Filthy Dirt Sucker

A couple weeks back, I got a phone call that changed my outlook on life forever.  You see, I was a real skeptic before this call.  When offered anything of value with no perceived commitment or required purchase, I'd assume it was a scam and blow the person off.

This archaic, unenlightened approach to life was blown away with this one short phone call.  With this divine telephonic outreach, I realized that there truly is good in the world and when someone says you've been selected to win a $500 shopping spree and a 3-day/2-night vacation at one of many destinations around the globe, just for inviting someone in your house for an easy product demo and survey, you'd be a chump to not take advantage of this naive person.

Apparently I'd answered a few "survey" questions a few weeks prior and had been entered into a completely legit "drawing" and won these fantastic prizes.  What were the survey questions about you ask?  They were hard-hitting and extremely valuable ones relating to my age, sex, and marital status.  And something about my preference regarding "Boxers vs. Briefs."

Because of my esteemed cooperation, I'd won.  I was a winner.  I hadn't won something this major since dominating a game of musical chairs and winning a lemon meringue pie back in '85 (Beth, if you're out there somewhere, I'd just like to apologize one more time for totally accidentally clothes-lining you in the neck with my boney arm, stepping on your femur (twice), and using your crumpling body as a prop to keep me from falling as I blew past you to the last remaining chair.  I sincerely hope everything has healed properly).

Still, being a skeptic, I had to do my diligence to make sure this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity was completely legitimate.  So, I turned the tables and played the role of market researcher.  Behold me unveil the facts like a seasoned CIA interrogator.

Me:  "I don't have to buy anything?"
Very Pleasant But Suspiciously Vague Woman:  "No. All you need to do to claim your prize is participate in a product demo and answer some survey questions at the end."
Me:  "Well, that sounds good.  What's the product?"
VPBSVW:  "It's a new high-end vacuum."
Me: "Interesting.  Are you guys going to try to sell me a vacuum?"
VPBSVW:  "Getting you to answer the survey questions about the product is my guy's primary concern."
Me:  "Are you sure you're not going to try to sell me a vacuum?"
VPBSVW:  "The product will be available for purchase, if you like it."

Me:  "This is market research though right?"

VPBSVW:  "Mm hmm."
Me:  "And this is not a sales call?"
VPBSVW:  "Yes."  
Me:  "Wait, yes it's not a sales call or yes it is a sales call?"
VPBSVW:  "Yes."  
Me:  "Can you be more specific."  
VPBSVW:  "No.  My legal team will not let me."  
Me:  "But I still win a $500 shopping spree without buying anything right?
VPBSVW:  "Right."  

Me:  "$500 U.S., right?"

VPBSVW:  "Yes! And don't forget the 3 day/2 night trip also!"

It's clear to me at this point that I better act fast before this idiot company goes bankrupt.  I confirm a 45 minute in-home product demo for later that afternoon and hang up the phone.  
Me:  "Heh, suckers!"

A gentleman named Mike showed up that afternoon and, after buttering us up with small talk that would embarrass a politician, launched right into his demo.   He pulled out what can best be described as a fat, blue robot.  "This," said Mike "is the Blue Thunder!"  That's obviously not the real name of the product.  No one would name their product something that silly.  I changed the name for this article to protect myself and the Blue Max vacuum company from any liability.

Mike, if that's his real name, went on to dazzle us on all 734 uses of the Blue Thunder (air freshener, leaf blower, day laborer, infant babysitter, etc.) - none of which entailed actual dirt removal.  If that wasn't enough to elicit fresh drool, he started vacuuming our rug.  This is where Mike blew his cover.

Apparently the purpose of Mike's visit wasn't to do a product demonstration.  The real reason it seems was on behalf of the National Clean As A Hospital Home Public Safety Administration (NCAAHHPSA) to deliver the message that my house was filthier than a public handrail and that it was a miracle that my wife and I had not yet died from some dirt-borne illness.  He demonstrated this through the use of vacuum filters, which he courteously laid out on our coffee table for us to look at in horror.  It took the Blue Thunder a dozen filters to make our rug look brand new again.  It took my wife a dozen martinis to keep from going into shock.        

To our defense, the Blue Thunder is a modern marvel and cleaned well beyond surface dirt.  It found particles of dirt which I'm pretty sure weren't left by us.  It appeared that the last few filters held old ancient Anasazi toe jam left at the site of my house some time shortly before Hugh Hefner was born.  This is the raw power of this little blue drum of steel.

