 As you long time readers of CCB (all four of you) are well aware, Mr. Robin is one very paranoid individual. His personal motto, translated from the Aramaic (hey, mottos done in anything other than dead languages ain’t proper mottos) is, “If you aren’t paranoid, you aren’t paying attention.”
Am I right? Of course I am. Yesterday, Cousin Fred came to me with a wish list of more paranormal paraphernalia for our latest pursuit as ghost hunters. The total for his latest list is something over $800. A ridiculous amount I thought since there was a lot of stuff on that list that we already have. He (remarkably) agreed, but pointed out that the stuff on his list is mostly off the shelf products that have been modified by second tier programmers specifically designed for ghost hunting. His claim is that there are modules in these products that we definitely need. Uh huh. There was one item on the list that did catch my attention. A Ghost-O-Meter. Next to that he had written $0. Now THAT caught my eye. I foolishly ask Cousin Fred about it. Turns out it’s an app for iPhone, iPad, iWhatever (sorry, you Android fools). Foolishly, I pick up my iPhone and go to the App Store and type in the word, “ghost.” Lots of apps appear. Most do have some sort of $$ charge that comes with the download though it’s listed as “In-App Purchases.” Then I see the app, Ghost-O-Meter. It’s free. Foolishly, I download the damned thing. It turns out that the app turns any device running over IOS into an EMF meter. I open the app, there’s some low level crackling static coming through the phone’s speaker and the screen has a graphic display that any of you steampunk lovers out there would…well…love. I swept my phone around the room. Suddenly the crackling intensified, the graphic meter jumped to the maximum position, and the old-timey graphic light bulb on the display lit up. When I moved the phone off that position, it all died down. I moved it back and everything lit up again. Cousin Fred, convinced we were in the middle of a paranormal meltdown ran to get some of the equipment we had already purchased. That’s when it came to me what was actually happening. While ghosts supposedly give off some sort of EMF signature, so do a lot of electronic devices. My iPhone had found my Compound surveillance camera mounted outside (told you I’m paranoid). The camera was throwing off an EMF field that could be detected through an exterior wall. I didn’t know if I was impressed with a free app on the phone or terrified of a powerful EMF signature penetrating everything. Cousin Fred, at this point, has the spirit box up and running. The sound of white noise fills the room. He starts trying to communicate with whatever he thinks is there. “Is someone in the room with us?” I tried to point out that I found the source of his panic. “Talk to us if you can. Try to communicate. Who are you?” And then…by golly…a voice came through. It said, amid the white noise, “Macy.” There was more but it was really garbled with all the white noise and static. Cousin Fred, ever the professional ghost hunter asked, “What do you want, Macy? Are you here to do us harm?” Macy: “Yes…you could damage your…(garbled). Cousin Fred pointed out that we should be recording this encounter. I wasn’t so sure, but I have to admit I was hooked. Cousin Fred: “I command you, Macy. Tell us what you want!” Macy, suddenly much clearer and sounding rather exasperated: “What do I want? I want you to pay at least the minimum payment on your Macy’s charge card. You’re overdue. I’ll ruin your credit score!” I rolled my eyes and walked over to the spirit box and promptly shut it down. Cousin Fred was aghast, but I pointed out that somehow the danged spirit box had picked up a wireless call from a bill collector. I next unplugged the power source for the surveillance camera outside and checked the Ghost-O-Meter. Nothing. And then it occurred to my paranoid self that I had found a new use for the Ghost-O-Meter. If it can detect any EMF field, then it would be handy for keeping track of any of the other hundreds of surveillance cameras we see or don’t see on a daily basis. And, it’s free! It’s a poor paranoid’s dream! Remember, if you aren’t paranoid, you aren’t paying attention! Oh, and, it’s a conspiracy, man! That is all!  Howdy everybody! Welcome to the Tuesday edition of CCB as we plod along like an errant plow horse headed toward a weekend of blah.
This is always a weird time of year here at The Compound. Football is over. Baseball is trying to get going, but generally comes as slow as Christmas. It’s too cold to sit outside and count the vehicles headed toward (allegedly) illegal parties down the road (I’m just mad because I’m never invited). So, while the Wife is planning her next fabulous vacation coming up in two weeks, Cousin Fred and I are left to our own devices. That’s seldom a good thing. I took some heat with my return posting yesterday over the fact that there was no mention of Cousin Fred and Gigi living underground out on the north lawn. People also pointed out that I left a string dangling from my last post in January…that Cousin Fred and I were planning to host a training camp for preppers here at The Compound. Eh, that was then, this is now. Cousin Fred and Gigi are still living underground out on the north lawn. The way Cousin Fred sees it, every abode he’s had here has eventually burned to the ground. As he put it, you can’t burn something to the ground that’s already below the ground. He may have a point there, in a Cousin Fred logic sort of way. The prepper camp idea, I think, is done though. There wasn’t a lot of interest locally. People are already armed to the teeth and prepping for something around here. And, who the hell is going to travel to the middle of East Beejeezus (aka, here) to sleep out on a windblown hill only to rise in the morning covered in sand burs. Cousin Fred and I have decided to take our nonsense to the people. We’re now official ghost hunters. We used the last of the royalty money from the reality series, Bigfoot: Naked and Untamed to buy a couple of digital recorders, EMF meters, 3-D imaging equipment, and a spirit box (so you can talk to said ghosts). Cousin Fred has been in touch with our sort-of agent/Hollywood mentor Chick Farris. There’s interest in having us film a rough pilot doing some ghost hunting and exposing those dirty ghosts for what they really are…as soon as we can figure out exactly what that might be. Chick says we’ll need a hook of some sort. So we’re working that angle now. Cousin Fred