO THE ROYAL HAWAIIAN AND MET BY HIS POSSE OF STARLETS

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

The Three Laws Of Cinematic Science Fiction

After many years of sitting in movie theatres watching various Hollywood leavings, I've formulated The Three Laws Of Cinematic Science Fiction:

1] Primary action takes place primarily at night. Science fiction in raw daylight is a washed-out proposition.

2] The story line is usually dependent on heavy First-World technology. Too bad it looks completely dated 10 minutes after theatrical release.

3] Protagonists and problem solving methodologies are mostly white, who have great teeth and shiny hair. People of any color besides white, and who live outside the 310 area code are vastly under-represented in the sci-fi canon. By contrast, Marin County is mysteriously over-represented. Oh hell! Its more fun to shoot in Marin than Indio, or SW Nebraska.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Appropriated Kültür On De March


Behold the Majestick Synergies
and Synchronicities of Gawd's Holiday Majestie®™!


For all of you soldiers in the War On Xmas, this is for you.

I was given these gifts by 2 different people, separated by Time and Space, opposite sides of the country...the whole shootin' match. Note the fine detailing on each piece; the subtle lettering on the left [given by Annie G, from NH], and the graceful thumb-stops on the right [received as a White Elephant Gift at my work party in LA].

This image is your next office screensaver.