Believe it or not though, the supernatural cleaning power of the Blue Thunder was not the real shocker.  Mike spent the next 15 minutes preparing us for the retail value of his product.  You know the drill, he began quoting prices of comparable products such as Gulf Stream IV's and mega-yachts (Blue Thunder is both capable of flying and cruising the high seas).  Mike finally revealed the price silently via paper.  This vacuum was roughly the cost of a new home.  Okay, I'm exaggerating a bit.  It was roughly the cost of a used home.  In the distance I could hear my bank account shriek before closing shop faster than a sphincter at the proctologist.

Although this was technically still a product demonstration for the purpose of market research, Mike spent the next 45 minutes trying to get us to buy one.  He even went as far as to cut the price in half after we employed the hardball negotiation tactic of, "we don't have that kind of money."  Even after the "discount" my wife and I would have rather taken on ownership of the national debt than commit financial suicide by making this purchase.

As for the prizes, Mike was seemingly legally obligated to hand us the certificates on his way out.  Upon scrutiny, the $500 shopping spree was for esteemed products (such as an inflatable patio table) worth no more than $0.47 and a buyer-covered shipping cost per item of on average $10.  So essentially, in order to claim $500 worth of products, I'd have to spend $750 in shipping for items that were worth in aggregate $20.  The trip prize was okay.  It boiled down to two free nights at a hotel - we're still unsure whether that requires our presence at a timeshare meeting.

With the price of the Blue Thunder, one sold vacuum alone could cover roughly (let's see, move the decimal over, carry the one, forget the remainder) . . . 347 trips and a number too large to actually fit within this post of shopping sprees of "quality" products.  So continuing the mathematical problem solving above, with four sales at retail price, the Blue Thunder vacuum company would make the gross earnings of the entire Fortune 100 combined look like those of an 8 year-old's lemonade stand in the middle of winter.

The moral of the story, besides me having the marketing savvy of a macaroon?  Don't do market research, it will just end up crushing your false sense of cleanliness and dig up ghosts of your past - literally.  Besides, my wife is pressuring me to buy this amazing product and once we do, I won't have enough money to cover the shipping on the amazing ultra-utility Flashlight/Compass/Water Pick/HD Sunglasses product.  At least I'll have someone to throw the Frisbee for my dog while I'm at work.  Let's see if I can get a Blue Max for less than the GDP of the Dominican Republic.

Goregasm - The Tale of the Adductored Masseuse

Well no wonder the world is warming.  Al Gore (Al is short for Almost, as in Almost President, Almost cool, and Almost sane) is getting hotter than a Penthouse Forum letter.

Here's an excerpt from the Washington Examiner setting the mood on his latest publicized escapade:

The police report of the masseuse's complaint is 73 pages long and extremely detailed. According to the document, she got a call from the front desk of the trendy Hotel Lucia on the night of Oct. 24, 2006. The hotel had a special guest. Could she come at 10:30 p.m.?

She went to Gore's room carrying a folding massage table and other equipment.

Nothing preheats my oven better than a good police report.  Other equipment?  My interest is officially piqued if you know what I mean.  Wink, wink.

Gore, whom she had never met, greeted her with a warm embrace. 

Ooh la la, things are starting to steam up and fast, just the way I like it.  Nothing's worse than these forum letters that try to pretend they're a real story with plot, character dynamics, and all that other horse shit.

Gore.  What a sexy, powerful name - like Cher.  He should seriously drop Almost and go with it.

"The hug went on a bit long, and I was taken just a bit aback by it," the masseuse told police. 

You coy little kitten you.  Trying to play hard to get, eh?  Cynicus likey.

But she went along because Gore "was a VIP and a powerful individual and the Hotel Lucia had made it clear to me by inference that they were giving him 'the royal treatment.'"

Nothing less for the man who guides the galaxy's celestial bodies.  You know, if it weren't for our Sun God sacrificing his wealth to preach the noble tenets of climate change, we'd be lopping off frost bitten digits in the Keys and feebly attempting to reattach melting faces in Minnesota.   All hail the mighty Goracle!

Gore said he was tired from travel and described in detail the massage he wanted. It included work on the adductor muscles, which are on the inside of the thighs. "I mentally noted that a request for adductor work is a bit unusual," the masseuse told police, because it can be "a precursor to inappropriate behavior by a male client."

Awww yeah, the temperature's rising higher than a million unused carbon credits burning in the desert!  Bring on the inappropriate, you naughty little oil vixen.