pointed out that there are no naked ghost hunters on television yet. Always with the nakedity, Cousin Fred…always with the nakedity. Anyway, that’s what we’re doing to keep ourselves entertained until spring. By the way, if you are nearby and have a plethora (actual ghost hunting term) of paranormal activity around your place and are willing to abandon your home for a few days while we move in and hunt ghosts, let us know. What could go wrong? In the meantime, I’m on my own mission to figure something out. Have you ever noticed how one study by a major university will turn up results that something is good for you, but another study by another university will tell you that what you’re doing will kill you? Can’t these universities get their stories straight? And why are major universities doing studies anyway? Besides putting students and parents of said students in years of unmanageable debt, aren’t you supposed to teaching the little punks something? Just sayin’… So, two weeks ago, I read about a study that was done in Britain, I think that kind of confirmed what we’ve all heard before…that one or two glasses of red wine could help you live into your nineties. Now that’s good news for me because: 1) I’m a life pig; 2) I like red wine; and, 3) I really like red wine. Seriously, I like red wine. It’s why, at my altogether advancing age, I still look like a young John Wayne (think opening scene, John Ford’s “Stagecoach”). Well, Sunday, I saw something go by on the newsfeed here at The Compound, done by a research group here in the U.S. that claims that more than one-half of a glass of red wine a day triples the likelihood that you’ll wind up with dementia. Well, crap…now what do I do? Bet that study was funded by Baptists seeking to derail the oncoming shift in Oklahoma laws that will allow Wal-Mart to start selling real beer and wine. Screw you, we voted for it…it’s coming. I see that Wal-Mart has shifted the shelves around to make room. They’re with us on this! Eh, well, I’ve gone too far to turn back now. I’ll take the young John Wayne look…now if I could just find a magic elixir to grow hair, I’d be set! That is all!  Good morning everybody! We’re back! I took a little time off to finish a project. It’s done and off my proverbial plate so I’m back to deliver the drivel all of you long for…yeah, right.
I know February was a trying month with events that spanned the range from the tragic to the ludicrous. Rising above it all, as we do every year about this time, is the nonsense from that bunch of demented hillbilly morons who make up the Oklahoma Legislature. Yep, we’re in full swing down on Lincoln Blvd, again. With lawmakers positively giddy now that they’ve finished up the non-work of the last session in a second special session. The work of Oklahoma’s greatest welfare society continues without the perverts, pedophilic dope fiends, and sundry reprobates…or, at least, without the ones that got caught…of a new legislative session. Yea, Oklahoma! Eh, not so much. It already appears that this state, that sits dead last in the nation in so many categories, will have a $167 million deficit before budget negotiations get underway. Yea, Oklahoma! About a year ago, CCB posted the tale of State Senator Joseph Silk (R-Broken Arrow). At the time, we, at CCB, said, “…a guy named Joseph Silk…sounds like the name of a cheap hood from Queens…knowhutimean.” We even started calling him Joey Pajamas (his cheap hood name) – Joey PJs to his family and close associates. At the time, Joey Pajamas (we aren’t friends) was trying to ram a bill through the Senate that would allow Oklahoma to secede from the United States. We pointed out at the time, that Oklahoma was number seven in line for receiving $$ payouts from the Federal government and that this was equivalent of biting the hand that feeds the moron. We even quoted Joey Pajamas at the time, who said, while obviously trying to some damage control, “I don’t think Oklahoma needs to secede. I don’t think anyone needs to secede right now. However…you know…30-40 years from now…whenever…you know…my kids are having families what if the United States comes and turns into a…you know…communist country?” You know? Many of JP’s colleagues at the time, pointed out that the bill was a supreme waste of time and JP felt he had to defend his bill which (fortunately) died in committee. Fuhgitaboutit. So, anyway, Joey Pajamas is back. This time with a bill that would abolish Daylight Savings Time. He was quoted in the Tulsa World, the world’s stingiest fish wrap, as saying, “It was initially designed to save energy, but it you know it doesn’t save energy at all anymore just because you know everyone’s got an air conditioner and the whole you know economy has changed.” Okay, that’s not the real original reason for DST, but what the heck, Joey’s on a roll. He goes on to point out that it causes a bad effect on people whose sleep patterns are irretrievably changed rolling their clocks one direction or the other twice a year. Speaking as someone who doesn’t sleep much anyway, who care? In fact, I was going to start swinging at Joey Pajamas over his latest dilly (dilly dilly) of a legislative proposal. I was going to mention that a legislature that can’t find a way to pay teachers a livable wage has no business regulating time for the rest of us. I was going to point out that our television watching would become irretrievably screwed up. The local stations would have to adjust to meet network scheduling set with the rest of the country…Tornado Pain in the Ass would be on at 4:15PM now. The radio controlled wall clock here in The Compound Command Center (adjusts itself as necessary according to U.S. Naval Observatory time in DC) that automatically corrects itself with the twice yearly time changes would go into meltdown. There’s no setting on the back of the clock for Oklahoma Time. Our computers and other electronic devices that automatically adjust their time stamps wouldn’t know what to do. IT WOULD BE ANOTHER Y2K DEBACLE…we’re all going to die! Everything would be in chaos. But then, I thought, hmmm…this may not be so bad after all. And do you know why? Because I’m lazy. Yep. For instance, the clock radio in my vehicle has to be manually adjusted. I never do that. I always wait until spring when it’s back to the correct time. I hate wandering through the house twice yearly changing all the frigging clocks. Joey Pajamas is on to something this time. You go, Joey Pajamas, you go! That is all! |
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