Gore also requested work on his abdomen. When that began, "He became somewhat vocal with muffled moans, etc.," the masseuse recounted. Gore then "demand[ed] that I go lower." When she remained focused on a "safe, nonsexual" area, Gore grew "angry, becoming verbally sharp and loud."

Tension?  Hmmm. I'm not sure where they're going with this, but I'll go along.  I mean the "muffled moans" from an AARP member in good standing is enough to send any hot blooded American woman into a sexual tizzy.  Am I right ladies?

The masseuse asked Gore what he wanted. "He grabbed my right hand, shoved it down under the sheet to his pubic hair area, my fingers brushing against his penis," she recalled, "and said to me, 'There!' in a very sharp, loud, angry-sounding tone." When she pulled back, Gore "angrily raged" and "bellowed" at her.

What?  Is she serious?  Now she's gone and made "The Gore" angry.  Talk about a mood killer.  Nice one lady.

Then, abruptly, the former vice president changed tone. It was "as though he had very suddenly switched personalities," she recalled, "and began in a pleading tone, pleading for release of his second chakra there."

No woman can resist the legendary Second Chakra (second only to the First Chakra, which is reserved for official Presidents).  It's a good thing this woman is dealing with a spiritual shaman.  Any common man would have given up on the encounter right then.

She wanted to end the session, but Gore "wrapped me in an inescapable embrace" and "caressed my back and buttocks and breasts." She tried to get away -- in the process calling Gore a "crazed sex poodle" -- but the former vice president was too strong for her.

Get away?  I'm starting to think this woman may be a lesbian.  But even then, it IS Algore and sexual identity shouldn't come into play.

"Crazed sex poodle?"  No ma'am, that's no poodle.  That's Man Bear Pig himself.

The accuser said Gore maneuvered her into the bedroom. His iPod docking station was there, he told her, and he wanted her to listen to "Dear Mr. President," a lachrymose attack on George W. Bush by the singer Pink.

Nice play Mr. Almost President.  Only a true Master of Foreplay would know that bringing your most intimate fixations into the bedroom is more entrancing than a thousand candles.

"As soon as he had it playing, he . . . pleaded, grabbed me, engulfed me in embrace, tongue kissed me, massaged me, groped by breasts and painfully squeezed my nipples through my clothing, pressed his pelvis against mine, rubbed my buttocks with his hands and fingers and rubbed himself against my crotch, saying, 'You know you want to do it.'"

I know this is a fantasy and I'm supposed to be turned on by all of this, but not once have I read erotica or watched porn where the lead said, "you know you want to do it."  It seems like the woman should be a willing participant.  Also, this description is a bit violent, kind of like a rape scene.  I'm going to give this story two thumbs down for not including enough romance.

Byron York really missed the mark on this piece.  He should go back to just covering politics.

And Citizen Gore should just go back to his mansion, where he'll continue concocting mad schemes of bilking the world of its wealth, like a morally bankrupt old man, incapable of love and desperate for the days when he thought he mattered.    

"Rosebud."

Van Der Sloot For President!

. . . of Satan's Lair.

Seriously, this waste of carbon is evil incarnate.  He makes Saddam Hussein look like Sacha Baron Cohen (pic).

Think I'm being a little dramatic?  Hold your judgement until after we explore this article at Fox News detailing his recent confession:

Dutchman Joran van der Sloot, long the prime suspect in the 2005 disappearance of a U.S. teen in Aruba, has confessed to killing a young Peruvian woman in his Lima hotel room last week, a police spokesman said.

Peru's chief police spokesman, Col. Abel Gamarra, told The Associated Press that Van der Sloot admitted under police questioning Monday that he killed 21-year-old Stephany Flores on May 30.

According to La Republica newspaper, Van der Sloot told officials he broke Flores' neck in a rage after he discovered she had used his notebook computer without permission and learned he was involved in the disappearance of Holloway.
"I did not want to do it," La Republica quoted him as saying. "The girl intruded into my private life."

Yes, because that's exactly how a man boy syphilis-infested primate wrongly accused of murder would react.  Who can blame him really?  He spent the last five years containing a scantily publicized accusation of culpability for a missing teenager, no doubt for which he is innocent, from going global and ruining his good family's name forever.  This poor Peruvian girl could have blown the lid on his then pristine public persona.  What better way to keep the public from thinking your a murderer by, well, murdering?

If you think about it, it's a complete fluke that Van Der Sluut got caught.  To demonstrate how much of a criminal savant this guy is, let's go through sequence of events.  I've been watching a lot of Dexter lately, so I know what I'm talking about.  

First, let's discuss Joran's profile.  As mentioned above, he's very low-profile outside of his home island of Aruba.  He's also Dutch and 6'3", so he blends in with the people of Peru better than rum in a daquiri. 

So, he meets a girl at a Peruvian casino.  Note that this was at a South American casino and not Vegas, so instead of cameras every 7 inches of ceiling, it's more like every 2-3 feet.  That's a huge difference working in Mr. Van Der Sluut's favor. 

Okay, so who's the girl?  She's the daughter of a prominent businessman who once ran for President.  So, in other words, a total anonymous target and probably not identifiable by more than 1 in 2 within the community.
 
Next, he takes the girl back to a hotel, well, because he's done that in the past, so it's best not to change any patterns and raise red flags.  The hotel is not like the ones he's used to in Aruba, so security cameras are a bit of a long-shot.

After doing the evil deed, Joran (pronounced Whoran), fled the country as fast as he could.  No suspicious activity there.  If you don't stick around, they can't blame you for it right?

Now that I've proven this guy should be running Mensa, let's take a look at his unblemished character.   

A fixture on true crime shows and in tabloids after Holloway's disappearance, he gained a reputation for lying -- even admitting a penchant for it -- and also exhibited a volatile temper. In one Dutch television interview he threw a glass of wine in a reporter's eyes. In another, he smashed a glass of water against a wall in a fury.

That's nothing, show me someone who hasn't wanted to throw something at a journalist?

There were indications Van der Sloot may have been traveling on money gained through extortion.  The day of his arrest in Chile, Van der Sloot was charged in the United States with trying to extort $250,000 from Holloway's family in exchange for disclosing the location of her body and describing how she died.

Extortion is a misdemeanor right?

The crime reporter, Peter de Vries -- the victim of the wine-throwing incident -- reported later in 2008 that Van der Sloot was recruiting Thai women in Bangkok for sex work in the Netherlands.

Ah, an entrepreneur.  As you can see, the label "good samaritan" doesn't do this magnanimous creature justice.  So what's he facing anyway?

Murder convictions carry a maximum of 35 years in prison in Peru and it was not immediately clear if a confession could lead to a reduced sentence.

Wonderful.  It's a shame he picked a country whose penal system makes the U.S.'s look like a Nicaraquan prison in comparison.  

Unlawful Apples

From Fox News, a chilling account of a threat to freedom and liberty that all American's face:

A Californian woman who was accused of attacking an airport security guard for trying to seize her applesauce as she boarded a plane was fined $2,500 over the incident -- and is refusing to pay, The Glendale News Press reported Wednesday.

"Unfortunately, sometimes people in positions of authority are unethical, unprofessional or just downright criminal in their activity. And in that case, if you're in the right, you need to stand up for yourself. And that's what I did in my case -- what they did was wrong, and what I did was right."

Damn straight Sister!  Oh sure, it's just applesauce today, but before you know it the SS-like monsters at the TSA will  begin confiscating more important items like 25 ounce tubes of odorless "toothpaste" or the 16-inch hunting knife strapped to your tibia (for hunting *wink*).    

I don't blame her for refusing to pay the $2500.  Do you know how many packs of Mott's that can buy?  I'd say at least a week's worth.  Or, for the libertarians up in Michigan, I reckon you could buy your own apple tree and make your own sauce with enough spare change to load your 200 extra clips with fresh ammo for Bessy (your beloved AR).  Let's see them dirtbag Feds get their pork-sausage fingers on your applesauce now!

Here's where the story gets good:

But when the 58-year-old was told she couldn’t take it on the plane she refused to hand the blue container over -- sparking a "tug-of-war" with a TSA agent at Bob Hope airport in Burbank, Calif.

You see, the key here is to move fast and catch the agent off guard.  Any hesitation and the 50 or so agents in the area, who were daydreaming about their next smoke break, will be on you like rednecks on a "Dogs Playing Poker" painting at the flea market.

This clash took place at Bob Hope Airport of all places.  I wonder what he'd say about all this if he were still alive.

"Kids are wonderful, but I like mine barbecued."  - Bob Hope

Amen, Bob, amen.

And the excuse for bringing a cooler full of applesauce to the airport?

Hays, who was heading to Nashville for a family wedding with her 93-year-old mother, insisted she had followed procedures and that her mother needed the items for a medical condition.

Don't laugh.  It's widely held knowledge in the medical community that applesauce is the ideal cure for bulshilitus - an unfortunately common ailment in the North Americas in the area between Canada and Mexico.  I feel the symptoms coming on right now.

Matthew Modine in Full Metal Scarf

Private Joker has to be joking when he sat down with CNN and after going into detail on theatre and communication and his Broadway play, threw this little love-nugget in: 

"Imagine if somebody were to really sit down with Osama Bin Laden and say 'listen man, what is it that you are so angry at me about that you're willing to have people strap bombs to themselves or get inside of airplanes and fly them into buildings.'  That would be the miracle if we could sit down with our enemies and find a way for them to hear us.

Um, PJ, I think he understands us and what we stand for just fine. That's why he's angry. He hates us for who we are and what we stand for.

You know, now that his message has sunk in, I'm going to change my tune.  I've responded like a neanderthal buffoon.  Listen man, this is the most enlightened thought I've ever come across.  I'm man enough to admit when I've been an illogical hatemonger. 

Speaking of Miracle Workers and communication, I nominate Matthew Modine to be our Northwest Pakistan Amassador.  Cleary the num-nuts in D.C. don't have a clue on how to communicate with truly misunderstood and peaceful men.

I'm sure Bin Laden will treat you with the same respect and compassion he would've afforded Hellen Keller herself if she were alive today. 

On the other hand - just as an unnecessary and unwarranted precaution - during your journey of rainbows and free-love you might want to wear a full metal scarf.  You know, just in case Binny and the boys get spunky and want to use a freshly severed head for a soccer ball - futbol for you more nuanced folks - in the graveled streets of Peshawar.   

Here's the video (quote at 2:12):

Fish Food

It seems the Euro-Weenies are taking a hard stance against piracy off the coast of Somalia.  From the AP via Fox news:

NAIROBI, Kenya -- In the first killing of its kind, private security contractors shot dead a Somali pirate in a clash that left two skiffs riddled with bullet holes, officials said Wednesday.

The killing raises questions over who has jurisdiction over a growing army of armed guards on merchant ships flying flags from many nations.

Ooooh. "Growing army of armed guards" sounds so sinister. Sinister enough for an acronym I think. Let's refer to them as the GAAGs from now on.
But the bureaucrats are concerned with regulation and investigations:

There's currently no regulation of private security onboard ships, no guidelines about who is responsible in case of an attack, and no industrywide standards, said piracy expert Roger Middleton from the British think tank Chatham House.

"This will be scrutinized very closely," said Arvinder Sambei, a legal consultant for the U.N.'s anti-piracy program. "There's always been concern about these (private security) companies. Who are they responsible to? ... The bottom line is somebody has been killed and someone has to give an accounting of that."

Who's responsible?  Great question.  Let's start with the attack itself:
 
Now is it the boat captain for steering his ship into the wrong neighborhood of international waters? He should have known better after all. 

Or is it those renegade GAAG members, who just ask to be attacked by their very existence?  Seriously, arming yourself heavily just invites violence.  Why would someone want to run up on an unarmed crew and handily steal and pillage when they could have the challenge of dodging a hail of bullets Frogger-stlye.  The real possibility of death and dismemberment makes the game so much more fun!

Then there's those Pirate fellas.  They couldn't possibly be at fault.  No, who could blame them - they're just trying to feed their families with the millions in ransom money they're attempting to pilfer from the free world.   Add the lure of reciprocating violence and the chance of an attack not occurring goes to zero.  They're the real victims here.      

Now to the responsibility of investigations.  A Pirate was sent back to where he belongs and "someone has to give an accounting of that."  Right.  Well, seems like the best solution is to just get rid of security, that way we won't have to have an investigation, just a messy, but paperless, clean-up job of the wasted crew.

Violent confrontations between ships and pirates are on the rise. Crews are becoming adept at repelling attacks by pirates and many more ship owners are using private security guards.

Yes, we'd all be a lot better off if we'd just stop repelling Pirate attacks and let them rape us of our wealth, because that'll definitely temper the "rise" in violent confrontations. 

The International Maritime Bureau says 39 ships were fired off Somalia and in the Gulf of Aden in 2008, but that number increased to 114 ships by 2009.

I'm sure this has absolutely nothing to do with the $80 million in ransom paid during 2008.

Several organizations, including the International Maritime Bureau, have expressed fears that the use of armed security contractors could encourage pirates to be more violent in their approach.

Question:  How can a Pirate be more violent in his approach if you freed him of his head during the last incident??